Perhaps it might be because he has been "homeless", in the psychological sense, for a while that he likes looking at designs of houses (and homes when those they are meant for live in them) in expensive architecture books. And by looking, he sees his notions of a house (and a home) coalescing around certain features and themes. First, it should be by a sea or a body of water. Second, it should be built out of earth, wood, and stone. Third, the walls should be pierced with pieces of colored glass so that the room resembles a kaleidoscope. Four, there has be a courtyard the middle of the house with a fish pond, perhaps, filled with koi. Five, it should be unusual in shape, i.e., curvy and non-linear. Six, the highest point of the house (he is assuming it is on many levels, perhaps on a hillside) should have a circular library. Which will also have a bed or a hammock. There must be niches for junk collected from sea - and more generally guest-objects from the outside world, such as bottles, shells, driftwood, coral etc. There must be a tall stand of trees close by. Some of these should be beeches and elms. One of the windows should open to a balcony which is at the same level as a ginko in autumn. There must be a table, which is a sawed-through section of a great tree, planed and glossed, so that with food, a conciousness of time can also be eaten. There should be a sandbox too, somewhere in a garden of wildflowers and grasses. This is for both children and himself. There should be a door that doesn't open. And a large brass bell that is rung to summon him, or just because.

...

Some houses you many consider looking at: Bruce Goff's "Ford House" Mickey Muennig's Big Sur Houses Laurie Baker's "Hamlet" Geoffrey Bawa's "Bawa House"

After a day spent doing nothing, a run through the shivering dark. Under halogen light, the last of the leaves appear like pointillistic dots on the sculptural tree branches. Chapped lips begin to hurt. Later, lines of ichor will appear in front of the mirror as aftershave is daubed over them. Heart rarely believes in its dumb luck anymore. Why should it anyway? The self is to be blamed for the heart is nothing more than an animal, even if it is sometimes a strange species to others, and to itself. It should live in paintings, and not in these real landscapes with changing weathers. Must teach the self to give it away, again piece by piece. It is better to live among a ruin of a ribcage than with it, hooting and whistling and bubbling, another Chernobyl waiting to happen.

[1] Yann Arthus-Bertrand's "Earth From Above" photos: I have been mesmerized by these ever since I borrowed his book from an Atlanta public library few years ago, for the man seems to hover around the planet like some migrating bird capturing these stunning painterly vistas

[2] Bldg Blog: possibly the best literary architecture blog there is. The latest post over there happens to be on photographs of ruins of a castle on an island - very interesting in the light of the architectural work, Vito Acconci's Mur Island, which J presented at Booknight at Y's house, incidentally on another isle, that of Brooklyn, last evening.