all of architecture are but tracings from the blueprints of the universe. the careful designs of a humanity which aches to decode, through the reconstruction of the skies, its own passage into the secrets of the stars.
the slow burn of infant stars thrum through the multiverses into the designs of the renaissance. observe: the spatial poetries echoing the the immaculate conceptions of supernovae whose of an era who clarion call was that of rebirthing the best of humanity.
pay attention, and sing the hymns of symmetry, proportion and geometry as they are preached like a religion, patterns sought to be imposed upon the fabric of reality, which the 2770 seemingly defies with apocalyptic chaos one first presumes necessary to birth from a galaxy stars which burn to bright to last for long.
but tessellate the divine order of the renaissance structures upon this defiant galaxy, note: the hidden patterns incarnate within the dancing elemental motes, their strictly exultant waltzes across ballrooms of celestial spheres lit with chandeliers of restless dust and debris, watch as they gasp and fuse into combinations unthinkable semiseconds ago.
don’t startle when you realize how like these patterns are to the indecipherable orbits of pigeons across the domes of the renaissance cities, movements embedded in codes too ancient to fully comprehend.
because the designs of the renaissance are schroedinger’s gifts of rebirth: scriptures to exultant cultures of creation which humanity has sung since the beginning of time, and which is celebrated in every arch in this era of architecture. buildings built as the centers of their own universes, echos of the self-sculpting 2770 - which, every few centuries of so, flings dares into the unfathomable abysses of the universe, with bubbles of light that burst into interstellar explosions that stab like the era’s forest fires of creative energy that sparks the formerly free-falling mankind back into existence, a bright white light against the timeline of history.
the old order, then: spiraling into white hot moral centers that explodeinto glorious new domes from the rubble of eloquent ruins of colosseums past, that arch through the linear homages of the renaissance.
see for yourself: the altars of the divine in pure unbridled science: the crossroads of the ineffable and the brutally rational, bursting through triumphal arches to light michelangelo’s piazzas, tracing the familiar ornate spirals, engraved from the lit vacuum of the skies.
do you dare, then, prostrate yourself at the cathedral of the stars?