Archive for the ‘Mt. Zion Cemetery’ Category
only memories
“Remember me when I’m gone” is what everyone is really asking the rest of us to do.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Mt. Zion Cemetery over in ancient Maspeth has been discussed at some length at this blog, nearly 5 years ago – and yes, Newtown Pentacle has been in existence for nearly 5 years now.
Check out “Mt. Zion 1 – imps of the perverse“, “Mt Zion 2- Palaces of Light“, “Mt Zion 3- threading precipitous lanes“, “Mt Zion 4- A Lurid Shimmering of Pale Light“, “Mt Zion 5- Sunken Houses of Sleep“, and “Mt Zion 6- Crystal Oblivion” for nearly everything I’d been able to scry about the place back in 2009. 2012’s “traitorous somnolence” explores the evidence left behind by certain peasant magicians at the polyandrion’s fence lines, which is worth a look.
Further research on the place – and the enigmatic Rudari tribe that once occupied the land here – however, has birthed a postulate in my mind that the so called Maspeth Gypsies are a lost civilization.
from wikipedia
Tambora is a lost village and culture on Sumbawa Island buried by ash and pyroclastic flows from the massive 1815 eruption of Mount Tambora. The village had about 10,000 residents. Scientists unearthing the site have discovered ceramic pots, bronze bowls, glass bottles, and homes and villagers buried by ash in a manner similar to that of Pompeii. Scientists believe the customs and language of the culture were wiped out. The culture was visited by western explorers shortly before its demise. They are believed to have traded with Indochina, as their pottery resembles that found in Vietnam.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
There are several small communities with decidedly non mainstream cultures, ones which set out into the wooded interior of North America in the decades prior to the Civil War, that have either disappeared from the map or been absorbed into the national culture. Appalachian Hillbillies, the Shakers, the Maspeth Gypsies – all have become “civilized” and subsumed into the larger body politic. Rumor and half truths abound – suggesting that there were many, many more lost tribes of man on this continent than are commonly accepted, when the European Rationalists began to colonize the place.
from csicop.org
In one subset of the lost-civilization genre of pseudohistory, the lost civilization is not a previously unknown group of people residing in the clichéd “dim mists of time” but instead an otherwise well-known ancient society that is remarkable primarily as a result of its geography, not for its precocious level of technological sophistication. Even restricting ourselves to just North America, the list of such claims is long—though evidence is short—and includes: Celtic kingdoms in the northeastern United States thousands of years ago (Fell 1976); Coptic Christian settlements in ancient Michigan (based on the so-called Michigan Relics) (Halsey 2009); Roman Jews in Arizona (the Tucson Artifacts) (Burgess 2009); the Lost Tribes of Israel in Ohio (the Newark Holy Stones) (Lepper and Gill 2000); and strange mixtures of various ancient Old World peoples secreted in hideouts in the Grand Canyon in Arizona (“Explorations in Grand Canyon” 1909) and in a cave in southeastern Illinois (Burrows Cave) (Joltes 2003). These claims are predicated essentially on the same notion: ancient Europeans, Africans, or Asians came to the Americas long before Columbus and long—perhaps thousands of years—before the Norse; they settled here and had a huge impact on the native people but then somehow became lost, both to history and to historians.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Permanence is something which nearly every band of humans strives to achieve, and even those who are philosophically opposed to the concept – like Buddhists – nevertheless built colossal statuary and temples of stone to mark their tenancy in Asia and around the Pacific rim. The New York City way of commemorating a location is to stick a highly impermanent signboard at a noteworthy spot, but that’s mainly for Manhattan and areas which suffer a lot of pedestrian traffic. Since Mt. Zion is theoretically going to be here as long as NYC exists, how about we stick up a sign of some kind acknowledging the former presence of this tribe of wandering coppersmiths and circus animal trainers who were called the Rudari?
from wikipedia
The Boyash are a branch/caste of the Romani people who were held as slaves in Wallachia and Moldavia together with other Romani castes, up until the latter half of the 19th century; such slavery was abolished in Romanian states in 1864.
In particular, the Boyash were forced to settle in the 14th century and work in mining (a regionalism for mine in Romanian: “baie,” from Middle Age Slavonic.). Due to their close proximity with Romanian-speaking people, they lost the use of the Romani language. Some groups relearned Romani when they came in contact with other Romani-speaking Romanis, after they emigrated from Romania (for example, in Ecuador).
