The Newtown Pentacle

Altissima quaeque flumina minimo sono labi

shadowy cottage

with one comment

It’s Friday!

– photo by Mitch Waxman

Dutch Kills, as in the tributary of Newtown Creek and not the neighborhood just north of Queens Plaza, was where one found himself on a recent late afternoon/evening. I need a bit of exposure to the burning thermonuclear eye of god itself, so a point has been made of revealing myself to the world. For the last several months, one has been vouchsafing his travels in plague torn NYC by leaving HQ late in the evening or just after midnight when all of you cootie carriers have been locked away inside.

Avoidance of sunlight however, has rendered my skinvelope into a sort of translucent jelly. Pallor has contributed to deficiencies of certain vitamins generated when the skinvelope is exposed to solar radiates. One is brittle, stiff, and toadstools have begun to appear on my back. Lichens too.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

At Dutch Kills, just like the scene of Skillman Avenue mentioned yesterday, other people were uncharacteristically present. They were jogging, bike riding, and some individuals were even seen scaling things. One was not amused.

Newtown Creek is not a summer camp, yo. Be careful around these parts, as it’s an easy place to get dead, fast. So’s everywhere else these days, I guess, but at least there’s symmetry.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

On a somewhat more positive note, this spring’s cadre of feral Kittens have produced a fine corps of Cats. I noticed this adolescent gadabout stalking around on one of the rip/rap piles which form part of the shoreline here at Dutch Kills. I have friends in the bird appreciation world who hate seeing wild cats, since these critters like to eat their critters. Personally, I like seeing ecosystems recovering, and that includes having predators as well as prey (baby chickens). Also, the people who create shelters and leave out water and food for these cats aren’t using chemical pesticides to control their onsite rodent population in the same concentrate that non feline hosting site managers do.

Less poison, more cats, I say. A little predation also force the birds to up their game and evolve, possibly even start a Darwinian arms race. Did you know there used to a be a five foot tall terror goose (Garganornis ballmanni) roaming around Italy? How does a nine feet tall Australian “Demon Duck” sound to you? The only thing standing between you and a future encounter with a terror bird might be that cat. All it takes is one egg with a mixed up genetic formula to start us down a road no one wishes to travel.

Kitty!

Note: I’m writing this and several of the posts you’re going to see for the next week at the beginning of the week of Monday, June 1st. My plan is to continue doing my solo photo walks around LIC and the Newtown Creek in the dead of night as long as that’s feasible. If you continue to see regular updates as we move into April and beyond, that means everything is kosher as far as health and well being. If the blog stops updating, it means that things have gone badly for a humble narrator.


“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 blurb.com for $30.

Written by Mitch Waxman

June 5, 2020 at 11:00 am

One Response

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  1. Your skin is turning into a translucent jelly and unknown growths are appearing!?

    By Gad, I should never have shewn you my experiments in harmonics that stimulate the pineal gland nor have given you that infernal device. I warned you there are things and levels of perception that mortal humans should never behold. Nor would you experiences as a psychonaut or readings of certain forbidden arcana proof you against the consequences of trespassing in these realms. What is the real reason you stalk about at night and avoid the sight of your fellow man? What could you possibly mean in your mutterings that humans are such easy prey?

    Those photographs of the discarded items once worn by living people. Could these be all that remain after a swarm of strangely colored styrofoam packing peanuts devoured them? Could one of the victims have cried out in extremis “put me in, coach” as Tillinghast has reported?

    Cav

    June 6, 2020 at 2:23 pm


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