I stopped because I began to hate it, but it looks okay. Feel free to take a look. It’s not done, but what’s here is coherent.
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During the chilly winter night of February 11, from around 11pm until 2:30am the next day, I made the trek, courtesy of a good old-fashioned pair of legs, from my sister’s home in Ville St Laurent (around Cote-Vertu metro, to be precise) to my humble dwelling on Villeneuve Ouest in the historic Mile-End of Montreal.
It was not my intention to do so originally. Upon leaving my sister’s, I felt the nagging urge to take a long walk, a prolonged shuffling of the feet that relaxes mind and body. I have always loved to walk. I use it as a form of positive catharsis, whereby I think about all the things I feel I must, whereby I explore the depths of my own mind, the logical patterns that I consciously or unconsciously create within myself, what I must do if I am to become what I would consider “successful,” and so on. I think of people influential within my sphere of existence, of the culture around me of which I am a part, of other cultures, of the world as a whole, of the universe. I am thinking this all the while moving my feet at a pleasant pace, slow enough so as to not be particularly physically straining, but fast enough so as to fulfill my youthful need to expend my energies, especially important when one is not expending them elsewhere.
Walking is not the most efficient way to explore the city, but it is certainly the most intimate. When cycling or driving, one is too distracted by the sheer speed of the whole affair. There exists a very real possibility that a lack of focus on the individuals operating around you, mixed with the speed at which you are personally operating, will combine to bring about serious injury and death. Public transportation is an altogether different animal. Riding in a metal beast, disconnected from the outdoors by safety glass; one feels a certain alienation from their surroundings. It originates from the physical separation between those on the outside and those on the inside, from the fact that what is outside cannot currently be accessed as a result of the restrictions placed upon you by form and function of the bus, from the fact that the form and function of the city necessitates the use of subways and buses in the first place, from the fact that the form and function of the city most often serve efficiency and functionality over the happiness or fulfillment of the individual. The feeling is not dissimilar to that of a prisoner looking out to the free world, seeing those who are in a much different position than they, trapped within a physical and ideological institution that exists more to serve efficiency and functionality than humanity. Of course, the feeling is quite different in terms of scale, but it is still similar in its basic emotive form. Individual motorized vehicle conductors are somewhat better off in this regard, but are still in more or less the same position as driving a vehicle enters you into a contract with the state and the society around you; you are free to go where you please but bound and restricted in every facet of doing so.
Indeed, though not efficient in the least, walking is the most personal way of interacting with the city. Walking best allows you to join the city, the character in our lives most often taken for granted, as opposed to merely navigating it, or making it merely an obstacle to be overcome.
It is through walking that you can best see the city for what it is: an organism in its own right. The city is given life via a symbiotic relationship with humans, whereby humans consume and manipulate energy with which they create the city. In a sense, humans too are much the same, given life by the sum and work of their individual cells, which consume and manipulate energy, gradually creating the human form.