In the late 1970s at a New York, Harlem corner there were three men battling each other through the art of tap. Sandman Sims, Bunny Briggs, and Chuck Green all in class as master tappers. They were all out eyeing and listening to each other to bring out the best of self. True soul bouncing found in community support of feet musicality. Everyone is set on a destination of occupation yet only the few rough out to pioneer with no map. No doubt many losses and clauses included to such endeavors that time never fancies with only luck to break off the melted pieces.
Melt away from Harlem to seep into an unlocked Hollyhock house that publicly opens Loyd and all future dreamers to cultivate a better way of living. Ancient dancers such as Hunahpa and Xbalangue demonstrated their taps to Xiabalba in merit a message passed through a fly to a toad to a snake to a falcon to the interior of the Hollyhock house with a slate of Popol Vuh. That slate with a message in gut instincts grown in a Brooklyn garden.
Go to that garden at dawn and listen as Prokofiev captures all the reasoning that inspires the plants growth toward the sun. The hawks and sparrows take flight of the long road as a Passolini passage of film. A road paved by hands full of the famed blood, sweat, and tears that walk back like a jaguar in the night.