Another name for the Boyash, Rudari, comes from the Slavic ruda (“metal”, “ore”). However, a few centuries later, the mines became inefficient and the Boyash people were forced to readjust by earning their living making wood utensils (Lingurari means “spoon-makers” in Romanian; also cf. Serbian ruda, Hungarian rúd, Romanian rudă meaning “staff, rod, pole, stick”). The nickname Kashtale (“wood-workers”) was also given to them by the Romani-speaking Romanis and it has remained in Romani as a more general word for a Romani person who does not speak Romani.
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regarding life
Color please, bright and saturated, tall glass with lots of ice.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
This interminably frigid period has brought an abundance of dark gray into the sky, or so I am told. An unavoidable consequence of such atmospheric phenomena, one such as myself is possessed of the need to witness and be exposed to color. Bright, saturated, vibrant color. Accordingly, I’ve reached into the archives for today’s post. What’s more colorful or cheery than Mt. Zion Cemetery, after all?
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Another shot in Queens, this time of the estimable Kosciuszko Bridge immersed in the emanations of the burning thermonuclear eye of god itself in the westerly sky. Spanning the antiloquacious depths of the Newtown Creek, the great steel monster will meet its end at the hands of state officials and municipal contractors quite soon, or so they tell me. One grows older by the minute, as does this bridge.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
I’ve always loved this lucky shot. Right place at the right time, a passing squall of thunderstorms had produced a phenomena known as Mammacular Clouds. I happened to be in town for a friends birthday and spotted the otherworldly lighting at work around the Chrysler Building. This is what it really looked like. Could use some of that kind of light in January.
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shutters attached
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Portents and other warnings are manifest everywhere in the Newtown Pentacle- informing, catechizing, and warning. Some instruct the reader to beware, others caution against, some merely advise, while several specifically forbid. A belief exists that if one posts a missive on a signboard, it indicates “due diligence” or extends the authority and regulations of a certain property owner onto the public thoroughfare.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Some, like this one, speak to impermanence and suggest broad strokes of demographic inspiration and desire. Spotted on the streets of Astoria, the services offered might allow my neighbors to address me as “Mitch” rather than “Mits”, “Midge”, “Meetche”, or “Meedzeche”.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Relict, and perhaps a half century old, signage found along the gates of Mt. Zion Cemetery adjures passerby from violating the sanctity of this ancient place where the Maspeth Gypsies once camped.
traitorous somnolence
– photo by Mitch Waxman
On one of the lonely transmigrations which your humble narrator famously engages in, actually vast pedestrian journeys across the concrete desolations of Western Queens, the walk up 58th street- the former Betts Avenue of colonial era Newtown- might be the loneliest of all. Rimmed by polyandrions of gargantuan acreage, this street hosts no sidewalk to speak of and one must pick ones way in the manner of some roadside mendicant. It is a valley whose cliffs are the masonry walls and iron gates of cemeteries.
This neighborhood is neither Woodside nor Maspeth, it is the angle found between them.
A personal preference is marked for the Eastern side of the street, which follows the stout iron of Mt. Zion’s fences.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The former home of the so called Maspeth Gypsies, a tribe of Romani whose expulsion by Police in the early 20th century is spoken of in hushed whispers by the Centenarians of ancient Maspeth, Mt. Zion is a cemetery set aside for adherents of the Hebrew faith. It is located across the street from the vastness of 3rd Calvary, a Catholic cemetery. Mt. Zion seems crowded, due to the Hebraic tradition of installing a single occupant in a grave, unlike the Roman Catholic institution across the street.
Its residents, at least in this section of the cemetery, are long gone- most of the stones speak to their passing away in a time period long before even rumors of a Second World War became extant in the community.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Peeking through the rotting iron of the fences while trudging along the other day, your humble narrator noticed this small offering hidden away between the cast iron palisade and the first row of graves (or last, were you within the parcel).
Similarities to other instances of peasant magick at St. Michael’s Cemetery in Astoria which have been detailed in prior Newtown Pentacle postings should be remarked upon.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Probably “Afro-Cuban” in origin, the possible etymology of this odd tableau is betrayed by the presence of the Cigar. Tobacco plays a large ritual role in the so called syncretic faiths of Latin and Caribbean religions, and the manufactured item is often used as an offering to the Orisha or Loa- as a symbol of sacrificial wealth or as an embodiment of the virility or power of the magick worker.
Of course, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, as the oft quoted (and incorrectly attributed) Freudian saying goes.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The aluminum pan leaning against the monument contained a burnt offering of some kind, which appeared to be a textile wrapped around something occluded from view, and mingled with a piece of thin wood or perhaps the shell of a coconut which has been cut into some sort of odd shape.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
A closer shot of the arrangement. It would appear that some sort of accelerant was used to accomplish the combustion, something that would have burned off quickly like liquor. The fabric seems charred or singed more than immolated, as if the flames were extinguished quickly.
