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The Last Days of Nearpara Rubber I smelled it before I saw anything worth photographing. That warm, faintly sweet bite of old rubber, the kind that hits you somewhere between a tire shop and a summer highway, drifted through the first building the moment I stepped inside. The structure was burned out, charred and broken, rubble underfoot. But the smell was alive. And then I saw the pile. In the corner of the room, faded brown and heaped maybe two feet high, was a mound of baby bottle nipples. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of the small rubber tips, just sitting on the floor of a collapsed industrial building in Trenton, New Jersey. I stood there for a moment, genuinely confused, and then kept moving. Nothing like the smell of warmed-over rubber. Twenty minutes later, I understood even less. Through another door passage, I found the main source of the smell: six open metal trailer containers, still loaded with bagged baby bottle nipples, sitting in open air. Bags of them, mountains of bagged n...
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Abandoned Church of Divine Flames
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The main attraction 😍😍😍
A surprise I would never forget.
One cold morning, S and I headed across town to check out a church many Instagrammers have trodden upon when this church became known for its abandonment in the sprawling green lawns of this residential neighborhood. It seemed every day when the first image appeared of this church's unique stained glass windows everyone all of a sudden appeared within its walls within the next two weeks. Mind-boggling how one picture starts out online and all of a sudden everyone knew about it.
S and I parked the car and took a spin in front of the church only to realize that from the street level, you could see another feature of this church prominently displayed in full view (main photo above). It was the plastic/glass rods hanging from the ceiling. Finding no entrance from the front, we went around and made our way past the high chain link fence and entered the partitioned side of the walkway to the busted door lock. Making our way inside, I headed straight for the chandelier and clicked away happily until S shouted to come to take a look inside the main church hall.
👀
Inside was just the way it was even though months had passed since the last posting of this property. Everything was in unblemished condition except for bad graffiti in the balcony seating some immature scoundrel(s) decided to mark up. The red seats, in particular, show their age where many congregants sat for years and years of church service. Behind the pulpit stood the shimmering and brightly colored stained glass depicting the red-hot yellow flames smoldering bush from a green base. It was all there and more from the very first moment I saw it appear in my Instagram feed.
Center Aisle
Balcony
The Biblical Bush
On the side stood the piano forlornly waiting to be hammered into religious harmony. Behind stood a standalone church kitchen and backroom where I assumed the congregation gathered for light lunches and church dinners. Chairs and tables are piled high throughout. The only sound emanating from the room was water dripping down from somewhere. A tell-tale sign of an unmaintained roof. After clicking away with delight we headed upstairs to check out the rooms and find the way up to the balcony overflow seating. After finding it and shooting from above, we found more empty rooms, office storage, and a standalone room which must have been a church classroom due to the blackboard. Nothing of note besides the balcony existed upstairs. So we made our way down the basement level.
No sweet melodies
Center View
Front of Pulpit
Down in the basement, we found a pitch-black room large enough for a dancehall party of 100 people or more. If I remember correctly there was a disco ball or not. It has been a while since I visited this church. My memory was a bit fuzzy of what I explored down in the basement. Nothing of note and no tools to aid us in lighting the room, we made our way underneath the chandelier and clicked away at all angles until we decided our time was up and left.
Office Room
Bumping our fists heading to the car, another exploration completed in the books.
Update : A full research write-up of International Silver Company's former Factory H boiler house . This abandoned northeastern factory sits in the back of a quiet residential street surrounded by nature. Next to this two-story building remains another abandoned medical complex boarded up to the gills. Stay tuned for upcoming flicks. Getting into this building was quite hard. We hopped a perimeter fence in the middle of the morning just before a police car was sitting taking a quiet break or making their due diligence check on the property. This property is down the road at a current asbestos abatement medical hospital by the local town/state agency. Once on the property, it offers a mix of old machinery and pipework from this little factory which was probably much larger before residential developers took over. In addition, the building was free of graffiti and its brick-walled facade still looked like the day it was constructed. The only giveaway is the wide-open away roof...
The Last Days of Nearpara Rubber I smelled it before I saw anything worth photographing. That warm, faintly sweet bite of old rubber, the kind that hits you somewhere between a tire shop and a summer highway, drifted through the first building the moment I stepped inside. The structure was burned out, charred and broken, rubble underfoot. But the smell was alive. And then I saw the pile. In the corner of the room, faded brown and heaped maybe two feet high, was a mound of baby bottle nipples. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of the small rubber tips, just sitting on the floor of a collapsed industrial building in Trenton, New Jersey. I stood there for a moment, genuinely confused, and then kept moving. Nothing like the smell of warmed-over rubber. Twenty minutes later, I understood even less. Through another door passage, I found the main source of the smell: six open metal trailer containers, still loaded with bagged baby bottle nipples, sitting in open air. Bags of them, mountains of bagged n...
When I arrived at the former Aerosol Techniques factory, I was filled with a mix of anticipation and curiosity. Meeting a group of new friends for a day of urban exploration in Connecticut, we had a lineup of intriguing abandoned sites on our agenda. Our itinerary included the hauntingly beautiful Seaside Sanatorium, a former hospital, along with a few other potential spots that we were less certain about. We chose the factory as our starting point, mainly because it offered easy access and was conveniently situated next to a Lowe's hardware store. Walking along a well-trodden path, our group made a seamless transition onto the property. The sense of camaraderie was palpable as we embarked on our adventure with eager enthusiasm. The factory grounds, long deserted, were a canvas for countless graffiti artists. Every inch of the building was adorned with vibrant and eclectic street art, each piece telling its own story. This rich color and creativity set the perfect stage for our imp...
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...
The Standard Plant and a Century of Making Things It was a hot May week in 2023, and J and I were already sweating through our shirts before we even made it to the entrance. We turned into the driveway off North Elm Street and passed a large Caterpillar backhoe holding up the red, white, and blue at the top of the arm. Patriotic machinery. Only in Connecticut. We moved toward the back of the complex with our eyes open, scanning for any sign of people or activity. We found cameras instead. A few of them, well-positioned across one of the buildings and up on an electrical pole, covering angles that made our original entry plan useless. We backed off, found a Plan B, and stepped into a dark room washed in tinted green light, then took the stairs down to ground level. The former Standard Plant sits along North Elm Street at a sunken grade, one story, with another building rising over the roadway to the far right when you're standing in front of it from North Street. It's the kind o...
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