Can I speak to the Architect?

The world is a silly place at the moment, with an over-inflated orange sock puppet stealing the airwaves far too much at present, so I thought I would have a post about something else – like a musical interlude. What could go wrong if we have a brief look at the Emmys? Grammys? Oscars? Silver Scrolls? After all, one of the songs was called “The Architect”, by some young lady I’ve never heard of, in a music genre I never listen to. But first, of course, there is the red carpet, where gentlemen and gentlewomen of grace and distinction saunter along, in decorous dress and fine suits, posing for photos demurely, and… Oh My Gawwwwd, what the heck is happening now?!?!

Kanye – formerly Ye – formerly Kanye – maybe now he is just Kan, or Ken, or perhaps Kevin, appeared with his latest subjugated wife, some poor deluded wench who turned up completely starkers on the red carpet. Nothing wrong with being naked of course, but it is more usual at the beach than in the centre of Los Angeles (is that where the Emmys are? or the Grammys? – who knows? who cares?), and I know it must be hot there, because the city has been burning for the last three weeks. She was, as they say, without her foundations. Maximum cantilever action on the balcony, great set of eaves, which should help with the waterproofing and overheating, but shall we say, sans pantilons. Not sure if there is a soffit in place, but the fascia looks like it needs a repaint. Still – despite she having been defrocked and plucked like a chicken – naturally, not a sign of any body hair (a great pity – I like a good fluffy minge), and looking more like a plastic Barbie with no genitals (although still with nipples), this female human (i hesitate to use the word lady) is apparently an architect. Bianca Censori, a made-up name if I ever heard one, is allegedly an architect from Australia, but apparently she has had a great boob job and basically loves getting the girls out to play, appearing semi-naked much of the time. I wonder what it was that drew Kevin to her? Must be her… massive talents. I’m pretty certain that if I was to appear naked in public, I would be arrested and then stripped of any remaining shreds of dignity by being removed from a list of architects by NZRAB and NZIA. We have a Code of Ethics, don’t we? Has anyone read it lately? What does it say about appearing naked in public?

Moving on swiftly, as Kevin and lady white wash did, there was the usual parade of badly dressed people vainly trying to stand out from the other fuckwits on stage, like little Willie here, who also was sporting an architectural theme, for unknown reasons; or Teddy Swims, shown here with his partner Raiche Wright, he of course dressing as King Henry VIII in some period drama in his mind, sporting early onset Post-Malone graffiti scribbling, a fatal disease that also affects the fascia.

And then, the awards. Never knowingly heard of a single of the winning songs, as they are appealing to a different age group – or perhaps appealing to a completely different species than me – but I was delighted to hear that someone called Kasey Musgraves had won Best Country Song with a delightfully sacharine concoction called “The Architect”.

And despite appearances, at least that one is Safe For Work. But the lyrics! She really is singing about an architect. THE Architect. Says he made an Apple. Steve Jobs then? No, THE Architect, you know…. “Even something as small as an apple, it’s simple and somehow complex, sweet and divine, the perfect design, can I speak to the Architect…?” and yes, suspicions confirmed, she is talking about the Architect as God. Of course she is, we often get clients who muddle that up. They did that in the Matrix too, didn’t they?

Following on from the Brutalist review, we all just know that Clients love it when an Architect thinks that they are God, goes down a treat every time… when of course we all know that the Architect goes down on the Client…