Archive for March 18th, 2013
groping again
“follow” me on Twitter at @newtownpentacle
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Perhaps one has become an internet troll.
I do spend an awful lot of time scuttling around beneath bridges and overhead trusses of all kinds, while wandering throughout the concrete devastations of the Newtown Pentacle. Then I find myself posting photos of them to the internet, which offers connection via correlation. As the scions of some mythical “old neighborhood” might proffer: “Dictionary definition, look here douchebag, trolls live under bridges. That means you a fucking troll. Fuck you, troll.”
That really is a quote, incidentally, from a Dungeons and Dragons comrade in Canarsie back during the 1980’s. Essential usage of the Brooklyn patois, at that time, always involved explaining your work when cursing someone out. It was a gentler age, when a young Joe Piscopo taught us all how to laugh again.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Perhaps, one can be cast as a paparazzo for decaying infrastructure and artisan pollution instead. Imagine a humble narrator clad in scarf and motor scooter, zipping around town searching for remnants of the forgotten and occluded world of fat rendering and manufactured gas while always keeping a watchful eye on the once and future king of the Creeks, called Newtown.
Dynamic, this lifestyle of the paparazzi would, given the poor and mediocre existence currently endured, irrevocably brighten ones outlook.
Back in the “old neighborhood,” which was not all that old or really much of a neighborhood, it was opined as best to keep ones sights set low lest disappointment and regret rule ones mind in extreme old age. It was commonly decided that prudence demanded the acquisition of a government job with benefits and regular hours, receiving a pension after 25 years, and then moving away from “all the bullshit” to be the best course of action one could take.
There were a lot of cops, garbage men, firemen, and EMT’s in the old neighborhood. Nurses too.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Unfortunately, it does seem that one has indeed become this much maligned creature of hideous modernity called an “Internet troll.” If you spot some scruffy bag of mostly water, all wrapped up in a filthy black raincoat and scuttling about while clumsily picking its path around and beneath a bridge, that very well might be me.
What else it might be, for my countenance is somewhat unbearable to behold by the unprepared and there are certain asymmetrical oddities in my gait and postures which defy impersonation, few can say. I will continue to post these captured photons on the internet, notwithstanding that they might be dispatches from Trollheim.
The Newtown Pentacle 