Archive for the ‘kosciuszko bridge’ Category
crazier people
Monday
– photo by Mitch Waxman
As mentioned, a new habit I’ve been actively cultivating in recent months has been to commit to an early morning photo adventure at least once a week. I’m a night owl by nature, and it’s quite normal for me to be wide awake at 3 or 4 in the morning. The solitude and quiet offered by these midnight intervals is cherished, but it royally screws me up during the winter months due to a paucity of light and being out of sync with everybody else.
Sunrises are cliche, sure, but the light is nice and there’s that whole Marcus Aurelius thing – “At dawn, when you have trouble getting out of bed, tell yourself: “I have to go to work — as a human being. What do I have to complain of, if I’m going to do what I was born for — the things I was brought into the world to do? Or is this what I was created for? To huddle under the blankets and stay warm?”
Whenever you’re feeling lazy, or unmotivated, there’s always Stoicism and Marcus Aurelius to fall back on. At any rate, it certainly does make you seem smarter or better read than you actually are. Saying that, huddling under the blankets sounds pretty nice, if you ask me.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Loving portrait compositions of sewers, that’s what I think about. The one above is an exposure stack of multiple tripod shots, actually. That’s how I spend my early morning hours these days, which is why I’m a schmuck with a camera and not a Roman Emperor like old Markey Marcus. My morning had begun with a pre dawn arrival at the Maspeth Avenue Plank Road and from there I walked westwards towards the Kosciuszcko Bridge, and these shots are literally from “DUKBO” or “Down Under the Kosciuszcko Bridge Onramp.”
Another one of Marcus Aurelius’ bits of advice I try to follow is to wear two entirely different sets of clothes – one for inside the house, another for the world at large. I tend not to wear the shoes I was walking around the Creeklands with inside of HQ, and make it a point of changing out of whatever I was wearing while photographing sewers when arriving back home. Saying that, when Zuzu the dog was still around, I would always get a full “sniff” inspection from her when I got home after proximity to this sort of infrastructure.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
On this particular day, I had left HQ at 4:30 in the morning, and was on-site by 5 a.m. The shot above was captured at 8:14 a.m., so I was just north of three hours into the session. I didn’t get back to HQ in Astoria that day until about noon, so I guess I was out about 8 hours. I had other stuff to do, in addition to processing all of the photos, and didn’t get to bed until well after midnight. Suffice to say that I slept well that night.
Marcus Aurelius might have been proud, I would hope, but as a Stoic – he’d just expect this sort of effort.
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exotic workmanship
Friday
– photo by Mitch Waxman
It’s been a weird week for me, as I’ve been unusually “blocked” as far as writing goes. This happens periodically, and unpredictably. I’ve had a few things on my mind, but there’s never a moment when that isn’t true. My dilemma, though, has been about “voice.” I’m really, really down on, and frustrated by, NYC right now. It’s a struggle to not call out everything as being shit, or describe the distracting delusions offered by the Political state as being anything other than Matryoshka.
If you’re not familiar with the Russian term, Matryoshka is the name for those nesting dolls they offer, as well as a metaphor for hiding your true intentions within a series of false shells. The reason that the Soviets were great enemies for the West is Matryoshka, since you could never intone the truth of Soviet intent from the surface layer of their deeds. There’s always going to be another truth lurking within the surface layer.
My Ukrainian born Jewish Grandmother installed a deep prejudice in me when I was a child regarding the Russians. “Never trust a Russian. The only person a Russian loves, in their dog hearts, is the last one who fed them,” she would say. Hey – if you saw your little brother beheaded by drunken Cossacks, you’d have strong opinions about Russians too.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Thing is, the Russians are pretty smart. Never letting anyone know what you’re really thinking – aka – what the smallest and most internal of the Matryoshka stack looks like – is pretty good advice. The problem I’m having right now, writing wise, is that all of my outer shells are absent and I can’t pretend. I’d like to relentlessly pummel away at the universe in an adolescent fury of truth telling, but what does that accomplish? What can I do? What can you do? Why bother? Nothing matters.
When I’m leading a procedural meeting for the citizenry, I close it up with “well, thank you to everyone for participating in our Democracy, and working towards perfecting our Civilization. We’re not there yet, but maybe we got a bit closer tonight.” It sounds smarmy, but I’m trying to be genuine there. Or at least I used to be genuine. Nothing matters.
