Archive for the ‘Long Island City’ Category
something alarming
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Another one of the little mottoes which one such as myself offers “it’s not good, it’s not bad, it just is”. Time spent wandering around the vast human hive, with it’s teeming multitudes and aspirants, has taught me that it makes little sense to adjudicate the values of others. That being said, whilst on a pastoral stroll across the rolling landscape of Calvary Cemetery, your humble narrator found himself in Section Five.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
This is the shot I was seeking, the ennobled Kosciuszko Bridge, as seen from the vantage of Review Avenue and Laurel Hill Blvd. and from atop the high walls of Calvary. Coming to this spot, one noticed something odd- out of place- nearby.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Upon the ground was some sort of fruiting vine, set behind a small line of high grass and small shrubs.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Struck by the ideation that some accidental seeding might have taken place, unnoticed by the grounds crew, I looked around a bit.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
That’s when I discovered that somebody had planted a little garden, here in an ancient cemetery.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Nearby, there were grapes growing as well.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
It’s not good, it’s not bad, it just is. It’s also the sort of thing which really makes one question his own sanity, and thank all that’s holy that I’m able to photograph this as it is exactly the sort of story no one would believe. Tangential thoughts occur- speculations on the morbid nutrition enjoyed by these plants, suppositions about the water table they drink from (which is VERY much Newtown Creek), and other pleasant notions torment and tantalize. It’s not good, it’s not bad, it just is. It’s not good, it’s not bad, it just is. It’s not good, it’s not bad, it just is…
something singular
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The good news is that the fragmented vernal season wherein required sleep was denied a humble narrator has ended, and one can reliably pass into unconsciousness again. The bad news is that the hallucinations which tear through my mind during these biologically mandated times reveal bizarre and disturbing psychological concerns. Likely, this is all due to the upcoming equinox and accordingly one must go to where one belongs to sort such matters out. All roads, after all, lead to Calvary…
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The great working of Dagger John, scratched into the Newtown soil in 1848, First Calvary (as it is known) is the polyandrion of the Roman Catholic Church of New York City. Millions are interred here, princes and paupers, governors and gangsters. Upon entering the gates of the 365 acre property adjoining the Newtown Creek, one shortly realizes that the ephemeral analogies of the spiritual world are a tangible reality in this place. Encountered recently, one of the lagomorphs known to inhabit this section, representative of a population of groundling burrowers.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The burrowers, according to aboriginal mythologies, carry messages between the bright world of the surface and the fuligin grottoes of the subterrene. Prey animals, the Lagomorpha fear all things- experience has taught them of the brutal indignities of the canine, stealth and pursuit of the feline, and the overarching horror of the high flying raptors. Vulnerable on the surface, and revealed beneath the burning thermonuclear eye of god itself, the burrowers normally bolt when one nears.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
What message the lagomorphs reveal to those who consult them is not to be shared, as it emanates from a place where no light shines. As above, so below- the saying goes, and one who walks in the middle does not wish to anger or prejudice either. As far as the odd dreams and premonitions which occur to a humble narrator during those hated intervals of unconsciousness- nothing transmitted by the red eyed messenger seemed to pertain to current fantasies. Instead, dire warnings of an uncertain future and intimations of seasonal horror were hinted at. More to come on these topics, as we pass through the autumnal equinox, at this- your Newtown Pentacle.
something damnable
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Your humble narrator came to fruition in the hinterlands of Brooklyn along the vast Jamaica Bay, in the flat lands. A once thriving salt meadow, hewn roughly into dry land by fill, this flat land (nearby an area known for its flat bush) was covered by slabs of cement which carried two story structures and served as “a neighborhood”. In this “neighborhood”, one learned to appreciate the unique cultural milieu of the outer boroughs. Manhattan Special was drunk, stick ball was played, old athletic shoes adorned overhanging wires, and people sat outside their homes at night and interacted with each other. When I arrived in western Queens several years ago, I was happy to find that my new home adhered to similar custom.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
It wasn’t long before one realized that malign forces are at work, all along the East River in fact, which seek to blindly wipe aside that which allows these neighborhood cultures to exist- which is the human scale of the place. What I have taken the liberty of describing as the “Real Estate Industrial Complex” seems hell bent on eradicating the actuality of these neighborhoods, in the name of an ever expanding and unsustainable balloon of profit and short term construction jobs. Such matters are “above my pay grade” of course, represent vast sociological and economic forces beyond understanding, as well as the sophistry and euphoria of an irresponsible generation given the proverbial “green light” to rethink the skyline and shape of a New York City which they loathe. It is best to retreat from such weighty matters, and attempt to lose ones self in quaint historical matters and obscure details about the past. Blissville Banshee, anyone?
