Junkspace

If you want the perfect illustration of whatever Rem Koolhaas means by Junkspace, take a fight from London City Airport. The process is exquisite, mesmerically smooth, the machine has perfected itself, Molloch has perfected itself (you can check in thirty minutes before you fly). The walls have moved since you were last there, and you are only moving slightly faster, they are probably all held together by jointing tape, but then again so are you (whatever it takes) but everything is perfect to create another 'Trattoria Bar Cafe' or four (whose counting). While the business men and women in suits (with polka dot accents and smart glasses and perfect hair) sit at their laptops drinking latte doing no doubt unspeakable deals for a system none of us understands in their spare three minutes, two heavy duty guys in full metal jackets brandishing serious semi automatic weapons order their full english breakfasts. This is us all in it together.

Here, form and content, the building doing what it does, the people in it doing what they do, merge in a perfect harmony. The perfect illustration of our age. I just wanted pictures of ice melting and refugees on the TV screens.