Digital Ink'd

As the third anniversary of his untimely death let's appreciate the energy and unique art form Bashar Barakah Jackson aka Pop Smoke gave to the world. A solemn head bow and a moment of silence for the woo God.  I have been hunting for murals depicting drill rapper icon Pop Smoke all over Brooklyn. I came upon this mural while hunting for something else in the area. From the pictures, I knew I had to go see it in person, and boy did it not disappoint. From the images below you can see someone recently laid flowers and lit some candles to pay the woo homage to Canarsie Brooklyn’s fast-rising chart-topper. In addition, from the intense Internet interest in these beautiful murals of Pop Smoke, I knew I had to share them with my drill scene readers.  Each mural I have visited is uniquely different from the others and invokes different emotions and personal feelings when viewing them. You just have to see them, to appreciate them, not for the social media post but for the passion, l...

A desolate sand swept Fallout Santa Monica Pier. Discover the captivating locales of Amazon Prime’s Fallout TV series as Lucy, Maximus, Moldaver, and the dreaded Ghoul vie for the Vault-Tec cold fusion relic. Filmed across various iconic spots in New York and New Jersey, the series brings the post-apocalyptic Los Angeles, California wasteland to life. Here’s a closer look at the real-life locations featured in the show. Let me know in the comments below how much you loved the show. Were you surprised by the New York-centric locations? Episode 1 (“The End”) In a gripping and unforgettable episode, we witness Lucy emerging from the subterranean depths of Vault 33 centuries ahead of schedule, driven by an urgent quest to rescue her father, Hank, the Overseer of Vault 33. This dramatic turn of events follows the brutal infiltration of Vault 32 by Moldaver’s raiders, who cunningly disguised themselves as the already deceased rioting inhabitants of the vault. The story's turmoil begins ...

For weeks, I had been orbiting the perimeter of the impending demolition of the Church of St. Michael and St. Edward, a once revered church in the heart of Fort Greene, like a moth drawn to a flame. The neighborhood, a patchwork of tight project housing, seemed indifferent to the fate of this historic edifice. The intel I had received suggested that entry was as simple as scaling a wooden fence, yet the timing had never felt right. Until one day, it did. With a mission in New Jersey looming, I knew it was now or never. The demolition was advancing at a startling pace, the church's twin steeples already reduced to rubble. The skeletal remains of timber beams and rusted steel frames peeked out from the ruins, a testament to the relentless march of progress. Summoning a surge of courage, I seized a moment of quiet in the bustling housing project and vaulted over the fence. My heart pounded in my chest as I slipped unnoticed into the church grounds. The once grand entrance now stood as...

  In my extensive ventures across various businesses, churches, factories, and plants, I've encountered a plethora of remnants from bygone industrial eras. Yet, none have left as profound an impression as the sight of the leftover machinery at the former Potter Hill Mill. Nestled amidst its surroundings, these aging relics stand as silent witnesses to a vibrant industrial past, their once-potent functionality now subdued by the relentless march of time. The manufacturing equipment, once the lifeblood of cotton goods production, remains steadfast, firmly bolted to the floor, slowly succumbing to the relentless embrace of rust and decay. It's a scene frozen in time—a rare glimpse into the mechanical marvels of the 1800s, preserved in their original state, untouched and unscathed by modern interventions. As I gaze upon the weather-worn structures and rusted machinery, I'm struck by the poignant juxtaposition of past and present. The former textile mill, once a bustling hub of...

As you drive along Interstate 95, you might catch a glimpse of the blown-out windows of the former Bridgeport Organ Company. This imposing structure, with its faded billboard, has stood vacant and abandoned for years. Inside, the scene is one of decay and disarray—dangling pipes, snack wrappers, empty alcohol bottles, spray cans, and collapsed floors. Signs of squatter activity, like overturned buckets used as chairs and sleeping bags spread across the wooden floors, were prevalent back in 2014. Despite its current state, the site has a rich history. The Bridgeport Organ Company once produced exquisite organs with ornate wooden cases. These instruments, standing six feet high and four feet wide, were prized pieces of furniture in family parlors before the advent of record players. As musical tastes evolved, so did the factory's production. By the late 19th century, the demand for home organs declined, giving way to new inventions like the graphophone, an early version of the phonog...