Brandon Stanton's Blog, page 497

Last week I sent an email to Blackwolf the Dragonmaster, asking...

Last week I sent an email to Blackwolf the Dragonmaster, asking if he wanted to review and/or cast spells on the HONY book. For those of you who don’t know, Blackwolf is the Unofficial Wizard of New York— a thankless yet crucial job which involves casting spells, holding the Universe together, posing for pictures, and collecting tips from tourists in Central Park. 

The following day I received a reply:

"Haul your butt and your camera stuff to Bethesda Fountain upon the morrow, meet me around ‘twixt 10 and noon, if thou wouldst have that Dragonmaster’s endorsement."

I arrived at Bethesda Fountain at the appointed time and discovered Blackwolf, accompanied by his dragon Sir Aragorn. After verifying that his portrait was included in the book, Blackwolf agreed to cast two spells. I laid the book at his feet, then ran to higher ground to avoid any errant wizard sparks. 

"First I will cast the Dream Your Possible Dream Spell," he said. "This will impart good thoughts and dreams upon all mortals who read this book." He waved his staff over the book. I didn’t see any sparks but Blackwolf assured me that the spell had been cast.

"Next I will cast the Spell of Good Fortune."
"What does that one do?" I asked.
"It brings traffic to Blackwolf’s website." 

Though the second spell seemed to be a bit underhanded and self-serving, I didn’t ask any questions. He then asked me if I wanted him to cast a “Make Brandon Stanton Money Spell.” 

"Do that one quick," I said. "But keep your voice down."

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COMING IN SIX WEEKS (October 15th)
THE HUMANS OF NEW YORK BOOK
over 300 pages, over 400 photos/stories, 3 legit spells
You can preorder now for less than $20.

AMAZON: http://amzn.to/10sbtW5
BARNES AND NOBLE: http://bit.ly/16SycBf
INDIEBOUND: http://bit.ly/191EZLF

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Blackwolf The Dragonmaster’s Dark Chambers:
http://www.dragonmasternewyork.webs.com/

Best one of these things I’ve ever seen.

Best one of these things I’ve ever seen.

"I proposed to my fiancee before I even met her in...

"I proposed to my fiancee before I even met her in person."
"How’d that happen?"
"Well, she lives in Australia. We met on Instagram. Then for the next three months we talked on the phone every night. Then I proposed on Skype."
"So have you met her in person yet?”
"Oh yeah, she’s actually been in New York for the past three months. She just went back to Australia to get her stuff. We even have our own apartment. And a dog."

Seen on the subway.

Seen on the subway.

"I hate when people say that you never forget how to ride a...

"I hate when people say that you never forget how to ride a bicycle. Because I forgot three times. So I gave up and got a tricycle."

I actually first photographed this man on the sidewalk, but then...

I actually first photographed this man on the sidewalk, but then he invited me inside his store. And the store looked just like the guy.

"What was the saddest moment of your life?" “It was more...

"What was the saddest moment of your life?"

“It was more a collection of moments. My mother and I were homeless when I was growing up. And she was constantly trying to find us places to stay at night. We’d move from shelters, to relatives’ houses, to friends’ houses. One time we slept in a car for an entire month. It wasn’t really the being homeless that was so sad. It was seeing how helpless my mom felt on the nights when she couldn’t find us a place to stay.”

"If you could give one piece of advice to a large group of...

"If you could give one piece of advice to a large group of people, what would it be?"

“You’re not gonna get me up in front of a large group of people.”

"When I’m doing good, everyone wants to be around me. When...

"When I’m doing good, everyone wants to be around me. When I’m doing bad, I’m by myself."

"I’m in a bit of an introspective mood, because one of...

"I’m in a bit of an introspective mood, because one of Ireland’s greatest poets died today. His name was Seamus Heaney."
"Do you have a favorite poem by him?"

Digging
by Seamus Heaney

Between my finger and my thumb 
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound 
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground: 
My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds 
Bends low, comes up twenty years away 
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills 
Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft 
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade. 
Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.