Wednesday

In and Around the “North Brooklyn Industrial Business Zone”


There is no country in the world where machinery is so lovely as in America.

—Oscar Wilde


In the industrial zones, certain truths—not necessarily related to the surroundings—reveal themselves.





Some of the companies I passed: pipes, plumbing supplies, paper, recycling, waste disposal, Chinese food distribution, lumber, marble, floor coverings/linoleum, machine tools, valves, oil refining, oil recovery, plastics, garbage/shopping bags, windows and doors, building supplies, live poultry, roof tiles, steel doors, lamp importer, produce, store gates and iron work.





Chinese Economic Miracle (The Price of Globalization)



A trip down to the engine room of commerce, for a glimpse at the gears.






Concrete: the most prevalent manmade substance
Brooklyn IS concrete













Crossing the rails
Walking the streets
Spanning the city
Ped Xing

Google Satellite Map

Friday

Off Off the Beaten Track: Dutch Kills (Borderland Wonderland, Part 3)


The sectors of a city . . . are decipherable, but the personal meaning they have for us is incommunicable, as is the secrecy of private life in general, regarding which we possess nothing but pitiful documents.

—Guy Debord




The service road beside Newtown Creek, past the forking railroad tracks spanning Dutch Kills, looked ripe for exploration. The satellite photo was ambiguous, though; it looked like the only way onto the tracks was through a large truck depot, but was it accessible? Would the gatekeepers of industry bar my way?


Up from the subway



Onto the footbridge


Highway cash crop
Billboard harvest






Target acquired. Trespassing? I don’t know, but it felt like it.






On the rickety wooden footbridge between the forking railroad tracks. . . the rumbling and clanking of the scrap yards on the creek within earshot . . . I am ecstatic beneath the satellite photos that guided me here.







On Railroad Avenue I heard something rustling behind me and I turned quickly, thinking it a rat. It was a puppy from the scrap yard, a dusty little mutt, sweet as can be, rabidly frisky, nipping at my fingers—pure motion.



We had a moment together . . . Goodbye sweet little dusty scrap yard puppy.