Posts Tagged ‘DUKBO’
almost illegible
Monday

– photo by Mitch Waxman
Recent adventure found one at the Turning Basin of the fabulous Newtown Creek just before sunset. That’s about three in the afternoon at the moment, given that the whole “December daylight savings time thing” is in effect right now. Life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, right?
I found a great lemonade recipe last summer, actually. I use about 8 lemons for this formula, and a measured cup of table sugar. Use a vegetable peeler to remove the yellow section of the lemon peel, avoiding the pith. Put the skinned lemons into the fridge, you’ll need those later. You combine the yellow peels and sugar in a mixing bowl, which you tightly cover with plastic wrap to create a moisture seal. Let the bowl sit overnight out on the counter, and in the morning you’ll find that the sugar has turned gooey and bright yellow. That’s the lemon’s essential oils, which have leeched out into the sugar.
Dissolve the mixture with a bit of hot, not boiling but hot, water. Squeeze and juice the skinned lemons into a water pitcher, then pour the peel/sugar mixture through a strainer into the same pitcher and mix up the juice and yellowed sugar. Add cold water to the mix, and presuming you used a large enough pitcher you’ll get about a half gallon to a gallon worth of delicious and bright yellow “County Fair” style lemonade.

– photo by Mitch Waxman
It’s difficult to maintain a sense of humor these days, given how serious everyone is all the time. Hidden trip wires abound. Extreme points of view and non nuanced positions seem to rule the day.
I didn’t write the following joke, I’m just telling/passing it on. It’s my candidate for best “joke of the week” from the last quarter of 2021. (I try to have a new one in my quiver each and every week, which has been difficult due to COVID, I tell’s ya…)
‘There’s a bar near a courthouse, and a guy slams the door open upon arrival. He exclaims to the other boozehounds, at the top of his lungs, that “All Lawyers are assholes, and if any of you have an issue with what I just said, come talk to me.”
He sits down at the bar and starts drinking whiskeys. The bar is quiet, only the sound of crickets and the clinking of glasses can be heard. The guy orders a second, and then a third whiskey in dead silence. Finally, one of the other patrons stands up, walks over to him, and taps him on the shoulder roughly. The second guy says “I actually have an issue with what you said, sir.”
The first guy spins around on his stool and says “Are you a Lawyer?” The second guy says “No, I’m an asshole.’

– photo by Mitch Waxman
One was out of town for much of last week and weekend, exploring foreign shores and wonders. What a pleasure it was to be absent from the twilight days and death throes of the term limited political estate here in NYC. They really do seem to serving all of the red hot and deep fried turds up at the moment, huh? It’s almost as if they all waited until there would be no retribution at the ballot for their actions. Weren’t they all “anti big real estate” back in November before the election, or was that just a movie? Don’t worry, Eric Adams will solve the future for you. He’s incorruptible, just ask him.
One of my favorite “classic rock” bands is The Who, which was formed in 1964 by the quartet of Pete Townsend, Roger Daltrey, John Entwistle, and Keith Moon. Amongst my favorite ditties by this quartet is “Won’t get fooled again.” Here’s some of the lyrics:
‘There’s nothing in the streets, Looks any different to me, And the slogans are replaced, by-the-bye. And the parting on the left, Is now parting on the right, And the beards have all grown longer overnight, I’ll tip my hat to the new constitution, Take a bow for the new revolution, Smile and grin at the change all around, Pick up my guitar and play, Just like yesterday, Then I’ll get on my knees and pray, We don’t get fooled again, Don’t get fooled again, no, no
Yeah, Meet the new boss, Same as the old boss’
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abnormally placid
Tuesday

– photo by Mitch Waxman
I’ve mentioned the presence of an idol dedicated to the Hindu god Dattatreya at Newtown Creek before. Saying that, since I was out and about in the area where it’s found, I figured I’d check in and see if it was still there.
These bulkheads are part of the former shoreline property of the Phelps Dodge corporation, also lengthily discussed in prior posts, including this one. The definitive book on this section of the Newtown Creek is called “Copper on the Creek.”

– photo by Mitch Waxman
At any rate, check. Idol of Dattatreya is still present, standing in the poison waters of Newtown Creek’s Turning Basin in the happy place of Industrial Maspeth.
Hooray.

