The Newtown Pentacle

Altissima quaeque flumina minimo sono labi

utterly devoid

with 5 comments

It’s National Potato Salad Day, National Peanut Cluster Day, and National Pancake Day, in these United States.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

Where to go, what to see, and why bother? Such are the thoughts which intrude and occlude whenever one such as myself leaves the house. Someone else has always gotten there first, and there are certain scenes which – while they never disappoint – I’ve visited literally thousands of times. I’d like to travel abroad, photographing exotic animals and esoteric people, but that would likely involve a good deal of finance, and planning, and I hate to fly. Also, it may be too hot, or cold, and I’ll likely get sunburned. Physical discomfort will likely result, my cherished preconceptions would likely be challenged, or I could end up being killed and eaten by a pack of monkeys.

Ultimately, everyone and everything will eventually make it to Queens anyway so why leave? As the band TLC advised – stick to the hills and waterfalls you’re used to. We’ve got the monkey situation sorted out around here already, there are no uncaged hippos or other large mammalian killers (other than mankind), and I know every possible private spot there is to urinate around these parts. As a note: There are two public bathrooms in Calvary Cemetery, but the one at the Review Avenue gates is often locked. You really, really shouldn’t let loose elsewhere in the cemetery. That’s just disrespectful.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

On a recent wander through Calvary, wherein I was exploring the eastern side of the polyandrion, a humble narrator became the focus of attention for a group of Crows. Possibly Ravens, but I don’t know what the difference between the two are. My belief is that they saw my filthy black raincoat flapping about and figured that one of their own had taken to the ground, but I’m an idiot. As is usually the case, for some reason birds aren’t afraid of me. I can walk through a flock of pigeons or sparrows pecking at the ground and they neither scatter into the air nor otherwise acknowledge my presence.

For some reason this is equal parts disconcerting and deeply satisfying.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

As mentioned above, Long Island City is famously home neither to packs of carnivorous monkeys, nor lurking hippopotamus, or even large feline predators. There are absolutely no giant fire breathing lizards or irradiated turtles lurking in Newtown Creek, which categorically never attacked Maspeth in June or September of 1958.

Our big problem are the vampires, of course, who lurk in the shadowed rafters of the Long Island Expressway during the day, as well as the elevated subway tracks around Queens Plaza and Roosevelt Avenue. There are reportedly “things” down in the sewers which the NYC DEP refuses to acknowledge, bizarre abominations and parodies of the primatological branch which IND platform based commuters sometimes spot moving about in the fuligin shadows of the subway tunnels. The MTA denies their existence too, calling them “urban legends.”

There are the rat kings, the cockroach collective consiousness, and the aboriginal horrors which lurk at Hallets Cove – but that’s another story. If you ask the U.S. Coast Guard, they’ll deny those reports offered by professional sailors of a sea monster dwelling in the turbidity of Hells Gate, one which only emerges during powerful thunder storms.

“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle

5 Responses

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  1. Where’s the other terlet?

    georgetheatheist . . . walking gingerly

    March 8, 2017 at 1:26 pm

  2. Vos autem estis, quondam erat. Ut nunc sunt, postea tibi erit.
    In his locis ubi manent, ut amicus ingredi et ex umbra mortis sedent vos omnes nos salutant

    Well, if one’s demise were to be at the hands or claws of nameless, blasphemous, cryptids whilst daring to enter that forbidden monastery on the plateau of Leng there is respectability in as such as one would be remembered and revered in hushed, fearful whispers- sui generis sine dubio.
    But to be ravished to death, eaten or otherwise unspeakably desecrated by bonobos, well, absolutely no dignity in that even if one were to derive a certain illicit pleasure from the experience. Yuck!

    However there are those who believe, to paraphrase Theodore Roosevelt, that it is far better to dare mighty things and suffer degrading and humiliating defeat than to take rank with those poor, timid, spirits who know neither victory or defeat. I though prefer to pick my adventures carefully and stay well clear of hungry or randy wildlife. A bono morte illud qui mercedem est

    Crows and ravens are carrion birds and thus are the messengers between the land of the living and the land of the dead patrolling along the shores between the two. Whether one’s thoughts tend towards the metaphysical and transcendent or not, we must allow that they see quite a lot from their perches.

    In regards to the question of crow or raven, I would wager it is a crow. Ravens are bigger and badder.

    Don Cavaioli


    March 8, 2017 at 2:13 pm

  3. ” my cherished preconceptions would likely be challenged”

    HA HA HA HA HA HA…that one really made me laugh! Excellent blog entry—one of your best!

    “for some reason birds aren’t afraid of me.”

    This just further solidifies my belief that we were separated at birth. I literally have the local ravens eating out of my hand.

    You know, you really are an excellent writer. Have you thought about writing a book? You should look into Patreon—you can get paid for writing by having patrons support your work.

    Thank you for being alive.

    Fiesta Cranberry

    March 8, 2017 at 2:19 pm

    • BTW, I can’t tell from theat pic if it’s a crow or a raven, but I think it’s a crow. If it’s a bit bigger than a pigeon, it’s a crow. If it’s a bit smaller than a seagull, it’s a raven. And ravens are more dishevelled looking.

      Fiesta Cranberry

      March 8, 2017 at 2:22 pm

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