I sometimes wonder what the world would be like if architecture was animal (not of the Frank Gehry variety), only to remind myself that there are animals on this Earth which are large enough to inhabit. The Blue Whale can measure up to 105 feet in length, and is said to be the largest creature the world has ever known (this includes dinosaurs). The heart alone of a blue whale is the size of a Volkswagon Beetle and its aorta is large enough for a person to crawl through. Due to their gigantic size, whales are the source of many literary mythologies involving the human habitation of beast. In the Bible, Jonas is saved after being swallowed by a whale, inside which he spends three days and three nights before being vomited out safely. In Disney’s 1940 film Pinocchio, Gepetto gets trapped in the belly of a whale while trying to locate his son. They are freed from the whale by lighting a fire in the beast, causing it to sneeze them out of its gaping mouth.

While inhabiting an animal seems plausible to me given the scale of the Blue Whale, I do still wonder about the practicality (my assumption being that the whale would have to remain alive for me to inhabit it). I imagine nailing picture frames to the soft and sticky walls only to have the punctures gush out blood onto my new living-room furniture, getting creeped out by the constant sound of breathing somewhere above my head as I sleep, and the perpetual sea sickness of a home in motion.

E. Sean Bailey

Ode To A Prada Sock

Nobody notices you but me. Sound passes through your voluminous folds and weaves, your dull hum lulling shoppers. Your seductive form, which hangs limp, longs to be touched, but is out of reach. What can one do when denied the comfort of a sock?

Erandi de Silva

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