Lobby has the allure of big city America. Cinemas are crowded with elaborate men and lippy women. Politicians fight in corners like it’s their hobby. The tremendous sounds are all human. Lobby and foyer are synonyms, but are they the same? Foyer is more European. We may linger there, waiting for a friend. Foyer waves like quiet fire. We find ourselves there sometime in May, say a Wednesday or Thursday, hearing whispers, needing to be somewhere else, publicly reading our private text messages, out of the weather. Vestibule never caught on. It’s a bit like anteroom, somewhere for inappropriate furniture.
Wednesday, 27 May 2015
Kick the plate out of place and the earth opens up. Gaze into darkness with concern not to fall. Slip down into that darkness with one eye on the sky. Notice a few May leaves blow over the oculus, a glint a plane in sunlight. Follow wires along passages rife with modern feelings, life sentences. Descend via tunnels where pipes pour into underground rivers. Start remembering childhood ins-and-outs, home a given. Come to vault doors leading to other doors, like scenes in a film. Detect cold dripping walls of ancient rainfalls. Wonder how far down it goes before the fires.
Monday, 25 May 2015
Site under deconstruction. Brickwork unpieced, foundations smashed down. Patterns of fashion reduced, a consumer ruin, to earthen squares crossed with bulldozer tracks, rubble mere blips on the surface. Leave the tabula rasa to archaeologists, bomb disposal units. These full-stops find definition in the rain. Site under construction. Defenceless land is fenced off, in weeks will be hives of brickmen, or a skyscraper hole. Open space goes to rio, a horizontal-vertical omniverse of grid. Completion date: next May. Only there’s roll-out, overheads, downloads, weather. Fashion requires imported patterns. Hardhats show every day but deadline races against skyline, the next big thing.