Of course, your humble narrator is no fire inspector nor arson investigation expert (or an authority on afro-cuban syncretic religious practices for that matter), so these callow observations should be considered mere speculation.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
This is not the first time which arcane leave behinds have been personally observed along this wall, which you’ll notice is constructed out of tombstones. A photo has been run here of a hand carved mortar and pestle which contained an odd ashy substance. The image dates back several years which implies that acolytes and devotees of whatever these forces which are being invoked here, in the heart of the Cemetery Belt, have been at work for a very long time.
One wonders, and more than wonders- could the so called Maspeth Gypsies tell us a thing or two about these legend haunted lowlands found at this angle between Woodside and Maspeth?
June 6th, Magic Lantern Show at Greater Astoria Historical Society
Metropolitan Avenue Bridge, English Kills – photo by Mitch Waxman
I’ve neglected to inform you all of the Magic Lantern Show which this, your Newtown Pentacle, is staging at the Greater Astoria Historical Society on Monday, June 6th at 7pm. There won’t be any archaic museum pieces in use, of course- my magic lantern is all digital and uses a standard and quite modern projector- but the concept is much the same. A photographer captures some hellish reality from the wild and shadowed corners of the world, and presents them with the intention of revealing hidden truths to a comfortable and otherwise wholesome audience who would never encounter this reality otherwise.
from a Newtown Pentacle post of April 13th, 2011
Just under an hour long, this Magic Lantern Show about Newtown Creek is personally narrated, and transports the viewer to every corner of the Newtown Creek- every tributary and street end, on the water and above it, and is presented in the idiosyncratic and off beat manner which has become familiar to regular readers of this- your Newtown Pentacle. It attempts to explain certain core questions in under an hour which have been repeatedly presented to me over the last couple of years, and the entire talk is illustrated with both my own photography and the product of my historical research:
- What exactly do you mean by the “Newtown Pentacle”?
- When did the Newtown Creek begin to matter?
- Why should I care, how does the Newtown Creek affect me, as I live in Manhattan?
- Where exactly is this place?
- Who is responsible for this mess, and exactly who is it that’s going to clean it up?
- How can I get involved and help my community revitalize and or restore the Newtown Creek?
Empire State Building rising over industrial Brooklyn and Newtown Creek – photo by Mitch Waxman
It would probably be “politique” to mention that this is not a Newtown Creek Alliance event, which is one of the many organizations which I’ve become affiliated and identified with. Instead this is purely a Newtown Pentacle show, which the studied philosophs who inhabit the upper echelons of the Greater Astoria Historical Society are allowing me to present in their convenient location on Astoria’s Broadway- stumbling distance from the R,M, and N trains. The efficacy of gambling their precious time and effort upon such a poor specimen as myself would be proven by the event being well attended, and the negligible $5 fee at the door should prove an easy burden for most to bear. Therefore, a narrator humbly invites and requests your support and attendance.
from astorialic.org
Mon Jun 6, 7:00 pm
Travel the length and breadth of Americas most polluted waterway, the Newtown Creek, with newtownpentacle.com‘s Mitch Waxman.
Breathtaking photography illustrates the journey, exploring the various tributaries and discussing the industrial history of New York City‘s least known waterway.
Witty and irreverent, the narration describes Waxman‘s own discovery of this place and the fantastic journey it has taken him on.
Question and Answer period follows.
DUKBO, Down Under the Kosciuszko Bridge Onramp – photo by Mitch Waxman
The actual presentation is just over a hour long, and during it, you’ll travel the length and breadth of the Newtown Creek- every tributary and bridge, each keystone of historical import will be illustrated with both personal experience and historical meaning. For those of you new to the story of the Newtown Creek (or the neighborhood) this will make a fine primer. Attempts will be made by your humble narrator to reveal this willfully hidden place, and introduce the uninitiated to the hellish flames of revelation which only the Newtown Creek can offer.
Greenpoint Avenue Bridge over Newtown Creek – photo by Mitch Waxman
The places I go, the things I see… often strain credulity. This is not the world you know, this 3.8 mile long waterway located directly across the East River from Manhattan’s Bellevue Psychiatric Hospital which provides the currently undefended border of Brooklyn and Queens. If it can happen, it has happened here, and if it happened here it happened worse and grander than anywhere else it ever happened. Come visit the night soil and offal dock, hear the stories of the great men- Bliss and Kingsland and Flowers and Degnon and Cooper. This is the place where the Industrial Revolution actually happened, where the death of nature itself was accomplished, and our modern world was born.
Welcome to the Newtown Creek, poison heart of the Newtown Pentacle…
The Newtown Pentacle 