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Yesterday, whilst scanning the vast interwebs for just this sort of Queens related minutia, one came across this noisome link over at queenscrap. It’s a real estate industrial complex oriented piece, of course, wherein a pack of jackal realtors describe their displeasure at the real estate scene here in Astoria.
The problem they describe, of course, is that they are not eking as much blood out of the ancient village as they might, should the current building stock be razed and replaced with shining towers remarkable for a vertical density reminiscent of the sort of city blocks one encounters in Judge Dredd comic books. Complaints are made of low turn over in housing stock, as people who move to Astoria like it so much that they want to stay. These profiteers and vampires say nothing of hospital beds, overcrowded schools, lessened and erratic transit capacity, or an already overburdened infrastructure of sewer and power systems. Naught is mentioned about the hordes of low life criminals who drunkenly wander the place at night, the crowds who surround noisy bars, or the insane truck traffic which makes a joke of the notion of “DOT approved truck routes” as they lumber down residential blocks. Let’s give the already overburdened 114th precinct commanders around twice their current number of cops, and then let’s have a talk about adding thousands of condo units on the East River.
As a resident of the area, I believe that the shot above represents the role played by these usurious middlemen in our culture, and describes my opinion of how they view my neighborhood. Pass the swatter, please.
dismounted and descended
– photo by Mitch Waxman
As much joy as it is possible, for one such as myself, to realize is attained via the delusion of solitude. Condemned as children to existential servitude in the concretized valleys of the vast human hive, New Yorkers are never truly alone. We are witnessed, watched, stalked, constrained, and regulated every second of the day. Legislated rules govern volume, appearance, and moral propriety.
Even the air we breathe and the water we drink are overseen, inspectors and officials have the right to compel that the front door of our homes open for their inspection and oversight.
Often has a humble narrator been accused, however, of being a kook and conspiracist- or simply a paranoid.
from youtube
X
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Jello Biafra warned us, all those years ago, of what was coming. We all carry tracking devices, which also make phone calls, and hie to rules laid down by those who have long sought to keep a restive population entertained with games and circuses. Even the sacrosanct right to rule over ones own immediate vicinity is vulnerable to the desires of suspicious magistrates, who may demand any who catch their notice to passively allow temporary detainment and inspection- the so called “stop and frisk” procedure.
This is merely the most benign of invasive inspections, of course, which expose the farce and tissue of lies which underlie the social contract.
from youtube
X
– photo by Mitch Waxman
“Necessity has forced such programs” is the answer which would be offered by those who enforce them, followed by some catchy jingoism such as “Freedom isn’t Free” or “If you have nothing to hide, why would you care?” or something. The same entities and personages, of course, maintain armies of lawyers to ensure their own privacy. These creatures and organs, all granted existence under the ideations of “law”, never make an error – instead it’s “an unfortunate incident” or “an accident”.
Such paranoia and musing about the universe occupies a significant amount of my thought, as one scuttles about beneath the burning thermonuclear eye of god itself, and across the concrete devastations of the Newtown Pentacle. Perhaps, somewhere, exists solace?
from youtube
ruined palaces
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Attempts to “take it easy” for a week or two at the end of the summer, coupled with the puzzling virus which hampered all egress to joy, have left your humble narrator in a state of quivering misery. Downtrodden by vast physical inadequacies, failing organs, and a certain sense of ennui- nowhere is nepenthe to be found. Truly- I’m all ‘effed up. Crises, both existential and supranormal, abound.