That aspirant optimism of mine, which is currently withering on the vine, is something my grandmother would have likely found hilarious and somewhat foolish. Granny would remind and opine that a cruel death was waiting just around the corner, and to stop wasting time on things that aren’t practical. Go clean your room, instead of worrying about the world.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Conversely, another voice in my head right now is my Dad’s. When I was a young but already humble narrator exploring sophomoric literature and ideations, the writing of Camus for example, and I began telling him about my existential concern about the meaning of life, the old man would screw up his eyebrows and look at me with concern. He’d say “that’s pretty interesting… why don’t you think about that while you’re washing the car.” My dad was a pretty simple guy, but…
I’ll be at the Newtown Creek, deep diving into the nesting dolls of truth it offers, while improving my practical skills and philosophizing, if anyone wants to explore these topics in person. I apparently require company, but I can’t promise which level of Russian Nesting Doll you’ll encounter. I’ll be the one in the filthy black raincoat.
“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.
local perspectives
Friday
– photo by Mitch Waxman
A few last shots from a spectacular sunset at the Maspeth Avenue Plank Road, along the turning basin of the lugubrious Newtown Creek. This is about two and a half miles back from the East River.
Some of you seem upset by my recent philosophical turn, the embracing of sociopathy as my governing morality. Well, in accordance with sociopathy, who cares what you think? I don’t. I don’t care about anything anymore.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Seriously, whatever it is, I don’t want to know nor am I going to oblige you with an argument.
One has arrived exactly back where he once was, offering his middle finger to the programmed and robotic ideologues. Did you know that during the early days of the Nazi military advance into Russia, the Wehrmacht encountered Russian made roads of ice? These Russian ice roads used German prisoners of war as structural railroad ties. The captured German soldiers were bound, forced to lie in a trench while still breathing, and then drowned in briny water which the Soviet armies pumped in which instantly froze and killed them. The Russian winter solidified the whole affair into something that trucks and armor could move quickly on during their retreat. The Wehrmacht officers described heading east on these roads, and the disconcerting experience of having thousands of panicked blue eyes lifelessly staring up at them as they passed.
This is lateral thinking at its finest. It’s also a parable for all of the shopping mall warriors in this country who think a Civil War might be fun.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The Maspeth Avenue Plank Road has been extant at what was once called Furman’s Island since the Presidency of Ulysses S. Grant. Grant, and Sherman, taught the ideological forebears of the modern day “know nothings” about consequence.
I used to care about that, but now it’s just another fact. Happy Friday the 13th.
“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.
godlike solemnity
Thursday
– photo by Mitch Waxman
This is what I went to industrial Maspeth for, that’s what I’d like to say. Instead, I was actually there to pick up a package at UPS that I’d missed delivery for and wasn’t able to access it prior to 9 p.m.
Killing two birds with one stone, however, is the Mitch Waxman way. Why not spend the waiting time shooting the celestial light show as the burning thermonuclear eye of God itself slipped behind New Jersey.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Experience indicated that this particular evening, with low hanging clouds, would offer quite a show.
My embrace of sociopathy, however, indicated that I couldn’t enjoy the sights. This is the double edged sword of being emotionless. Everything, mood wise, is in the middle. A baby is born, and another one dies, and you force yourself to feel nothing at all. It’s a bit like stoicism, but gray. How did Orwell describe the future? Something about a boot and a face?
– photo by Mitch Waxman
As the shadows got inky, and the Kosciuszcko Bridge lit up, things got interesting. There’s such a narrow window for this sort of thing in the summer months.
Normally, I try to capture the Kosciuszcko lighting when it’s facing through the hot colors of the spectrum, but given the crimson and orange light – I went for the blues and greens.
“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.
tinsel emptiness
Friday
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The 11th of July was meant to be a “Manhattanhenge” night, and despite the gloomy weather a humble narrator decided to throw the dice and see what could be seen from up on the Kosciuszcko Bridge. The weather precluded any sort of henge, but what – I’m not going to set up the tripod and get busy after shlepping over here from Astoria?
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Obviously, this shot was gathered a bit earlier than the first one. Heavy humidity and low flying clouds marred the astronomical phenomena of Manhattanhenge, wherein the burning thermonuclear eye of god itself’s transit through the sky aligns neatly with the street grid of NYC’s master cylinder. Regardless, I was digging the fact that the skyscrapers were actually scraping sky.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The bum foot and pulled muscle in my back resulted in me waiting for yet another cab to carry my sorry butt back to HQ in Astoria. I’ve discovered that if you stand on the Maspeth side of the street, as opposed to the LIC side, Lyft knocks a few bucks off the fare. That’s a pro tip for y’all.
See you next week. Vote Quimby.
“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.
The Newtown Pentacle 