The Newtown Pentacle

Altissima quaeque flumina minimo sono labi

feeble horns

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Hell Gate and Triborough bridges from Old Astoria – photo by Mitch Waxman

Loathsome memories of recent setbacks- and also of certain rebuffs- plague your humble narrator during these gloomy and sunless days, and always only solace can offer nepenthe. Thus, during a recent stroll by the pacific maelstrom of Hell Gate, nestled between two steel structures whose unearthly vibrations and omnipresent vocalizations form the aural environment- this series of shots were captured.

curiously scattered bones on sidewalk in Astoria – photo by Mitch Waxman

Vengeance and malice, indeed all of the seven deadly transgressions, populate the infernal dream world which has plagued me since childhood. Of late, a vivid character has typified these somnambulist hallucinations, and at least once during the night I’ll awaken in cold sweat grasping at the void of a curtain draped chamber. Surely, these negative humors are manifestations of another failing displayed by your humble narrator and least of all men, the inability to not bear grudges well beyond all sensible intervals.

sinister seeming bird at Hells Gate – photo by Mitch Waxman

Having grown up in a lonely and isolated existence, in dusty rooms of sculptured green carpeting and vinyl covered couches with odd knick knacks that betrayed basic tenets of adherence to the Hebrew faith, family members carried a charge of eastern European distrust for outsiders. Don’t trust anyone, my mother used to tell me while still in the cradle. As such, your humble narrator has grown into a hostile and suspicious man, contemptuous of authority even when such authority is necessary to govern over and control chaos and anarchy.

Amtrak at Hellegat Hell Gate Bridge Рphoto by Mitch Waxman

Often I stand on a point of principle, in a combative and tenacious- and vastly unpopular- ¬†stand over small matters such as allowing a police officer the right to inspect my belongings on demand. Of course I realize the age we are living in is fraught with the consequences of living in a global military empire the likes of which even the Romans or Turks would gasp and genuflect at, and that to most “standard of living” trumps “individual rights” but the constables have to follow the rules too. That’s what our modern Metropolis operates on, and as the saying in Brooklyn used to go “if I gots to stands in lines, youse gotta stands in da line”.

Psychiatric Hospitals at Hell Gate – photo by Mitch Waxman

Often, I fear that someday my darker impulses will take control of me, and I’ll spin off and become some comic book villain like parody of myself, the defeated antihero of a cosmic parable. Perhaps I will be remembered as a cautionary tale, your humble narrative of the man who looked under too many rocks. The Rumpelstiltskin of Newtown Creek, or perhaps just some old man in a shack who talks only to a collection of bottles?

Wards Island from Hell Gate – photo by Mitch Waxman

Preoccupations with such bizarre concerns has led me to believe in and visualize conspiracy lurking behind every corner. The attentions of certain malign elements, teenage adherents to some form of the Hip Hop cult, have been noted milling about around headquarters of late. Additionally, strange vehicles not usually parked in the neighborhood have been observed, adorned with mysterious antennae and blacked out windows- even on the windshield, which is unusual in itself due to municipal regulation.

Such bizarre notions, undoubtedly the product of lonely studies and a massive workload, were what led me to seek the solace of Astoria Park. I had hoped (futilely as turns out) to photograph passing Tugboats, but instead grew focused on certain uluations which seemed to be emerging from the impossibly distant Psychiatric hospitals at Wards Island

The President of the United States on Marine 1 over Hell Gate – photo by Mitch Waxman

And that’s when the President of the United States flew by in Marine One on his way to the World Trade Center site to commemorate the death of his arch enemy.

In short, I’m all ‘effed up, and this post hits six points out of seven of the ICD-10 for paranoid personality type.

And the Newtown Pentacle is back in session.

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3 Responses

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  1. “Carlos. Can you teach me how to do the Mambo?” – Ralph Kramden

    Try dancing my fine feathered fiend, er friend. Guaranteed terpsichorean nepenthe.

    georgetheatheist

    May 23, 2011 at 1:01 pm

  2. Y’know know dude, one of these days you’re gonna have to give in and start calling it the “RFK Bridge”. (On the other hand, my grandfather still calls it “Idlewild”, so….)

    Tom

    May 23, 2011 at 4:26 pm

  3. [...] previously described, vast physical inadequacy and cowardice are my hallmarks. The least of all men, my only recourse is flight, and I seem to have descended [...]


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