So, we get our hands on a few of these Kitahaus dealios, one for each of us. Get DARPA, actually, to hotrod them with heavy-duty flexible suspension kits. Make the stock model stilts on these things more like self-retractable spring-loaded robotic legs, or something, super bugged-like so that we can bounce around, crawl over crazy shit, or just tuck them in and roll when we have to. We stock ‘em full of essentials: Spanish wines, pistachios, fishing poles, a bag of carrots and apples for the juice bar, small freezers full of ice creams, five different cameras with eight or nine different lenses, an mp3 recorder, satellite dish, some night vision telescopes, assorted atlases, notebooks, sketch pads, libraries of music, blank cd’s, some synchronized headphones, my favorite pair of hiking grippers, and all of Vollmann’s Seven Dreams: A Book of North American Landscapes. And, of course, our laptops.
We set off on an adventurous spree of silly investigations, a li’l podular archisquad of intrepid bloggers on the move, hitting up secret sequels to Pruned’s self-replicating camouflaged landscapes, Bouphonia’s survey of the Great Lakes soon to be militarized and lead astray, and find an odd geomorphic impostor of BLDGBLOG’s Antarctic underground sphere-cathedral unearthing in a Utah canyon hymning in the wind. We tread lightly over the smuggler tunnels along the US/Mexico border so Subtopia can tickle its strange obsession with observing improvised migratory landscapes, and spend most of the time generally retracing the backroads of CSP’s Indian country to produce a road trip film about reverse-tracing the history and retrospective geography of Manifest Destiny. Eventually, we find a nice little spot to kick it on Javski’s re-envisioned post-militarized Vieques island utopia, editing and polishing in our mobile studios, sipping sugared drinks and soaking up dank sounds of the tropical forest until it's done; the first of many, each summer we drop out and meet up for some cross-country pod-hoppin' to decode different radical landscapes combing the CLUI-fringes, chasing film adventures, staging flitting moments of architectural protest, leaving photographic entrails and scrolling crazy stories in our suped-up pod-pusher trails; like an avant garde highway sign project suggesting subtle tours of the military's gun-belt, maps left in pit-stop diner menus of hidden government real-estates, or, perhaps directions to the nation's immigration detention archipelago; maybe we drop off a bunch of brochures in hotel lobbies advertising beautiful tourist trail-getaways leading to botched corporate disaster-scapes instead, filed away in the middle of nowhere.
Anyway, the Kitahaus website just went down, not sure what's up. So, needless to say, all this may have to wait. Oh well, I'm such a wannabe, anyway. Later.
(Kitahaus was spotted at Gizmag).