If I were an architect, art
historian, interior design-
er, or such as I am, pedes-
trian subscriber to affable
standards of taste, I would
with these confrères, flood
the intersection of 52nd at
Park with cans of paint and
brushes flying, daubing the
letter Z as everyone partic-
icipating in humanity meant
to do in Athens, at the end
of Costa-Gavras' 1969 movie
of the name: il est vivant.
Le Tricorne est mort enfin,
chez Mies, mais l'on éxulte
pour sa vie.
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