Wednesday
Monday
Back to the Garden
The need to understand nature, in order to maintain our own survival as well as sate our curiosity, is central to human nature.
Nature simply exists, but knowledge invests it with functionality. The tobacco plant knows not what miseries and delights of which it is capable. Hemlock is ignorant of its toxicity, blind to its infamy.
Above: Shrine to Inari, the god of harvest and protector of plantsMan sanctifies “mother nature,” but she is deeply, eternally indifferent. And all of the temples and rites and celebrations intended for her are really for us alone.
When culture imposes itself on nature, when human priorities clash with the environment, the results can be catastrophic . . . or simply kitsch.
The nature of man is to pervert nature, through display and ornamentation, language, and neglect. The latter, of course, often causes great suffering and is a pervasive threat. Habitually, though, man shows that improving on nature is more than possible, if not preferable.
Wednesday
Monday
Wednesday
Hello from Green-Wood Cemetery (Part 2)
Here comes the bride
My grave’s cooler than your grave
Here lies Boss Tweed
What next, touchscreen tombstones? (“Press here for auto-eulogy")
Let’s have some people over for drinks (tell them to bring flowers)
Tranquility Gardens (exterior)
Tranquility Gardens (interior)
The Chapel
Rules is rules
The Catacombs (interior)
The Catacombs (exterior)
View of the Jackie Gleason Bus Depot on 5th Ave.
Hello from Green-Wood (Part 1)
Monday
Hello from Green-Wood Cemetery (Part 1)
Portentousness, setting, and fate converge, absorbing all mundane details: this pine cone beside this mausoleum at this intersection of Orchard Path and Hemlock Avenue will signal my way . . . It’s a landscape oddly lacking in humility—such rampant triumphalism even in death: the Greek goddess headstone pointing upward, the massive, bludgeon-like crosses and smug affirmations of faith’s promised rewards. The sound of whistling past the graveyard is almost deafening inside.
See that my grave is kept clean.
The Primrose Path leads to numbered lots and this morbid topiary—so beautiful (“life-affirming”?)—is a fragrant canopy over a field of bones and rotting flesh. The effort to create a “resting place” that transcends the temporal world while encompassing said world has produced something astounding. Maybe that’s the ultimate meaning of Green-Wood for we the living.
“Hello from Green-Wood (Part 2)”
Wednesday
Monday
Laundro-Zen: True Clean
If laundry is the task most mundane, then the laundromat is the temple of tedium. That’s if you’re waiting on your wash, though, not necessarily when you’re just passing through. It was late October and there was a subdued chill in the air. In the midst of my wanderings the need for rest (oh, my aching bones) and a powerful thirst converged in a serendipitous spot. So I took a seat (third from the left) in front of True Clean and all was right. Yes, there in the bodega-laundromat corridor of Fourth Avenue my immediate needs were sated easily. Moreover, the view, or I should say the whole environment, had an extremely calming effect on me. Really, I could have sat there for hours. It was dense with traffic, but the hurly-burly was more than offset by the view across the street, dominated by the scrappy charm of the church/used appliance store on one corner and the stately Catholic school/church on the other corner. And all was complemented by the human element—lots of people walking by, mostly normal types coming home from work or school. To this day, whenever I’m in the area I grab a drink and make a beeline for my spot at True Clean. So, one “temple of tedium” has become for me another outlet of repose, a place to enjoy some refreshment and gaze upon one of Brooklyn’s unwittingly perfect landscapes.
Monday
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Wednesday
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