I can think of nothing textual to say so I shall just post more silly pictures.

I thought this was a cool thing to see, though I may be easily impressed. The recent pavement milling and street re-paving which caused such random sleeplessness in my life (on account of the early morning militaristic megaphone announcements) has turned up an interesting undercurrent: the brick roads once typical of New York but sealed up for generations are revealed in these temporary openings along the street, porous windows of pavement shaped like continents or islands.

Bricks Under the Pavement

I have been thinking about the ground beneath the ground since getting a copy of Mannahatta: A Natural History of New York City, a book which uses computer visualization to show what the island of Manhattan probably looked like in 1609. Sources tell me a similar project is in the works for Brooklyn, so maybe Queens will get a turn as well. These bricks linings I saw do not hearken back across too many centuries, but since exploring the Mannahatta Project I find myself imagining that the past on which we build our cities is never really gone, and the self-satisfied notion of “the present” is a myth. The present is only a headline for the continousity of time, and an infinitely disintegrating exhalation of existence. The thrashes of the winds and the passages of the hours savor us as they embraced the immediacies of those who stood on this ground 500 years ago, 5,000 years ago. There are no ghosts, no dead, no living, no unborn, only the totality of all heritages, blowing through the same earthly breezes for millennia.

These little gashes in the pavement need not send my flights of fancy back to the days of Sunswick Beach for me to allow myself a passing feeling of communion with the past, and with the more recent of our forebears, whoever they may have been.

Bricks Under the Pavement

Bricks Under the Pavement

Bricks Under the Pavement

Bricks Under the Pavement

Bricks Under the Pavement