(Snapshot of WalkingOffTheBigApple.com)

On the site ”Walking Off The Big Apple,” blogger Teri Tynes has created a rather interesting strolling guide through NYC. Her walks tend to be literature, music, arts, and cinema focused with lots of ruminations on her subject matter.

What’s great about her guide is that many of the walks will appeal to lifelong New Yorkers as well as tourists. I highly recommend her blog.

 << Click here to visit WalkingOffTheBigApple.com>> 

Here are my STORIES and PHOTOS

(South Street – Photos by Joe)

The five of us all gazed at a blue neon glow that was brightest by the Fish Market Restaurant on South Street. I shuffled my feet, blinked, squinted, and pretended to look real hard. Don’t know if the shuffling of the feet worked, but I did my best not to let on that I clearly saw what we all were searching for.

The others, who included my lady friend(LF), the pizza and Chinese delivery guys(aka num and nuts), along with a white interloper from Queens named Terrence, all knew they were missing “the bigger picture.”

The blue was representative. I saw “it,” but held my cards close.

Last month I had seen a similar glow over a late evening crowd holding placards, set behind police barricades by the Columbus Circle entrance to Central Park. It seemed more like a blue gossamer upon their head and shoulders–or a touch of twilight that remained. Of the times before I had seen a similar glow, I had thought it nothing more than spirit matter, which I use to describe various unexplainable, airborne disturbances.

I had looked about for another trace of the blue as I headed up Central Park West. At my right was the stone wall that surrounds the rectangular park, and beginning on the corner across the street–for as far as the eye could see, were stately apartments, hotels, museums, and houses of worship. They create one of NYC’s many amazing skylines, which can be a visual treat from one of the park’s winding paths.

Directly across the street, out front the comparatively-new, Trump high-rise hotel, I spotted a point of blue as  it glided toward the large globe that sits in the middle of Columbus Circle. All of a sudden it looked as if the point closed, re-opened, and rotated. I dropped my gaze to see my shirt and arms were illuminated by the same blue that fell upon the crowd.

(Columbus Circle)

Now, if I turned, in front of the old Fulton Fish Market building that sits on the water on South Street was a similar, hovering point of blue. It was like a floating eye, a probe, possibly–lighting upon the Fish Market Restaurant across the street. At various times the others had glanced back. I thought the only reason they didn’t see it was because it was tiny. After all, I had missed it plenty of other times throughout the city.

I nudged my LF’s sweaty arm, and whispered for her to turn around. She abruptly looked up at me. So did the others. I shook my head, not wanting to show them. Yet num and nuts, who both looked super cool in cottons with sweaty, slicked-back hair, started to grow jumpy and make the odd whimper.

I knew they were on to something. Those two are good at picking up shit, annoyingly good. But this is one secret I didn’t want to unravel just yet, especially since we were plagued by the interloper; Terrence, the big white guy that didn’t sweat. If I showed him, in the future he might think of me as his personal guide to the supernatural, and I didn’t want that.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said, and started toward Fulton St., which is the main thoroughfare in the historic seaport area.

“Ner, nu, ner, na,” num and nuts uttered to each other; so much for their summer-chic, MTV beach house “façade!” Those two are whacked. I know that–and so do my readers.

“What is it?” my LF asked, her long black hair lying damply on her shoulders.

Num and nuts limply angled their arms a few doors to the left of the Fish Market Restaurant.

My anticipation rose and I shuffled my feet nervously. Terrence’s eyes opened wide and he smiled with hound dog cheeks.

Sure enough, where they had pointed, a steel gate over the front of one of the buildings opened a moment later. It was old and rickety, the kind that a person had to raise by pulling chains, yet it slipped up the painted steel rail without a sound or person in sight. Behind it a door opened and a man slinked out onto the sidewalk. Dark blue lines outlined his frame.

Head ducked into the open V-neck of a coat, the person swiftly headed uptown toward Peck Slip. Terrence jumped out between the traffic and crossed the street to the sound of horns. The man’s head shot up and his back straightened.

(Max Beckley)

I followed with a hop in my step, having to also skirt between passing cars, one being a cop car. I thudded ahead of Terrence and up behind the man. Along my bare arms appeared a dark outline of blue. I turned, and with a gnarl, yelled at Terrence. “If you know what’s good, stay the f— back!” He slowed. “There’s a line here that you don’t want to cross,” I said, threateningly.

