The Newtown Pentacle

Altissima quaeque flumina minimo sono labi

broad slab

with 3 comments

In today’s post, the night terrors.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

Perambulating through the fuligin night, across the cracked ambitions of Western Queens, recently did your humble narrator find his lonely self. A meeting in Brooklyn with the cognoscenti of Greenpoint had run late, and no offers of automotive conveyance were offered, so off I went. The tenebrous shadows ran slickly together as one crossed a bridge spanning a creek and shambled through Blissville and its tenement haunts. Entering the Sunnyside, whose name is but a cruel promise when the burning thermonuclear eye of god itself has slipped below the horizon, one experienced a deep unease and nervous apprehension of a dire near future set in.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

Feeling one of my states coming on, with its attendant fugue of panic and self critique, vast mental effort was expended in the name of maintaining my pace lest some creature of the night take notice of my passage. Lurking in fear and scuttling toward Newtown Pentacle HQ, the vulnerability of my position with its attendant possibilities carried me toward that panicked chasm of madness and other worldly horror which, once crossed, destroys all succor and peace. Prescription tablets, ordered by my team of physicians, were hastily consumed. Their influence calmed me, but how can one remain calm in a realm of halogen and sodium shadow as he plunges his feet towards the earth in an uneven and arrhythmic syncopation which might simply be described as “out of step”?

- photo by Mitch Waxman

What malign and queerly unicellular thing might lurk and scheme in some nearby warehouse, a sort of life which must at all costs avoid contact with sunlight? Where, in the shadowed obscurity of the buildings all around me, might some criminal organization, cabal of hidden cultists, or conclave of conspiratorial partners gather- or are gathering? Why, asked I, could no one offer me a ride back from Greenpoint, knowing that night time is scary and full of half guessed at horrors which only the sickest minds can perceive? Who, passerby must ask, is that shabby shambling fellow- the mendicant with a camera- taking pictures as he scuttles along in the dark? How, exactly, does a humble narrator always find himself stumbling along in the darkest corridors of a hostile universe?

Upcoming Tours

Saturday- September 21, 2013
13 Steps Around Dutch Kills Walking Tour with Atlas Obscura- tickets on sale now.

Saturday- September 28, 2013
Newtown Creek Boat Tour with the Working Harbor Committee- tickets on sale now.

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Written by Mitch Waxman

September 11, 2013 at 7:30 am

3 Responses

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  1. Mexicana or Puebla car service. $10 for the territory you covered.

    georgetheatheist...levee chevy

    September 11, 2013 at 11:26 am

  2. As a former denizen of a less than savoury province of Crescent Street, and having occasionally perambulated that same crossing of the eponymous volatile-organic-compound laden “creek” at less than optimal hours, I understand exactly the unease of this site’s gracious host…

    A Hellgate Road Runner

    September 11, 2013 at 8:37 pm

  3. - and if you left it, you would miss it – yes you would!

    Deniz

    September 13, 2013 at 11:23 am


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