Amazing things happen when corporate ambitions take on a global cause.
It builds up as an event only the weight of corporate money can buy
and happens with the smoothness of swiss machinery, punctuated
by the impact of carefully scored press releases. And as the studied
import of the cause gains momentum and begins to crest, societal
identification of that shared cause with its corporate sponsor unites,
and the corporation becomes valued less for its skill in corporate
marketing than for its adoption and championing of a noble fight.
Mr. Greenpeace, we have a problem.
It begins with a concrete vault of an moongate which empties one
into a vast hardsurfaced carport, surrounded by cement toruses with
little punctures one might find hard to call windows. The huge concrete
tongues for roofs drip all around, their lack of proportion or structural
sense only matched by the waste with which material was spent in their
making, capped by a silver fez of metal above to hide the energy eating
services casually stuck on top as an afterthought. And over the once
quiet hillside to the north, a concrete ramp of room pretzels its way
over the slope, its guppy mouth of a window burping the contents of
last years profits over its neighbours in a final salute to the greening of
the environment.
This must all bite hard. Then again, isnt that just the inconvenient truth.