MY EYES ARE TIRED (excerpt)
Following that, normally a transautomatism should have set in: it is neither stucco nor flat, neither incidental nor drunk, nor dissolution, but quite simply like the true order which continues to form and exists everywhere where right-angled or drunken man doesn’t thwart it. As erosion has become controllable through transautomatism and everything that has been done up to now was wrong, anyway, the only right thing that can be done now with any feeling of responsibility is to engage in critical weathering: then spiraloid and fluidoid activity exercises and creative moulding would be the next things to be done. For after geometry comes the rapid explosion, followed by the slow explosion, then weathering and then moulding. Once we have understood mould, the way for a new mode of creating will be free again for a while.
But they are building cubes, cubes! At the perpendicular corners of Vienna. Madness. Delusion. Where is the conscience, if not of the masses, at least of the others? And this although it is 1957 by now. Madness. Better to shoot the people or kill them in the womb than put them in serial apartments or have them eat from plates of which there are already a thousand castings, and it is precisely the most beautifully formed which are the most dangerous. Horrible. Or if they are housed in boxes they didn’t build themselves and which they cannot and may not remodel, even if they were given this freedom.