the Narcissist laments;

Residential apartment buildings increasingly offer places for them, but not yet for us. Just because something is common and well known, doesn't mean these things can be weighed equally. The plodding nature of the predictable apartment building, disappointing and instantly forgettable at the same time, provides a convenient home for them, but for the narcissist there is so much more it leaves undone. While corruption, political donations and privilege have conveniently provided a vehicle for the few to earn obscene amounts of cash developing them, for the narcissist their generic contributions provides a point of reference only - equality is for others.  In a post-truth world, where wealth corrupt politics, science is a myth, and territory is marked out like a dog lifts its leg, the narcissist’s intrigue with the city remains interested, but not as obvious as it deserves to be.

Architecture already pampers the narcissist, so why are we so reluctant to follow its arrow? 

Unnamed, this residential apartment building is a place for the few.  More of a weapon than a place to live, its shadow lies under hills and empty places it fills.  Rooms collect views of the outside as conquered lands, while the labour of a thousand tiny hands has pressed its metal skin to soften it against the sun, only for moonlight to reveal their names.  Places for degustation, bathing, servants, slaves and abuse abound, in rooms with renders limed from polar bears and the rarest of metals, provided in the hope they might dissolve any insecurities the day has thrown up. 

remember;

it’s not privilege if you were born that way,

it’s not hedonism if it's just the way you are,

it’s not fascism if it’s just how you think,

and it’s not narcissism if you’ve deserved it all along.

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Stations of the Street