Finally, Terrence sighed and came to a stop, his fleshy breasts jiggling for a second.

“Hey you, you, you!” I cried, watching the man’s steps grow hesitant as I caught up with him.

His face was bright pink as if it had been scrubbed, and his short hair was dark, wavy, and clumped with jell. The light in his eyes screamed of innocence. I recognized his face! It was the Revolutionary War soldier, Max Beckley!

“They woke me for you! They woke me for you,” Max said, his eyes alight with terror. Fear seemed to leap off his person. “I’m to give you a message.”

I stepped back in horror, my eyes on the clumps of jell in his hair. What was it from? His birth . . . It took all my power to utter, “What is it?”

“You amuse them,” he said with a strained laugh as if someone forced him. He angled his face and gave an eerie, detached smile. Then he slapped his cheek. Blood oozed from his left eye. “This is what we can do,” Max said, though the voice was sweet and calm; definitely not his own. “Wake Max and kill Max. Others, too, Joe.”

They know my name.

From the corner of my eye I spotted my friends encroaching. I windmilled one arm and cried, “Get back!”

Max fell to his knees and his right leg snapped sideways at the calf. Yet he only moaned in pain, though such was the sound from his lips that it was like a silent scream. More bones snapped and my mind whirled in fear and disgust.

I wanted to run, but searched “them out.” I knew they were watching; I knew they were close.

Diagonally across the street in front of the old Fulton Fish Market building–mere feet from by the blue point of light–was an unusually dark, sleek space. I spotted a wide-bodied creature and saw vague motions flutter about it. I turned back to Max who was writhing in pain. His body slipped away and squished down into the curbside opening for the sewer. To fit, his flesh ripped away and more of his bones cracked.

There came shrieks and cries from my friends. My LF loudly sobbed. It took a minute or two to semi-recover after Max was gone. I looked about and saw the blue light along with the creature had also vanished.

—

Here are all the posts in this series: Episode Thirty – June/July 2010

Milk Toast

Keeping Secrets

See The Light

Here are my STORIES and PHOTOS

(Staten Island Girls – Remix Spoof)

I have always said Staten Island is a crazy place. Well, here is a cute little spoof on Staten Island girls. The girl singing is named Tara Mooney. In the below photo she is at the left.

Here is my first series of stories set in Staten Island.  Seventh Episode – May 2009 (Bald Punk Rides Again)

Bald Punk The Explorer!

My Journey to the Edge of the World!

Staten Island BBQ Mayhem

Bald Punk Rides Again

Here are my STORIES and PHOTOS

(Admiral Radley: “Ghost Of Syllables” Live at ”tiny “SXSW Concert)

Was listening to 91.5 FM KEXP today and heard the above Admiral Radley tune. It’s a great song!

91.5 is the best FM radio station in NYC. Too bad they cut the music after 12 noon.

Here are my STORIES and PHOTOS

For some reason this song popped up in my head today. I haven’t heard it in years. 

(R.107 CLASH – ‘Joe Strummer NYC’, 1981)

Here are my STORIES and PHOTOS

(Photos by Joe)

I wanted to get up some photos of these boats docked at Pier 17. If you’ve read some of my stories, you know I spend a lot time over there. 

Here are my STORIES and PHOTOS

(South Street across from The Paris Cafe – Photos by Joe)

“Where your treasure is, there will your heart also be.”                      

Luke 12:34   –

Believe me, I don’t give away all of NYC’s secrets. Especially those associated with that block of small brick buildings on South St. between Beekman St. and Peck Slip. At one end are vacant fish market offices, and at the other is The Paris Café, established in 1873. In my eyes, the sadly dilapidated row of buildings, save The Paris, sits in its own little cloud within the boundaries of historic South Street Seaport.

The rundown row carries the truth not only of time, but of another age. Particularly in the seemingly sterile tourist district, where many of the pre-20th Century brick and mortar buildings have been brought back to old world splendor.

Before I ever even noticed a strange cloud or apparition on that block, I saw the buildings as windows to the past. Now I know them as “curtains and doors” to which ghostly images permeate, yet still think of them as windows to the past, ones that for certain do not hold their secrets very well.

