Jung conducted one of the first polls attempting to establish a statistical basis for astrology. He had the horoscopes of four hundred and eighty-three married couples analyzed and found...planetary patterns in lasting marriage partnerships. At his Zurich clinic he had horoscopes charted for every patient. He said he found the charts useful as a preliminary diagram of the forces operating within a patient's total personality... ...he saw...psychological symbolism...in alchemy. He spent thirteen years working on this...that the alchemists of the Middle Ages were...in search of the principles of nuclear physics. ...they...gave off classic psychological projections...maps of a universal mind pattern. ...concepts of the "collective unconscious" and "synchronicity." ...if...ultimately found to be true...would explain a wide spectrum of paranormal phenomena. Jung envisioned the collective unconscious as the level of the mind...mystical illumination and ESP... [R. D.] Lang's...book, The Politics of Experience, states... "Transcendental experiences...those experiences of the divine...are the living fruit of all religion." ...a madman's confusions often seem to move his experience..."from real time to the eternal..." ...restates the symbolism of The Tibetan Book of the Dead - a death of the ego smothered in social illusion and rebirth of a psyche in touch with reality. - Freedland
Even on a cold Friday in February, the arts district...draws a crowd in the thousands. ...food trucks... Live music pours into the street...and blue-colored streetlights... In the nine blocks...people can find Japanese, Mexican, Ethiopian and classic American fare. "We're literally Denver's front door," said...president...of...a community development organization focused on...disadvantaged communities. "We're the gateway to the city." The arts district...has worked...to provide housing assistance for low-income artist residents. ...initially...the arts district provided a bus service to bring arts enthusiasts to the various artist locations. "We didn't have the density back then." Art walks began as a way to revitalize and develop urban renewal in cities across the United States. ..."it's our bread and butter." "It's friendly, unpretentious..." "People are unified..." Wizard...invites patrons into the Room of Lost Things, a store...that features oddities and curiosities... Despite the success...the street still faces...rising housing prices. "I've been through the whole gentrification thing." - Denver Herald-Dispatch, 2/2017
...a new kind of living experience is rising through the dirt and rubble. "The goal was to create a lot of income points, with a cross section of housing options. We wanted this area to be a neighborhood of front doors, even with retail coming in." ...in 2013...starting holding neighborhood meetings to get a sense of what neighbors wanted to see in the area. "It was after these meetings we decided to go...mined-income housing, leaning toward market rate." "...it seemed like they were tearing down buildings all the time." "These homes have a very 'lock-and-key' vibe, where everything is taken care of." "In addition to physical and occupational therapy, we do a lot of community clinics around running and wellness." "...there's a desire for this kind of development moving west. A rising tide lifts all shifts..." - Denver Herald-Dispatch, 3/2017
By July, Mi Casa Resource Center, a nonprofit whose mission is to advance the economic success of families wit limited opportunities, will move [up the street from where I live.] The new building...houses 42 low-income families who fall between 30 and 60 percent of the area median income. The complex boasts...indoor bike storage, a fitness room, media lounge... ...the developer behind the project. Urban revitalization is one of their niches. Mi Casa staff will...offer...entrepreneurial training, business counseling, career training, coaching and job search help, free tax preparation and financial coaching. "We...bring our services...where they could be utilized...in the immediate area." Some outreach and trust building will be initiated... In 1976...Mi Casa...was formed by a group of eight Head Start mothers...
The promoters are AEG... They want a five-year contract... A...resident asked..."Why a golf course and not somewhere else?" AEG's local consultant...answered, "What people want is to be outside on the grass - not in a parking lot. Denver is arguably one of the last...cities in the country without its own true organic festival, reflective of its community." District 7 City Councilman...called the festival "an opportunity. I'm excited about the process..." "...for a top-notch festival. It could be a keystone of an arts and culture scene..." - the profile, 3/2017
Overall wellness provides...for...the normal stresses of life such as work and productivity. The Dahlia Campus is not a traditional mental health clinic., the campus offers...the dentist, enrolling a child in preschool...food pantry...lettuce, mustard and collard green sales... ...Zumba, Mental Health First Aid Training. ...therapy gardens, am urban farm,...a greenhouse that is powered by fish tanks (Aquaponics). Decoding Our Stories of Health... Writng Your Life Story... Build Your Brand... Mo Betta Green Marketplace... ...Racial Discrimination in Healthcare. Disaster Preparedness. Community Fish Fry attended by 600 people! Natural Hair Care Expo...