from wikipedia
Within the framework of the post-Classic cycle of thirteen katuns (the so-called ‘Short Count’), some of the Yucatec Books of Chilam Balam present a deluge myth describing the collapse of the sky, the subsequent flood, and the re-establishment of the world and its five world trees upon the cycle’s conclusion and resumption. In this cosmic drama, the Lightning deity (Bolon Dzacab), the Earth Crocodile (Itzam Cab Ain), and the divine carriers of sky and earth (the Bacabs) have an important role to play. The Quichean Popol Vuh does not mention the collapse of the sky and the establishment of the five trees, but focuses instead on a succession of previous mankinds, the last of which was destroyed by a flood.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
A very bad thought, the sort of tormenting suspicion which instructs and informs madness, infects my mind. There are certain questions which should never even be asked, lest they be answered. Forbidden knowledge is prohibited for a reason, there are some things you cannot unlearn- like what the term “sediment mounds” connotes. The actions of others, with their unknowable motivations, rain random and unpredictable consequences into my days.
from wikipedia
There is a long philosophical and scientific history to the underlying thesis that reality is an illusion. This skeptical hypothesis (which can be dated in Western thought back to Parmenides, Zeno of Elea and Plato and in Eastern thought to the Advaita Vedanta concept of Maya) arguably underpins the mind-body dualism of Descartes, and is closely related to phenomenalism, a stance briefly adopted by Bertrand Russell. In a narrower sense it has become an important theme in science fiction, and recently has become a serious topic of study for futurology, in particular for transhumanism through the work of Nick Bostrom. The Simulation Hypothesis is a subject of serious academic debate within the field of transhumanism.
In its current form, the Simulation Argument began in 2003 with the publication of a paper by Nick Bostrom. Bostrom considers that the argument goes beyond skepticism, claiming that “…we have interesting empirical reasons to believe that a certain disjunctive claim about the world is true”, one of the disjunctive propositions being that we are almost certainly living in a simulation. Bostrom and other writers postulate there are empirical reasons why the ‘Simulation Hypothesis’ might be valid. Bostrom’s trilemma is formulated in temporal logic as follows:
“A technologically mature “posthuman” civilization would have enormous computing power. Based on this empirical fact, the simulation argument shows that at least one of the following propositions is true:
The fraction of human-level civilizations that reach a posthuman stage is very close to zero;
The fraction of posthuman civilizations that are interested in running ancestor-simulations is very close to zero;
The fraction of all people with our kind of experiences that are living in a simulation is very close to one.
If (1) is true, then we will almost certainly go extinct before reaching posthumanity.
If (2) is true, then there must be a strong convergence among the courses of advanced civilizations so that virtually none contains any relatively wealthy individuals who desire to run ancestor-simulations and are free to do so.
If (3) is true, then we almost certainly live in a simulation.
In the dark forest of our current ignorance, it seems sensible to apportion one’s credence roughly evenly between (1), (2), and (3).
Unless we are now living in a simulation, our descendants will almost certainly never run an ancestor-simulation.”
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Instead of allowing the intangible to complicate an already tenuous circumstance, and in the name of the annual “it’s September, so time to double down on the work” season, your humble narrator is retreating to the Creeklands. This is, after all, where one such as myself belongs- amongst the discarded and the decayed.
A long black raincoat hangs in my closet, awaiting the coming of another equinox, here in the Newtown Pentacle.
from wikipedia
In the near future, anthropogenic extinction scenarios exist: global nuclear annihilation, overpopulation or global accidental pandemic; besides natural ones: bolide impact and large scale volcanism or other catastrophic climate change. These natural causes have occurred multiple times in the geologic past although the probability of reoccurence within the human timescale of the near future is infinitesimally small. As technology develops, there is a theoretical possibility that humans may be deliberately destroyed by the actions of a nation state, corporation or individual in a form of global suicide attack. There is also a theoretical possibility that technological advancement may resolve or prevent potential extinction scenarios. The emergence of a pandemic of such virulence and infectiousness that very few humans survive the disease is a credible scenario. While not actually a human extinction event, this may leave only very small, very scattered human populations that would then evolve in isolation. It is important to differentiate between human extinction and the extinction of all life on Earth. Of possible extinction events, only a pandemic is selective enough to eliminate humanity while leaving the rest of complex life on earth relatively unscathed.
The Newtown Pentacle 