An organism that grows by addition, coupling, and improvisation — like an urban coral.








These doorways without stairs, shown precisely in the video, are the horizon of becoming for the houses. They are doors to the future.
In favelas and informal settlements, construction is never “finished”: it pulses in rhythm with needs and material possibilities.
The resident builds the first floor; later, when money allows, the second; when the child grows up, the third.
And that suspended door is the sign of possible continuity — it waits for the staircase, the tenant, the new floor, the new body that will come to live there.
Often, as the video sequence shows, there are spiral staircases inside or metal ones outside that connect the modules, but the front doors are reserved for moving furniture, appliances, or for the future attachment of another module.
It is a fractal, rhizomatic architecture, built from the inside out, where each cell maintains its own autonomy of expansion.
It breathes what Haraway would call making-with, but here transfigured — rooted in clay, cement, recycled iron beams, in electric wires that are also lines of language.
The word “sympoietic” sets the tone for collaboration not only among humans, but between matter, gravity, desire, and time.
These constructions — from slab to slab, from dream to dream — are urban bodies building one another, breathing the same compressed air of survival and invention.
Nothing in them is static: the plaster speaks, the brick is a verb.
They are architectures that grow in relation, without final plan, without blueprint, guided by necessity, improvisation, and an intuitive sense of cosmic balance.


In the gesture of leaving the blogs as they are — each with its own language, texture, and domain — there is the same constructive ethic:
not merging, but interlinking; not uniformity, but the recognition of uneven growth as a living form.
As in the houses on the hill, each blog is a layer, a slab, a door open to the next fold.
The new blog — Celestial Spheres — is the terrace, the upper plane where connections become visible, and where cords (links) tie the ensemble together.
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