This is the sort of pretentious and impenetrable claptrap of buzzwords and five-dollar phrases spewed by architects with giant egos and tiny peepees. Spoken by autoerotic dimwits who value their own vague and amorphous notions about design and building despite their usual inability to accomplish real projects with real clients, real budgets and schedules and real problems to be solved. Language used to bludgeon others to submission. Often associated with architecture professors or their lovers.
Jane: I went out with this architect last night.
Mary: How'd it go?
Jane: Gawd-awful. He was the most boring, self-absorbed asshole I've ever wasted three hours over.
Mary: Why? What happened?
Jane: First, it was like he had a different word for everything...like he was fucking French or something. He starts right up with the talkitecture: he flicked the butt of his Galoises out the Bimmer window and said he "defenestrated" it. We go to some weird-ass afri-vegan shithole downtown, telling me that the "parti" for our date was "living sustainability". He spends two hours making love to the interior design of the place. Looked like a third-world ghetto to me...dirt colored walls with rusty ceiling panels and creaky, beat-up furniture, old forks and knives, cracked lights and used glasses and plates. Everything was dirty...I could tell, even though the lighting was so dim I could barely see to order that nasty joloff and foofoo. When it came, the plates were dirty...he said it was because they "employed low-water use technologies" in their "ontological back-of-house operations schemata".
Mary: Holy shit, what a douche.
Jane: Ah, yeah. After I got stomach cramps from the beriberi-laced yams, I asked him to please drive me home. He was pissed that I disturbed the "anthropomorphic flow-diagram" that he had sketched out for the evening and that this would affect the "metrics" of our date.
Mary: Freakshow wanted some action, right?
Jane: Yeah, right...not gonna happen.
Mary: You're not going to see him again.
Jane: No, but I think he will become a stalker. He referred to the Italian Cypress trees in my neighborhood as "phallic". I think he probably meant "I wish i had a big schlong like Frank LLoyd Wright". I gotta buy some mace; see ya later, Mary.