Junkspace is what remaines after modernization has run its course, or, more precisely, what coagulates while modernization is in progress, its fallout.

Although its individual parts are the outcome of brilliant inventions, lucidly planned by humane intelligence, boosted by infinite computation, their sum spells the end of Enlightenment, its resurrection as farce, a low-grade purgatory … Junkspace is the sum total of our current achievment; we have built more than did all previous generations put together, but somehow we do not register on the same scales.

Junkspace seems an aberration, but is the essence, the main thing … the product of an encounter between escalator and air-conditioning, conceived in an incubator of Sheetrock (all three missing from the history books).

Junkspace is the body double of space, a territory of impaired vision, limited expectation, reduced earnestness.

Junkspace does not pretend to create perfection, only interest.

Junkspace thrives on design, but design dies in Junkspace. There is no form, only proliferation … Regurgitation is the new creativity; instead of creation, we honor, cherish, and embrace manipulation.

As the module becomes smaller and smaller, its status become that of crypto-pixel.

Instead of trying to wrest order from chaos, the pituresque is now wrested from the homogenized, the singular liberated from the standardized … Architects thought of Junkspace first and named it Megastructure, the final solution to transcend their huge impasse.

While whole millennia worked in favor of permanence, axialities, relationships, and proportion, the program of Junkspace is escalation.

Change has been derived from the idea of improvement.

Junkspace can either be absolutely chaotic or frighteningly aseptic—like a best-seller—overdetermined and indetermined at the same time.

Junkspace is a web without a spider; although it is an architecture of the masses, each trajectory is strictly unique. Its anarchy is one of the last tangible ways in which we experience freedom.

Traffic is Junkspace, from airspace to subway; the entire highway system is Junkspace, a vast potential utopia clogged by its users, as you notice when they’ve finally disappeared on vacation …

Because Junkspace is endless, it is never closed …

Junkspace is postexistential; it makes you uncertain where you are, obscures where you go, undoes where you were.

JunkSignature™ is the new architecture: the former megalomania of a profession contracted to manageable size, Junkspace minus its saving vulgarity.

Junkspace will be our tomb. Half of mankind pollutes to produce, the other pollutes to consume.

Junkspace is political: It depends on the central removal of the critical faculty in the name of comfort and pleasure.

Junkspace knows all your emotions, all your desires.

It sponsores a collective of brooding consumers in surely anticipation of their next spend, a mass of refractory periods caught in a Thousand Year Reign of Razzmatazz, a paroxysm of prosperity.

Junkspace reduces what is urban to urbanity … Instead of public life, Public Space™: what remains of the city once the unpredictable has been removed …

On its triumphal march as content provider, art extends far beyond the museum’s ever-increasing boundaries. Outside, in the real world, the “art planner” spreads Junkspace’s fundamental incoherence by assigning defunct mythologies to residual surfaces and plotting three-dimensional works in leftover emptiness.