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March 10, 2021 - A fortress ––– nearly underground ––– runs between Hudson Yards and West Forty-first Street. by Jordan Myers

A fortress –––– nearly underground ––– runs between Hudson Yards and West Forty-First Street; where multiple forms and aspects of the city exist on top of each other: The Javitz Center; hotels (economy and luxury); Michael J. Quill’s bus depot; condos; mechanics’ garages, tire repair spots, and body shops; as well as free-standing walk-up buildings, which hold steady and strong above the far west side.

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March 8, 2021 - Horizontal skylines of memories have everything to do with timeliness that have been called forth. by Jordan Myers

Horizontal skylines of memories have everything to do with timelines that have been called forth. Visions, which were once conflated with the sound of traffic moving south down Ninth Avenue, have resurfaced in the earliest morning hours, of late. Preparations for the returning emergence of the city’s rhythm and energy have recently descended upon Manhattan, in spurts. Only a well-trained heartbeat can detect these spurts, though if one stands still and remains quiet for long enough, these spurts will become obvious. Even video montages, which were once dismissed as camp, have gained notoriety and reverence for their mere existence, over these last few months. And by way of the arrival of these energetic portals, a gratitude is being expressed, merely for the distance that this city has travelled.

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March 7, 2021 by Jordan Myers

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Waiting beneath the signs / one Sunday evening

the whole summer collapsed into a dueling skyline:

an oasis of memories & light sounds
of July, forever

mornings awash with full breath moments of clarity

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March 5, 2021 - From Issue No. 8 - 2020 - “My nails are the same color as your sweater.” by Jordan Myers

March 13, 2020

The final days of pre-covid Manhattan-living had come and gone. The subways were empty and there was a noticeable amount of sadness and sorrow in the air. Coupled with the forlorn feeling of seeing street corners that were packed with life and activity just a week before, now wholly abandoned and silenced, the entire city was in a dark place.

Despite this, over lunch on March 13th, 2020, I sat on a park bench on Varick Street, and felt a small glimpse of one of those quiet and calming New York moments –––– when strangers speak to each other in passing, not saying very much, but making a real difference in each others’ lives all the same.

_________

I sit on a silver bench at the corner of Varick and Charlton. A woman delivering mail for the U.S. Postal Service walks by, pushing a dolly, north along Varick. She lifts the back of her right hand toward me. “My nails are the same color as your sweater,” she says and smiles, waves, then continues walking by.

_________

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March 1, 2021 - From our archives, from January 3, 2020. by Jordan Myers

This morning I walked from Fiftieth Street down to Sixth Avenue and Spring; the city was recovering from a New Year’s hangover. I needed to move; I needed to feel the air in my lungs. I walked by B&H at Thirty-fourth and Ninth, though just before crossing Thirty-fourth I looked west, where the landscape drops down toward the Hudson; and in the great distance and amongst the fog and clouds of the morning, the end of the street looked like the end of the world.

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February 26, 2021 - All the signs from the harbor at the end of the island / that I showed you were real. by Jordan Myers

All the signs from the harbor at the end of the island
that I showed you were real. We had to wait until April
before the night’s skyline was clear enough to see across
the ocean. Spring had this way of arriving, slow, steady,
then all at once the sun would find its place in the morning
sky. We needed the wind; we needed the new leaves of May.
And even if the island city was a mirage, we needed the harbor.

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