SINGULAR ARCHITECTURE

Singular Architecture is architecture aligned with Nature. Nature is holistic, and holistic environments are fabricated places within which we tell a story. Singular Architecture is an instrumental labyrinth of pathways and intersections. Walking through the labyrinth, the story told is one of resonating harmonic connection. When we breathe life into our architecture, our architecture will breathe life into us.

As intervention into artificial environments, it shapes places as medicinal tonics for culture. SA tectonics architecturally engage a continuum of energetic translation between people and place, from the microcosm within our bodies to the macroscope of spiritual space, shifting toward increasing potential energy.

--- Heather Hoeksema, Architect

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'A Ten Train'




/ Pre-Production Audio Story / Flash Light Book /
( still editing that nasally mid-west accent)


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'Flash Light Second Edition / 'A' Ten Train


The train stopped dead in the middle of the bridge. The bridge was taller than it was long and the space below seemed vast, still not nearly as deep as the views from the left flowing right river roaring with directive. The train had left the station well before noon that Saturday. Many were aboard for the long haul, some had round trip tickets. Some were getting off along the way. The sun was to the left, mountains to the right no shade to be had. The passengers sitting stage left had blinds drawn. On the right, the passengers had been enjoying the staccato view.

It was a fall day. Golden leaves on trees lined the banks so far below the tracks, criss crossed metal and wood. The horizon was soft as the sun setting cast shadows of the iron bridge fabric across the moving water. To the left the glowing disk was half way under the horizon sending a cyan glow into the air. Simultaneous views up and down the mad river disappeared to infinite vantage points. The passengers had settled in, well calibrated from the steady vibration of wheels riding the measured tracks. As the train came to a halt, the vibrations did too. In the fourth car from the back a husband and wife started to argue.

They were moving north to begin a new life. The town they were in had taken its toll. The people around them, seemed possessed. Wives suffering from chronic dissatisfaction and husbands unable to tap libidos had become parasitic with envy. As much as the two had started off strong, the more they pulled together the more it seemed those around them tried to pull them apart. Trust dismantling in the growing space between, a fresh start in a new place was the only way to save this dying marriage. As they sat still in the middle of the bridge the silence seemed to stimulate voicing of discontent. He was pissed, had been eating a double-decker sandwich and spilled ketchup on his white shirt. She was quiet. Looking out the window, his wife had stopped reading her book to turn further away from him. She knew it wasn’t just about the sandwich. He was frustrated with her silence. Frozen in the middle of the bridge, dueling invisible frustration eventually broke open both pair of lips as the stopped vibrating sound of the train revived in escalating digressing vibrato between them, in train car number four.

Behind them, train car number three was carrying some boisterous cargo. The boy’s school was on a field trip, the teacher overwhelmed. Over excited with this out of town adventure already, they started acting up now that the train had stopped. As the teacher struggled to settle them down, one jumped up and flipped her off behind her back, laughing with a boyish grin upon his face which seemed to say, 'There's thirty of us, and only one of you!'. The others laughed as she threw her hands in the air. Then she said, ‘You’re all getting E’s for the quarter if you don’t pipe down!’ knowing most of the parents would transfer them to another academy. Voices lowered quickly as they looked up to her, fear levitating in the silence. Everyone else on the train had moved to another car, now annoyed sufficiently. She’d had enough embarrassment for one day. She sat down in the back bucket seat and took out her note book, adding an exclamation point of threat to her promise... with her red pen.

Toward the front of the train, the car in line behind the conductor's was first class only. Some suits were hashing out gaming contracts. The team leader asked the digital guy, who always had opinions about the female lead, what he thought while they desperately strategized at maximizing profits spreadsheetsdatabases open on the screens. In the back of first class car seven, a couple of diplomats debated the future of domestic politics. Recent changes in global economics were in the picture books and concerns were being raised over the definitive impact of court judgeships. Royalty sat eloquently in self adornment, toward the front of this train car number seven. The princess kept to herself, taking in pertinent information whilst ruminating over her next maneuver. Religious leaders were playing poker at the tables in the middle, making bets on destiny. A silent observer quietlymeditatively left aisle to them felt condemnation for the history being discussed and walked to the back of the train car in disgust, to use the little boy's room. As fate would have it there was a line, so he went through the gangway in the front of the car for a reprise.