– photo by Mitch Waxman
As to how, or why, this object of veneration arrived here is the subject of some speculation amongst we Creek enthusiasts.
Me, I like the mystery.
As a note – I’d actually like to see all the denominations install idolatry along the waterline. Flaming Stars of David, Glowing Crescents, Tesla Coiled Cruciforms. A bunch of those colored Tibetan flags would be cool too.
“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.
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.
“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.
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.
open rage
Monday

– photo by Mitch Waxman
Since returning to NYC from my travels, one has not allowed any dust to accumulate upon the camera. Situational need has found me in all sorts of interesting places. Pictured above is the largest single point source of greenhouse gases in Brooklyn, for instance, which are burned off into the atmosphere by the NYC Department of Environmental Protection. Those four pipes carry methane from within the bioreactor eggs of the sewer plant up to venturi apparatuses where the fiery immolation occurs. The machinery is tuned to keep the flames invisible.
Fossil fuel companies are singularly responsible for everything horrible, of course, and not the government which historically encouraged them to do those horrible things – since Governmental agencies and officials are inherently good. The latter entity, however, has engaged with an exemplar of the former – specifically the National Grid outfit – to harvest and filter the gases produced at the sewer plant and sell them to you under the product branding of “natural gas” and “resource recovery.” The Government hopes for a net profit on the process, as does National Grid, but only the latter is evil. The project is scheduled to be up and running about five years ago, and isn’t up and running yet because of the salubrious Government’s red tape, but there you are. Do as I say, not as I do.

– photo by Mitch Waxman
That yellow building just to the left of center in the shot above is where the evil fossil fuel industry first set itself up in the modern sense in 1854, manufacturing “coal oil” under the brand name “Kerosene.” The company that started the operation was acquired first by Charles Pratt’s Astral Oil, and then by John D. Rockefeller’s Standard Oil, and eventually by the Standard Oil Company of New York after the whole Sherman Antitrust Teddy Roosevelt dealie (TR used to be good because progressive, but now he’s evil because racism and colonialism).
The evil Standard Oil Company of New York, or SOCONY, rebranded as Vacuum Oil, and eventually decided they wanted to be trademarked as Mobil Oil. Mobil would one day merge with the evil Standard Oil Company of New Jersey in the 1990’s, after SOCONJ had changed its name first to ESSO and then later to Exxon. The evil Exxon Mobil consented to a decree by the obviously good natured New York State Department of Environmental Conservation, dictating that the corporate behemoth will need to siphon an unknown amount of “product” out of the ground at that location pictured above.
Right across the water on the Brooklyn side of Newtown Creek, the inherently good Attorney General of NYS, Andrew Cuomo, forced the inherently evil Exxon Mobil to clean up an oil spill left behind by the similarly proscribed Mobil/SOCONY. Cuomo has since been redefined as an evil scion of sex sins and a corrupt and false eidolon who was mean to the other politicians – just as evil as the fossil fuel companies are, with all of their capitalism and carbon – or like any who might question the validity of “affordable housing” or bike lanes probably are. The dichotomy offered is that someone can be good once and bad later, which is confusing. How can anyone employed by the government be, in any way, bad? I mean… just ask any politician how virtuous and vetted they all are. They’ll tell you exactly how noble, and free of corrupting industrial and financial influences, modern day politics are due to oversight committees staffed by their own colleagues.
It’s not like Tammany Hall is still running the City, right? Those patriarchal rascals were the ones who made the devil’s bargain with the inherently evil capitalists, right? Not at all like the modern day reformers, progressives, or all of the other inherently good politicians who operate in a closed loop of leadership ladder climbing that’s funded and curated by the Real Estate Industrial Complex.

– photo by Mitch Waxman
The reason that our ancestors called it “Tammany Hall” was in homage to a legendary “Sachem,” or Chief of the Lenape, named Taminend. Leaders of Tammany like Boss Tweed and Dick Croker were called the “Grand Sachem” of the political club. You remember the Lenape, of course, whose land our inherently good government stole, and who were then resettled in forested areas nobody else wanted by the same do gooders? They’re called the Delaware these days, those Lenape people who survived the inherent goodness of the political state.
Founded in 1790, Tammany Hall really came into its own in 1854 with the election of Mayor Fernando Wood. Wood seriously considered having NYC secede from the Union with the Confederacy, given the amount of slave related business NYC was involved in. Cotton was a commodity bought and sold on Wall Street, and the East River coast of Manhattan is where a large number of the slave ships, which provided a labor force for the Cotton Plantations, were built. It was a risky business, slaving, but you could safely invest in it by buying shares in a slave ship from a broker to spread out the risk, or by putting your money into insurance funds which guaranteed other people’s investments in slavery. It wasn’t difficult to find a way to invest in slaving, as Wall Street handled most of it all in the early 19th century, allowing investors to act shocked at the barbarity of the practice after the Civil War. By then, the smart money was in railroads, anyway.
Coincidence on the 1854 thing, huh? The inherently evil capitalists of the petroleum industry setting up shop here at Newtown Creek, while the inherently good government of Tammany Hall was encouraging slaveholding, armed insurrection, and cotton plantations in the American South? Gosh.
“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.