...the federal government...allowed an unending flow of immigrants to...compete with Blacks... The Harvest institute cannot support current immigration policies...until the Constitutionally mandated justice to native Blacks is fully accomplished. ...immigrant-headed households currently consume more in public services than they pay in taxes...from $11 billion to $20 billion above the net gain from having immigrants in the work force... ...economic benefits generated by arriving immigrants accrue to the nation's corporate elite. This...devastates Black Americans. Our immigration policies have made native Black Americans this nations only planned, permanent, involuntary minority looser. Native Black Americans have never been allowed to compete in the population war... ...non-Anglo Saxon Whites speaking Spanish, are...awarded immigration advantages...over native Blacks in the population war. The National Hispanic Party public declared a population war on Black Americans in the early 1970s...and crafted plans to...supplant native Black Americans by the year 2000. ...and Blacks have been reduced from second-class to third-class citizens. Immigration policies held Black population growth... ...basic incentives that draw them to America...the public service benefits available to them because of the Black Civil Rights Movement... ...most immigrants find residential and commercial space in urban Black ghettos. ...they...mark and close the space by using their language and culture as barriers. Require all immigrants that seek American citizenship to demonstrate knowledge of Black history... ...increase the numbers of immigrants of African descent ... The Harvest Institute offers these recommendations...
With the new Commander in Chief (DT)...his success came from...Evangelical Christians, who were tired of the free world of sin. God has been weeping of sadness how the United States has push [sic] from" thus saith the Lord" same gender bathrooms is [sic] now okay, a gay lifestyle with adoption of children okay [sic], more abortion rights., [sic] for the love of money people have sold out to idol gods etc.. We are living in hell right here on earth. There is a shift in the atmosphere...God...will remove negative change in due time. Not everyone who says they are a Christian really is. Pope Francis recently spoke out against...(DT) actions. [sic] "The contradiction of those who want to defend Christianity in the West, and...are against refugees and other religions. The sickness of, you can say the sin..." - Body of Christ News, 2/2017
When you enter Mayor Steve Hogan's office, you are greeted by a variety of decorations from around the world... "Here in Aurora...you see ten different kinds of international restaurants. ...walk into a grocery store you see...various races and ethnicities in their national clothing. ...arrive for a meeting at City Hall, you hear at least twelve different languages. Politics is serious business. Politics is for those equipped to guide others, solve problems, and help people look toward the future." ...the Office of International and Immigrations Affairs...is currently thriving. - asian avenue magazine, 3/2017
In a frightening political moment...individuals crave...safe spaces. ...be open-minded to differing voices. ...at the family dinner table, in the classroom, at the office - hateful conditions have been validated by the highest power... ...the rally defined...safe space through resistance and conversation. "I think of safety...as...a concept of social interactions that can be anywhere...without fear of self-consciousness. If we can achieve this personal freedom..." "...when we talk about ticketing social justice issues, we emphasize bravery rather than safety." ...you are entitled to the safety of your social media pages. There are very few spaces one can actively edit. - Outfront, 3/1/2017
Friday. Shit, it's been a little while since I have been out at the bus stop across the street from where I live, shortly after 4 AM. Or a little while since I've even been up this early. I'm working another double shift today and the boss can't give me a ride in with her. She has a parent teacher conference. Be this as it may, in the bus shelter is a guy sitting on the bench, with a sleeping bag over his head. A fire truck with its lights on slowly pulls out of the fire house next door. The guy in the shelter sticks his head out from under the sleeping bag to see what the commotion is all about. He can't be much into his thirties, two decades younger than myself. With his long shaggy hair and moustache, and the strobe lights from the fire truck, he appears as if he's in a band from the early 1970s. The past couple of days, I have watched various bus and train riders come on board, all who ask questions as if they have no idea where they are going. The following day I am promised that I will have it off. It turns out to be true. For lunch, I grab my mom some fried rice at the place across