As the first classers worked to form the future of the world, the husband and wife continued to debate over what would come of theirs. Tete-a-tete now with lowered voices, they discussed concerns about the children. The children were sleeping in the second car from the back, soundly incubating in trance from the memory of train vibrations. Dream state happening soon as alpha waves synced with the rhythmic river flow below, they snuggled in blankets cozy comfortable. Boys were on the left and girls on the right, with good vibes all around. Husband and wife sitting two cars up were still failing to look each other in the eye. The husband had finished his sandwich, and wanted to speak with his wife in private. So they walked toward the fifth car, through the gangway stopping to a stand in the vestibule between. Face to face he could see east through the window inflecting behind him as her view gazed west through the other. The river was glowing, speaking of silence as the vacuum in the space between its water's surface and the train above began to resonate with cyan light... under the arch of the bridge. Then with clarity, they began sorting out specifics.

All the way in the back of the train, inside caboose car number one, two new lovers had the place to themselves. Having gone through a bottle of red, he walked to the dining car four to get a bottle of white. The bar was hopping, as in an almost universal boredom the passengers sought diversions. The poker game picked up and the players had partaken in jubilation, making chronic trips from their first class state to the communal dining area, then back again. They preferred their high stakes table, bringing their bottles of grape back and forth emptyfulllaughswhatever. One, two, three and so on continuing in a pattern the leaders marched. Excitement resonated in more private exchanges, as the lover boy grabbed his wine unsuspect, glasses clinking in his right hand bottle in left. He stepped through the windows of moon light cars three, two, plus one then finally into the caboose. There she was waiting. Irritated as some of the boys from the field trip had ventured into his and her privacy, she stepped behind the curtain. The less they knew the better. Seeing her, he pretended to go into the little boy’s room to the left... closing the red curtain tightly behind him, to join her stage right.

Meanwhile, a girl in the fifth car tried not to eavesdrop on the married ones assuming privacy in the vestibule. Still the silence present on the bridge made way for everyone to be heard. Wind through the trees and now faster moving water below made the only continuous sounds, other than passengers' voices and clinking glass. The girl in train car five was desperately trying to the leave the past behind. The last thing she wanted to hear were discussions about relationships. Her boyfriend had started shagging the town waitress soon after he found out his girl was thinking about leaving boardingthetrainunannounced. The waitress was full of him, and the girl's heart was now broken. She, much like the married two in the vestibule, was ready to start anew. Her ear phones failed to block out their dialog, and the comparative silence across the bridge span was already more than she could handle. She sang quietly to herself. Still the conversing of the married ones filled the air waves. Maybe it was because of the emotions attached to the words. Maybe it was the lack of emotions now attached to the words. Eventually feeling like she was invading some kind of imaginary privacy, she traveled to the next car up. 

The moon replaced the sun as dusk fell, light inflecting from high space down into the river threading through the bridge and turning to a blue glow. In the sixth car an older couple was caring for their grandchild. Almost a new born, he was wrinkly and yawny as everyone on the train was by this time. The girl hovered in the sixth car seeking respite from the sound waves resonating half way between the fourth and fifth cars. She began to query about the baby. Half asleep the old man and old woman politely shushed the girl, even though they could tell she needed to talk. Then feeling a bit guilty about it, the grandfather gave the grand baby to the grandmother. He then walked the girl toward the front of the car to appease her.

She was melancholy but not sad. The waitress thing, her boyfriend giving up and all, stuck sharply in her side. She was disappointed he took the easy way out. The old man began to explain to her that sometimes people do the wrong things for the right reasons... sometimes. He talked about how sometimes people do things in one time and place, thinking that maybe it will make sense in another. He obliged her aggravated notion with modest approval, that in fact ‘Yes, everything is personal’. He felt for the young girl, as he had seen the world change before his eyes and knew it wasn’t going to be easy for her. He almost started to cry. The sense of peace on the bridge stopped him though, as he heard the sound of the air waves below blow through the blurry banks of the river still roaring with directive. A nighttime solace seemed to have enveloped the atmosphere. It came without warning. 

