The Newtown Pentacle

Altissima quaeque flumina minimo sono labi

bearded stranger

with 2 comments

Long shadows.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

Recent endeavor found one sheltering from a passing band of precipitation over on the normally sunnier side of the neighborhood, and once the atmospheric wave had passed through a humble narrator began kicking his heels around in pursuance of returning to HQ. My northward path was a familiar one, as was the pensive and self reflective mood I was in. The odor of a not unpleasant smelling strain of marijuana which those two teenagers crossing the street above were smoking mingled with the musty smells of a wet and cold evening. The trees and gardens of Sunnyside Gardens added to the bouquet, as did the wet but creosoted wood of the railroad tracks and the oily street. I can capture audio and images, but I’ve got no methodology for transmitting the experience or quality of “smell,” other than describing it with words.

Is smell the new technological frontier, I wonder? Just imagine if I could deliver the smell of Newtown Creek or its tributaries, after a thunderstorm, to your inbox.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

The forgotten sense, smell is. Humans are essentially audio visual beasts, I suppose, which is why there’s so much technology available out there that allows us to transmit what we see and hear. Personally, when the olfactory region isn’t too clogged up by seasonal allergies, I like to take a ripping “shnort” of the ambient. There’s a whole memory center associated with smell that’s almost never accessed. I can imagine something I’ve seen in the past, conjure up a sound or series of sounds, but can’t seem to tell my brain that I’d like to imagine the smell of toast or whatever.

Funny that, ain’t it? Life’s rich pageant and all this.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

The scene above was encountered nearby Northern Blvd., and I can offer two possible explanations for it. One is that somebody was making a meal of a watermelon and drinking water from a red plastic cup when they were raptured.

The other is that the foul serial killer whom I have named as the “Queens Cobbler” has returned to the neighborhood and is leaving behind their gruesome trophies as a taunt to community and the Gendarmes alike.

“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle

Buy a book!

In the Shadows at Newtown Creek,” an 88 page softcover 8.5×11 magazine format photo book by Mitch Waxman, is now on sale at for $30.

Written by Mitch Waxman

May 3, 2019 at 1:00 pm

2 Responses

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  1. What! Sound, taste, and touch are chopped liver?

    georgetheatheist . . .sensory perceptive

    May 3, 2019 at 1:58 pm

  2. In the last photo as noted, the juxtaposition of the pair of trousers along with the boot suggests that a human being once inhabited the discarded clothing who stood at that spot after which after his dematerialization left them in situ. One theory comes to mind: Noting Crawford Tillinghast’s experiments that perhaps a resonance of natural and man-made sounds formed the conditions that yielded the observed result. Of course it is to be hoped that the unfortunate soul had time to finish eating and drinking before suffering the dire fate of becoming the repast of some nameless, blasphemous, creature from beyond.
    Humans are such easy prey.

    Donald Cavaioli


    May 3, 2019 at 1:59 pm

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