Archive for March 2013
Project Firebox 63
“follow” me on Twitter at @newtownpentacle
– photo by Mitch Waxman
In a sun drunk section of Brooklyn called Greenpoint, there is a corner called Franklin and Green. On this corner is a firebox, which stands nearby the street plumbing that would allow a fire to be fought. This network of alarm boxes and pipes, ultimately, are the reason that structures over two or three stories could be built here in the first place. The density of residential life in Greenpoint was, and is, directly tied to the response of the local Fire brigades. Generally speaking, the older the firebox, the deeper the neighborhood’s roots go. This is a very old firebox.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
On the street facing side of the thing is the embossed legend of “H.P. TEL”. The inscription has been discussed here, at your Newtown Pentacle, before. Check out “Project Firebox 51” and or “Project Firebox 12” for more on the phenomena.
curiously dislocated
“follow” me on Twitter at @newtownpentacle
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Although it is the Mother of harlots, entering Manhattan on a regular basis is periodically required of your humble narrator, for none may trade nor sell in the City of New York lest this borough’s mark is upon them. Usually this journey is accomplished along the subterranean R line, but often will one walk over to the elevated N line on the 31st street side of the neighborhood just to mix things up. You take the low road, I’ll take the high road, and I’ll be in midtown before ye…
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The Shining City, a place which your humble narrator actually lived for many years, has become lost in an inferior incarnation of itself. One does not long for the era of sin and fornication recently passed, it is the modern facade of the City which agitates. Many disagree with me, arguing for acceptance of a halcyon and quite modern era of progress and development which will eradicate the mistakes of prior centuries. All I can tell you, in retort, is that I don’t see many autochthonous smiles in Manhattan. Also, $9 is too much for a tuna sandwich.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
An echo chamber, things there are no longer hot, nor cold- rather they are lukewarm. Don’t get me wrong, there ain’t no mountain spring water running out here in Astoria neither, there are oodles of things wrong in Brooklyn and Queens. I’m sure the Bronx and …Staten Island… likely have some problems too. I’m just saying that we don’t export them, unlike the unsustainable island of Manhattan, and that I- for one- am a lot more comfortable and likelier to be smiling here in Queens.
curious noises
“follow” me on Twitter at @newtownpentacle
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Admission that Malthus was probably right in adopting a dire tone is offered, something which occurred to me while sitting in a dank concrete bunker and waiting interminably for a Manhattan bound Subway. The worst of all possible situations – alone with my own blasphemous and fever inducing thoughts. Racing phantasms leapt about behind my brow, as train after train exited Manhattan moving east. Each electrically powered chain of metal boxes which entered and left this dripping subterranean bunker seemed to be full of humans, but it is impossible to say with certainty who- or indeed “what”- might have been cradled within.
Finally, a cyclopean shape appeared in the distance of the cement corridor.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Realization that the alloyed conveyance proceeding in the particular direction desired by one such as myself was at hand resulted in a humble narrator sitting uncomfortably amongst the many. Judgement and condemnation was surely brewing in their minds, as furtive glances revealed hostile stares. At the other end of the car were a group of teenagers, and I was reminded of media reports describing the peer group’s outré and often violent delinquency as well as rumors detailing their drug fueled rampages. The practice of running rampant is prevalent in the youth of these degenerate days, after all.
Toward the corner which I faced, an older woman was knitting, just a bit too nonchalantly for my taste.
Perspiration began to drip coldly down my back, which was fully hidden beneath a filthy black raincoat which smells of sewers and wood smoke, and my breathing became erratic.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Imminent, waves of sudden panic eliminated my desire to enter the Shining City of Manhattan onboard this crowded contraption. One departed this underworld, carven into the marshy soils of Queens itself, to once more gaze upon the greasy skies of Long Island City. Standing in a small patch of transmission oil and shattered glass, as a castaway McDonalds bag found its wind blown course to my leg while some strange but obviously relieved inebriate urinated into a phone booth, calm reason once again overtook me. Home, at last.
Down in those concrete catacombs, how can one ever know what horrors are of the mind alone or hint at what there may be that is lurking down there?
inexorably crawling
“follow” me on Twitter at @newtownpentacle
– photo by Mitch Waxman
One is fascinated by the automotive corridor through western Queens that is known as Northern Blvd. It is literally an “automotive corridor” as in the sense of it being a busy vehicular roadway, but it is also an industrial corridor which speaks of a forgotten moment in NY history when automobiles were manufactured in the five boroughs. This is largely a start of the twentieth century sort of thing, of course, but it was a pretty big deal back in the 1920’s.
That’s before the American auto industry consolidated itself around the City of Detroit, of course.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Standard Motor Products is still located at the corner of Steinway/39th street and Northern, of course, but they don’t make anything here anymore- it’s just offices. At that, SMP only uses a small section of their former factory, which famously carries a modern day rooftop farm at its crown. This “history of the automobile industry in Queens” thing is a topic which has been gathering steam and certain interest for your humble narrator of late, but my research has only just begun and intelligent presentation of fact is still far off in the future.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
There is still a significant amount of auto related commerce going on around these parts, but it’s all about sales these days, not manufacture. An incalculable number of used… sorry… industry parlance is “pre owned”… cars are available along that stretch of Northern Blvd. which sits happily between Queens Plaza and the Grand Central Parkway. Something I’m working on, one of many background tasks and research projects performed and underway here at Newtown Pentacle HQ.
ever permitted
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Pulsing and pallid, that corpulent jelly which comprises my physical domain and imprisons my conscious mind was carrying me down Jackson Avenue in Long Island City and past the fabled Court Square Diner, whereupon a face melting realization of a recent vehicular disaster confronted me. It would seem that the MTA department of the municipality has one less truck in its fleet roster.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
As painful as it would be for them to encounter a creature such as myself, contact was made with the MTA employees who were vouchsafing the wreck while awaiting a tow vehicle which would secure its disposition.
Note: It isn’t fair to inflict my nauseous presence on the unsuspecting innocents who surround me, nor is it alright to ask them to endure the many disgusting qualities of what might be described as my “vocalizations.” Selfishly, I elected to attempt contact with one of the humans, in an attempt to find out what happened. Apologies offered to all offended parties. Don’t hurt me.
Queries as to the well being of the driver were answered by assurances of continuing good health, but adherence to an institutional policy which required visiting a hospital to professionally confirm and assess said status was obeyed and that was where the driver found himself.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
A smell of refined petroleum derivates hung in the air, and once contact with this clearly shaken employee of the great human hive was reliably completed, my camera found itself employed. Indications offered by that stalwart representative opined that the municipal truck was operated in accordance with traffic regulation, but that another large vehicle was not, which resulted in a collision.
The area is well patrolled by security cameras, one would presume this will be an easy supposition to corroborate thusly.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The reportage continued that the MTA truck had careened off the second vehicle and the driver lost control of the heavy vehicle. The truck’s wild course carried it away from the equator of the street and in the process it eliminated a metal lamp post and crashed up on the pedestrian lane, known colloquially and conventionally as the sidewalk.
Nervous anticipation nagged at me, as wild paranoid wonderings about sparks falling from the elevated subway tracks mixing with… the petroleum vapors… no… such things do not happen… At this moment, my headphones were back in place and playing through a long list of songs- thats when this random ditty started piping directly into my auditory orifices.
I spun around and started walking toward Astoria in a loose dog trot.
The Newtown Pentacle 