the street. As I am coming out, I'm approached by a guy who looks like he owns a home and a car. His beard is manicured and in his outfit he's looking good. So I am surprised when he asks me if I can help him out with some money. Several hours later, I am coming back from dinner across the street. Coming toward me are a Caucasian couple on bikes. The young woman smiles at me. Because she knows that she is a non-Caucasian neighborhood. Sunday. In the afternoon, I hear music somewhere near my home, outside on a temperate day. It turns out to be a rally with recorded music and a vocalist, in front of the anchor shop of the largest Vietnamese shopping center. The rally is complete with flags of the old Republic of (South) Vietnam. The reason for the rally appears to be, according to signs in English, a pending "border treaty" between China and Vietnam. "Down with Communism," reads one placard held by an elementary school girl. I think I hear a speaker mention "Anam," the French colonial name for Vietnam., but I'm not sure. I don't speak Vietnamese but in spite of both governments being communist, those at the rally make a clear distinction between the two countries. At the same time, the speaker also says in English, "Communism; down down!" Any identification with a communist Vietnam appears to be missing, or this handful of rally attendees refuse to do so. The speaker addresses a crowd of almost no one in Vietnamese, in between singing what sound perhaps like songs of the old South Vietnamese Republic, performed in front of street racers blasting up and down the boulevard. It may be the old Republic's rally, but the traffic reconquista el calle. At the north end of the shopping center is a dive bar called the King's Court. At this Vietnamese rally, I am approached by a Caucasian drunk who asks me, "Can I talk to you for a minute?" In his right hand he holds a tiny airline bottle of alcohol. I tell him that I am on my way home. He replies, "Just go then..." Long song cong hoa.
Monday. I am out on the trail for the first time in a couple of freaking weeks of double shifts, days off, and other distractions from my cardio workout. I am on the first of 2 trails sometime after 11 AM. It's a cold and a blustery day. Shuffling slowly toward me are a trio of homeless-looking guys, all of them younger than myself. Further down the trail is another homeless dude. He's pushing a bike with a carrier hooked on back. The carrier, designed to carry toddlers, is loaded with full plastic trash bags. I turn onto a connecting trail. Halfway down this one, marching along, are a handful of middle school or high school students. They are all in winter coats and...shorts. (?) Their teacher wears jeans. Before I catch up with them, we both pass by a cardboard sign laying in the middle of the trail. It reads, "Anything helps. God bless." The following day I have off. I am waiting at the bus stop across the street from where I live. I'm headed downtown to have dinner with the sister. Of the people seated on the bench in the bus shelter are a couple. The woman has blue bangs. Coming down the sidewalk, from the direction of a halfway house where ex-cons live, is a guy with a wardrobe I am laughing at. He's in a black cap, shirt, and skinny pants. The pants have a pocket at the right knee, out of which hangs a folded red handkerchief. And he has horn-rimmed glasses. He looks to me to be some kind of wannabe. As he passes the guy in the shelter, the guy calls out his name. The two appear to know each other. The handkerchief guy tells the first, "I just got out (of prison.)" When the bus rolls up I get on board with the couple. At a stop further down, a grey-haired guy gets on. He's in a DEA cap and a motorsports jacket, and walks with a cane carved from a pine branch. He takes his time digging out his fare. A kid in the back, who sounds as if he wants to impress his girlfriend, yells out, "Let's gooooo!" The bus drops me at the train. When it comes along, it appears to be full of students headed to the community college downtown. I notice a middle-aged guy in an orange hoodie. He's using sign language. For some of us it's standing room only, I stand facing a nerdy-looking guy who is on his phone. According to the story I hear, he lives with a girl who decided to begin posting on his Facebook page (the password for which she has) what a miserable and rotten human being he is. In defense of this total stranger, he certainly does not sound disposed to malfeasance. Perhaps he's lacking in passion. These posts came to his attention when he was in math lab. Not being one to deny what she did, she was also blowing up his phone. This is a young relationship in the age of social media. With a math lab. He has decided that he wants her out of his place in 8 days, or he will "do the eviction thing." Something went bad fast. I hear him say that he wished he had "someone other than Alex to talk to about this, because you know how Alex is."