~

I headed across Pier 17 at South Street Seaport to meet my lady friend(LF) and the pizza and Chinese delivery guys(aka num and nuts). On the wooden pier is a three story mall that has an open deck, which wraps nearly around the upper floor.

Behind me was a pesky white guy from Queens named Terrence. He had just met me that hot and humid evening, and wanted details on a ghostly neon light over one of the aforementioned buildings on South St.

I stopped abruptly and shook my head. “Dude!” I cried in a derogatory manner, though that’s how that word always rings in my head. I looked away for a second. This guy just won’t leave me alone. “Another time, I’ll catch up with you. I’m just not in the mood to play tour guide to the supernatural tonight.”

“Maybe it would be, um, it would be easier, now!” Terrence said, his face round with plump cheeks and bright, expressive brown eyes. “The blue neon light has, um-has started to brighten.”

“Man, you’re from Queens and you’re white, you’re basically a tourist!” I cried and paused to read a text message on my cell. My friends were wondering what was holding me up. I glanced at the skyscrapers in Lower Manhattan before I took in Terrence’s face. Pure white, no greasy sunblock residue–and the bastard didn’t sweat . . .

Cell in hand, I pointed my thumb at him. “Listen, dude! If you don’t stop following me, I’ll never help you!”

Terrence sighed with head and shoulders hunched; his frame had the shape of a bloated question mark. At over six foot and near three hundred pounds, he didn’t exude a hint of aggression or force of character.

“Another night!”

“Okay,” he said, twisting his mouth and nose in a near quarter-circle. His large body heaved with sadness as he skulked off.

(Pier 17 at South Street Seaport)

I went into the seaport mall and met my friends. We had a few drinks on the outside third-floor deck, which is one of my favorite places to hang out in NYC. I can grab a beer or a cup of Joe and kick back on a lounge chair, all while admiring the most famous East River crossings, Lower Manhattan, Brooklyn, and the Upper Bay.

I had told my friends about Terrence and what he was looking for. After we left the mall and came to South Street, we all gazed up past Beekman at the row of buildings on the west side of the street.

“I can see the neon blue glow,” my LF said, wearing a black tank top and shorts. Num and nuts, who both wore bahama shorts and cotton-white button-down shirts, nodded like bobbleheads.

“Yeah, and the fat white guy–see him, that’s Terrence,” I said, pointing to where he stood between two parked cars. There was a touch of the blue glow atop his head, which was cocked in an odd manner, as if his neck was broken.

“Let’s go over and take a look,” my LF said.

I stiffened. Let everyone look, but I’m not giving away this secret.

We took up on the other side of the street from the row of buildings, in a parking area under the elevated FDR highway. Terrence came over and joined us with an enthused smile. “This guy thinks I’m a tour guy to the supernatural,” I said, just before I reluctantly introduced him to my friends.

He guffawed with a twinkle in his eyes. We wasted no time in admiring the blue neon light. It was ”strongest” by the Fish Market Restaurant, which sat near the middle of the block.

(Fish Market Restaurant)

Num and nuts drifted into the street, which isn’t separated from the parking area by a sidewalk. All of a sudden a tall tourist bus with Ontario plates towered directly over them! None of us had saw it coming. It would have been a scarier moment, had not the Canadian driver smirked and shook his head as if it was a routine occurrence. He pulled away without a sideways glance.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said.

“We’re missing something,” my LF said, to which everyone seemed to agree.

Except me! I didn’t say a word. I wasn’t giving this secret away even though I clearly saw what they were missing and knew if I pointed it out, it would be clear as day to them.

—

Here are all the posts in this series: Episode Thirty – June/July 2010

Milk Toast

Keeping Secrets

See The Light

Here are my STORIES and PHOTOS

(Photos by Joe)

 I must have hundreds of photos from South Street Seaport. It’s easily one of my favorite places in NYC

 Here are my STORIES and PHOTOS

(Photos by Joe)

My friend, Polar Bear Dave, rented a boat for us to cruise around NYC yesterday and see the Macy’s fireworks show on the Hudson. I took about 1000 photos. I will post many of them in the next week or so.

 Here are my STORIES and PHOTOS

(Cover by Joe)

Click here to buy my book on Amazon.com – THE VIRGIN KING by Joseph Fullam.

Click on the link to read the first three chapters: THE VIRGIN KING.

I will post some thoughts on THE VIRGIN KING later.

Here are my STORIES and PHOTOS