Thursday, April 22, 2004

So I was sitting here... my desk. Nothing extraordinary, except the weather. Sunshine pouring through windows, into my veins. Better yet, keystrokes falling like the pitter patter of raindrops smearing on the windshield of my brain. Such a fine, fine afternoon, no gloom, thinking of Howard Roark and "The Fountainhead" as the 1920's buildings squat to the sky outside my window. Ornamentation on the facades, gothic and columnnades, other forms in between on the grid and columns piling up to the rootop water towers sometimes still in use. I can see these buildings jutting straight out of the pages of Ayn Rand's novel, thinking of an architect of that period trying modernism against the world with this sort of construction going on. What a wandering brain.
That's about it, really, today. I created a presentation for a couple of people to see and have decided to leave work early. Which means that I need to end this elegant blog. Stream of consciousness, looking straight pass the rooftops of jazz age buildings down Park Avenue South below, falling down into Union Square and the subway lines running like veins through the city. People as bloodrops rushing in and out of subway cars, full of life, to give this city color and life and all that blood can give a body. When the people stop, that's when New York City no longer exists. But subways always run, people always pass, buildings sometimes remain while people pass in and out and around and down and up. Always up in the end because everyone would like to go there anyway - not sitting here...
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