Then... in a flash, the abridged solace was broken. A stark bright light, window by window, flanked across each side of the train cars 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, to 1 in one simultaneous parallel moment traveling. Dipping into the gangway vestibules, one by one, the light switched the solemn vibe of the train into one of high fidelity. Ears perked, fingers pricked, heads lifted as eyes opened wide... brightness reflecting in each person's iris. 

The conductor had failed to see it coming, distracted by his conversing with the father in the front car number eight. Radio alerts had been delayed from the mountains' interfering signals, even blocking the desperate emergency morris codes from the main station. The white noise coming through the air waves jargledradiofailedcommunication was unheard as the gangway doors automatically closed in a sequenced front to back, eight to one, passengers were immediately paralyzed in place.

A high speed train from the north was making up for lost night time, traveling at a pace like no other. Its frequencies calling to all those in its way had failed too, had failed to send communicating warning across the mountainous range. Making time was the high speed train's priority traveling through the universe like it owned the tracks, like it owned everything actually. But the tracks were meant to be shared, and the pilot was on automatic almost until the moment of impact. The pilot was autonomous. Last split second, he braked almost enough but not quite. With only split second foresight, the braking failed to be ample inhertiaofthemodern too much for the old train tracks. Passengers' wide eyes everywhere, the crash between the past the future was… Stop.

Go. No glass was broken, as virtually all the windows were already open. The gangways in-between absorbed a lot of the impact compressing with accordion folds. Still the momentum of the high speed train, although less than the speed of light, was breaking news. It was breaking new across all that which was old, past and future colliding where was the present? The bridge was narrow. The front car number eight came undone from the seventh, in a kink. Shrill squeaking wheels, twisting iron it broke free from the sixth one behind too. In a twist, momentum steered the first class car free from connectivity, counter clockwise. Then teetering obtusely it began to dance in a vertical pendulum, swinging higher in frequency with each cyclic revolution.

The poker players in the middle thought they were winners, continuing to play their cards. The suits had their cameras out thinking they could sell the footage, doubting themselves a little as the pendulum lifted in each vertical more and more. The royalty in the back now twisted right was less concerned about politics and policy as the iron scaffold of the bridge entered the view frame of the windows across the aisle. They sat with their mouths open, as usual, except now open in silence. Then the princess made a dash for the middle to save her self... heels off, on tippy toes.

Alas, her trip to the mid point amplified the pendulum tipping the car even further on its return swing down down down on the moon lit side of the bridge the arch all aglow. The religious leaders were irritated with her uninvited maneuver as she fell into their arms, skirt lifting above her waste. The suits had dropped their cameras, although still wanting to make news instead of thinking about their loved ones. The diplomats thought they were in the clear as they lifted high into the dark sky, stars in the distance. But the darkness became lighter as their view met the moon reflecting in the river below, then even darker still.

As the seventh car crossed its final last threshold of balance teetering on the west side rail iron screaming as it skimmed the edge, in a slip pulled by gravity once and for all it lost any final grip with the tracks. It was a long way down to the river below. As the mass of metal floated through the air seemingly in slow motion, but not really the passengers still safe above watched with eyes wide open like the windows.

The first classers piled to the front, canvasing from the front to back in air lift. The royals threw their hands even higher into the air. The gamers dropped their cameras, lenses and all. The religious leaders in the middle figured they would let the chips fall where they may. The game was over, and the jury was in. Her destiny won.

As the metal box met the roaring water hundreds of feet below, the splash was like white fireworks. Those sitting on the left side of the train having opened their blinds, were witnesses to the event. As car number seven hit the water, the river splash ascended into the air, moon light pragmatically magnifying through the droplets sparkling. It was a spectacle, a guilty pleasure as the passengers still on the bridge were relieved it wasn’t them. The moon shining seemed to get brighter glowing brighter. Then in the distance, from the leaved trees side lining the banks, a great field of butterflies flew unfolding folding unfolding wings sounding quietly to start. First on the left bank then on the right, they swam through the glowing sky combing into the center in a morrier pattern of moving diamonds. They illuminated all together on their own, in the light of the moon in the distance.

