Less color than geometry.

More color than geometry.

Old re-construction vs. new construction.

Labyrinths unfold in the name of petros.

Newspapers from WWI glued on the wall, outside in the garden of a private house.

550 BC site is built over a sienna colored grassland encompassed from every angle by distant mountains. Ruin-clusters are located at different coordinates and are only accessible by driving to each. Through the guarded entrance, stones to the left casually on display near the WCs, ramp down to road leads to a large animal footprint (canine?).

The unexciting tomb is under construction, there is a ladder at the back up to the secret section, contemplate climbing but a guard is sitting on a small chair in the middle of the open landscape 15 feet from the tomb, pebble stones crush under foot. Inside enclosed wall area a decrepit stone house-like structure stands with open window views at the back framing picture-perfect grasslands scenes, small pink flowered weed on path, stones of every size fill the ground, column parts, one tombstone slab - one!. To the next site, first two columns with strange fake-looking hieroglyphic writing, more decapitated columns spaced out with precision, mind tries to build and volumize the ancient building, cobalt that looks black.

Walking on the ceremonial slabs, podium in center, only guards and driver, the lower quarter of a dagon bias, carved fins beg to be looked at, walking along the grassland road, dead frog run over by a vehicle, separate shrine for an engraving of a human figure with two snakes and sun disks at the top of his head and four wings, shaded for protection, surrounded by mud and straw. A perspective extension of one side of the tower is looming as a mechanical Lamassu from the distance, ancient astronaut symbols carved in the stone along with Arabic text, foreign couple in a taxi arrive from out of nowhere both in army green, her jacket is short and she is wearing a burgundy and white keffiyeh scarf, she says, “Hello.” -“Hi.” Down the end of the road, park the car across from the garishly decorated bus (similar in type to the one on the road to Cappadocia), hike up the steep hill to the structure made of old blocks that look new, further to the top, standing at the edge of the block on the corner of the structure, hold my feet in place not to mis-step or I will fall 50 feet… the view of the mountains, a horticultural meshwork of crop lines, paths and grids and raised grounds spread out in all directions.

Main Hall of mirrors in a private quarter: an exquisite machine producing dissociative identity disorder all day and night, a katoptronic horror.

Ancient City. Hundreds of thousands of ancient broken pottery pieces blanket the ancient city just waiting for people to collect them.

Gardens are hidden within tall brick walls, old usually in some state of decay, pattern work created by brick placement and repeating arches along with the aged color create a sense of soothing enclosure. Walk through the small the unimposing entry door, traverse through low ceiling tunnels to find the garden. Colorful plants and vigorous ivy, flowers such as zinnia and roses in many colors and classifications, palm trees and fruit trees (orange, sour orange, date plum), many species unknown to me. The rectangular garden is laid out symmetrically; a long water bed runs vertically through the center, parallel rows of trees and paths draw guests toward the main house at the far end. A pool located at the center in front of the house with flower beds on each side can be seen below when standing in the open columned hall with mirrors.

In the center of town along the shady gold-alley stretch an old structure of intertwining wood and bricks holding its own between the new construction.