Perloff Hall - The LA Flood Project (sitios de interés)
Descripción del sitio
Perloff Hall, UCLA's Campus
Stage 1.
This high above UCLA’s campus,
the peek of the public ivory tower,
no water can reach the base of the colonnades.
As rain begins to fall outside,
inside, all the techno who’s who are showing what's what and how's how
without any thought to the why's why.
Stage 2:
The water has engulfed the lower portions of campus.
Men in lab coats,
veterans and homeless,
kids with backpacks, futons, microwaves,
all crouch like they were camping out for football tickets.
Some have started to get ugly about space.
Skirmishes. Some shoving. A knife. Mostly civil but slipping.
The conferencees have all moved to the second floor, looking down at the encampment. They cover their heads with their posters, hold their demos above their heads in baggies.
The streams of people continue to plod upstream against the rushing water.
Stage 3.
All that was not mobile that couldn't be tucked into pockets,
slung on backpacks,
zipped into purses or slipped into braziers
was left in cybertide pools of cables and wires, circuit boards forming a kind of coral reef of motherboards and microprocessors.
All this future-ware has been submerged
set a drift across the lower chasms of UCLA
toward Wilshire and Westwood
till they have come to rest in a river
at the Cost Plus on Santa Monica Blvd
where they collect with the detritus of the globalized, factory made tribal sculptures, thick, heavy, white place settings,bamboo placemats, and then eddies of coke cans, heroine needles, empty wallets, headshots, bundles of newspapers, bedsheets and blackberries, gas masks and gas cans, laptops and lattes, insulin and oxygen tanks:
rubbish.
Stage 1.
This high above UCLA’s campus,
the peek of the public ivory tower,
no water can reach the base of the colonnades.
As rain begins to fall outside,
inside, all the techno who’s who are showing what's what and how's how
without any thought to the why's why.
Stage 2:
The water has engulfed the lower portions of campus.
Men in lab coats,
veterans and homeless,
kids with backpacks, futons, microwaves,
all crouch like they were camping out for football tickets.
Some have started to get ugly about space.
Skirmishes. Some shoving. A knife. Mostly civil but slipping.
The conferencees have all moved to the second floor, looking down at the encampment. They cover their heads with their posters, hold their demos above their heads in baggies.
The streams of people continue to plod upstream against the rushing water.
Stage 3.
All that was not mobile that couldn't be tucked into pockets,
slung on backpacks,
zipped into purses or slipped into braziers
was left in cybertide pools of cables and wires, circuit boards forming a kind of coral reef of motherboards and microprocessors.
All this future-ware has been submerged
set a drift across the lower chasms of UCLA
toward Wilshire and Westwood
till they have come to rest in a river
at the Cost Plus on Santa Monica Blvd
where they collect with the detritus of the globalized, factory made tribal sculptures, thick, heavy, white place settings,bamboo placemats, and then eddies of coke cans, heroine needles, empty wallets, headshots, bundles of newspapers, bedsheets and blackberries, gas masks and gas cans, laptops and lattes, insulin and oxygen tanks:
rubbish.