What is the air here. What is the powerful air of wholeness, to some a frenetic frantic blanket of distraction, to some a laser powered focussed source of pure energy, to others a constant reliable system of movement where the dedication to the lifestyle yields what the foot steps produce. The nights walking back down Montrose avenue from the station are majestic even in this melting pot of the new and old and the everything in between neighborhood. Even with its trash strewn streets and its sense of layered populations all streaming around cutting pathways through time it is majestic. In New York City majestic does not have to be the house on the hill, it does not have to be the top floor apartment with the elevator that opens up to it. It can be something as simple as a well built window overlooking the street, cracked to let the cold air of the empire of movement in to balance the steam from the radiator in its glowing hot inner fire. Bikers from historic clubs and store owners serving Boars Head Meats are as majestic as wall street mercenaries and museum curators. The footsteps hear become the soundtrack, the horns their own section, the conversations like an ambient synth of blurred information all reaching light years out through technology into the cosmos for far away cultures to consider and deconstruct for centuries in their own majestic metropolises however they may look. The neon signs of noodle bowls and 99 cent ATM placards that sway in the wind hold their positions in their offering of direction and possibility to anyone from any walk of life. The streets continue to swarm with their own magnetism as the currents of energy that course through them shuttle ideas and innovation, broken dreams and successful visions along their path like a giant river of time vibrating in fullness for anyone with a desire for motion to step foot in.
