intently and shudderingly

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- photo by Mitch Waxman

Dissonant, the mad cacophonies of Western Queens often drive one such as myself beyond the brink of madness, and solace from this unending assault can only be found deep within the grounds of Calvary Cemetery. First Calvary, that is. To me, the name of the neighborhood which hosts the burial grounds of the Roman Catholics is aptly named, and Blissville is where one retreats to commune with the relative silence of the polyandrion.

Now, over the last few years, I have seen many strange and wonderful things, and witnessed places in New York City that only a select would even suspect to exist. I have seen dead animals of all sorts littering the streets, a few killed in rituals, but mostly from accidents. I have never seen a dead human being floating by in the rivers or the creeks, nor have I found some dude lying on the side of the road- I’m lucky like that.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

Imagine how excited I was, then, when this seeming casualty appeared on my jaunty stroll through First Calvary on a sunny March afternoon. Finally. That’s when the terror set in.

A question which a humble narrator often asks himself, when confronted with situations that require moral, legal, and philosophical contemplations is simply “How would I explain this to Judge Judy?.”

In the case of photographing a possibly deceased human (pondered as I shot these pictures so quite obviously one wasn’t exactly impaled on the horns of dilemma) do you photograph first and then call the cops? What exactly do you tell the cops? “Yeah… I do this blog… Yes sir, I walked here… No sir, nothing like that… Yes sir, Waxman with an x”… and so on?

- photo by Mitch Waxman

As your humble narrator processed an answer which might be acceptable to both televised jurist and hard boiled gendarme, the corpse suddenly animated, its mouth parts bleating out a long and phlegmatic tone which reminded one most of snoring.

Deductive reason suggests that instead of dead, this fellow was merely asleep. A lovely place for a nap, despite the shocking suggestions offered by a prone positioned human laying stock still on the ground in a cemetery, as the sun was warm and bright, soft grass welcomes, and there is plentiful company. Below, three million lie.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

The ground at Calvary is sown with “all too soon’s,” “should have been me instead’s,” and “why’s.” The soil is composed of the “they’ll never get to’s” and “cut down in their prime’s,” along with the good who died young and the bad who died old. If there is any place in New York City where one can sense that there very well might be a whole other side to existence that extends beyond the meat, it’s at Calvary.

Spending too much time here can be dangerous, a little over three hours usually does it, when a hypnagogic spell begins to infiltrate the mind of the visitor.

Lethargy and somnolence exert a pull inexorable, and afflicted day trippers experience a desire to just lay down on the ground… and nap.

“Just for a little while,” they will say. I always answer this with a single question.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

What would one dream of, if they were to fall sleep in First Calvary Cemetery?