Living free with laws of nature their silhouette across this light shape shifted a shadow across the inflecting surface of moving water flowing too. Then shifting direction they flew through the iron arch of the bridge dead center in nature's perfection. Down to the east figuring up and around again, they carried vibration more amplified than anything close to that of the train that once moved with fever along the tracks. Windows all open, it was a sight to see. 

Caboose in tact, the lovers in the bathroom kept on with their own twist of things noticing only a jolt. The children in the sleeping car shifted around in their beds, waking only for less than seconds at a time in time. The dreaming was suiting them well as the train ride had soothed their insides. The boys in the third car, already terrorized by the teacher sat frozen watching the butterflies shape shift across the window views windows still open. The husband and wife in the vestibule embraced lightly then tightly. They had decided to stay in their home town and extricate themselves from their old circle of undesirable onlookers. The fifth car was empty, nothing but a humming sound from the bridge still vibrating from impact, kind of like the soft song the girl sang alone along with her headphones. But she wasn't there. She was still in the next car up. 

From the interior of train car six, the girl looked out the window and saw the river was now flowing right to left. It was amazing. The old couple and new born were a bit shaken but okay. Car seven was now invisible, whereabouts unknown to the others. But the eighth car contained a different story, told a different story. At the moment of impact white puffs of dust poufed through the windows. Almost like smoke, they lingered for a moment shaping a surrounding cloud of confusion around and above the train car still. The moon lit up the dusty signature all aglow, as it began to evaporate. The butterflies were flying through it threading seamlessly like it wasn’t even present floating, field of wings disappearing then reappearing again in the clear sky beyond. Then catching the eye of the girl, the butterflies traced her line of sight to car eight barely visible through the translucent cloud of air... as she thought about the conductor within.

She jumped the tracks and ran for the vestibule as direct as her line of sight... point A to point B, shortest distance possible. The glow of the moon to the left reflected below into the river flowing a now unrecordable sense of distance below. She glanced to the right, only seeing darkness as her memory from the day time filled in the mirror blanks of the panorama during day time. She remembered the view to the right, as the same as to the left. It didn't matter which way the river was flowing, they were pretty much the same. She almost froze on the tracks, in her tracks, to absorb the dusty air as it began to lift sensing the butterflies flying in the moonlight from the corner of her eye lifting with it. But she didn’t freeze in any tracks at all. She kept running, climbing skippityhiphopjumping through the predecessor's gangway into car eight. And as she stepped one step two up into the vestibule with arms bracing wide, she this time did stop dead in her tracks.

Her awe was ten fold the experience on the train tracks just a few moments before. It was as if the eighth car had traveled through time. The eighth car traveled through time, while the rest of the train stood present. The front car seats were empty, not even dust lingering on the insides. Not even suitcases in compartments, or imprints in the seat backs were slightly visible. Not even remnants of human beings were visible... except one. Hearing a grumbling sound, she steered her gaze downward.

There the conductor was, face first flat on the floor. He was alive, but not kicking. She really was surprised. She had figured he was dead at the head of the car, crushed unrecognizably by the force of the modern train movement. It looked to her as if he was in tact, enough. Brief moments before the crash he had decided to check on the eighth car passengers. He had relocated himself from the conductor's traditional pole position to the passenger area, setting his train on autopilot too.

He had been talking to an old man in the front row, who was feeling tormented by his relationship with his daughter. He was afraid he would never see her again, and the conductor unknowing, was offering peace of mind. Then as the bright lights flashed, an abrupt halt ended their therapeutic negotiation of a conversation. The young conductor had been standing between the rows of seats while talking. At the moment of collision he was thrust all the way down the aisle. He was thrown down the aisle upon impact and landed face down hitting his head on the corner of the gangway door, where there he lay. Then she reached down taking his hand. As she lifted him to a stand she said, ‘Do ya think they’re in a better place?’ He brushed off his pants, looked her in the eye and said... 'I do.'