an epic affair or better known as the story of an ego run amok.... from ash dump in queens, new york to the sight of man's triumph... moses tackled one world's fair, why not another. johnson's technicolor circus spaceship has landed. With Warhol's portraits of criminals nixed by moses himself. warhol as an emblem of the strain between the vernacular, the public, and perception. what was it that I was dreaming anyhow? of the 60s? who am I again? isn't this whole architecture thing just fashion anyway? the pavilion crumbles under the weight of time's passage. i've always wondered who the third man was... a modern day pot-boiler for sure. Is it safe? structurally I mean of course... and what's this map? a road map... to where? to a derive they say, a derive! for it's a cult of personality after all. why not try to reach the informal landscape through the rigid geometry. and a labyrinth of possibilities within the plan. to decompose the solid that is. it's the aura after all. the mystique, a reflection of what was but that can never be again. now what do you see in the pool? your reflection, the buildings? time? and what road will you take? can the map tell you... it's a marker of the present without the past... what was there cannot return, so instead cast your wishes into the void.