...it seemed too abstract and intellectual a contest for former warlords who only a few years earlier had pledged to kill each other. ...Kabila...to end their feud...had named Bemba his vie president... A victory for Bemba...seemed certain to plunge Congo into new chaos. Born into a wealthy family...he had left mansions and servants for the forests, where he had made himself into a...warlord. "Power falls from the sky in Africa only once every twenty or thirty years. Each man becomes a dictator. He will do anything...not to loose his chance at the presidency." "If I don't win the elections I will return to the bush!" he yelled, his eyes filled with rage. I could feel the violence in the atmosphere. The vice president had the power to incite this in the poor. The men said they could barely afford to eat from their herding. No doubt they had lived...better by their weapons, plundering. But their main complaint was that the UN could give them more useful things to do: they wanted computer training. [At a] market place...our vendor...said that the skewers from which I ate goat had carried human meat during the war. And he burst into laughter. ...in the Zairianization of the 1970s... Ordinary people accessed great sums without work. It was felt that Congo's...riches were, at last, in the hands of its people...this was their destiny, their right, the carnival would not end. The labor of...five decades was consumed in these few years. It is part of the nostalgia... - Sundaram
The gentry...the landlords, the rich peasants, the clan elders, the overseers of temple property, and the managers of religious societies - would not have been considered well of in any Western land. They did not live in palaces. They enjoyed none of the conveniences of modern life. The could eat...meat once in a while. Those who did not go up went down, and those who went down often went to their deaths or at least to the dissolution and dispersal of their families. Both prosperous and poor peasants were forced to expend their often exhausted energies on a guard duty [against] some half-starved family trying to stay alive just a few more days until its own poor crops matured.. - Fanshen, by W. Hinton, 1966
Over the weekend, I see on the local TV news that a car in my neighborhood crashed into a home. This morning, I am on my way to commune with my new primary care physician, all the way across town. I don't trust either of the routes to the two nearest train stations, as they appear to be randomly closed at crucial junctures due to construction. I head north to the next closest station. Along the way I am wheeling down a residential street somewhere around * am. Walking toward me is a guy with shaggy grey hair under a cap, and a bushy beard. He's in a sleeveless denim jacket and carrying a thick pine walking stick. Some three hours later, I am in line to get some blood work done. Sitting across from me are a mom and her young son. She watches as he plays his "Bible game" on a phone. He mentions not seeing any "diamonds" and describes to her a wall which collapses onto a character. "Wow," she tells him, "that's the mercy of God, huh?"
Victims were boiled in barrels, crushed by pestle, raped until hollowed out... One sensed...men...making their acts extreme, seeking the spectacle...each victim was made personal. ...the bloodbath here...had been the pinnacle of his career: General Mathieu's drugged army had come out in pink wigs and ladies' robes. They had danced to street music. Corpses had decomposed in the gutters... The nuns said they were not surprised. They spoke breathlessly, using broken French, English and Italian... A hundred years earlier, I gathered, militia had knocked on the convent door. The missionary had recorded it in his journal, now kept in the Vatican. Hundreds had been killed... "For a stupid thing called gold." These people had died for man's "lust"... "But we Italians are not like the Congolese." "Killing is not our charisma." - Sundaram
Tuesday. It's good to be out on the bike again. Again on a train to work, I am next to a guy in a seat. His camouflaged cap has a hole in it, and he's got a dirty back pack with him. Just about eight hours later, I am coming back up the concrete ramp to the train platform, which I went down toward work. It's just after twilight. Sitting on a concrete ledge, in the dark, is a lone figure in a winter coat on a temperate evening. Arms crossed, the figure is almost attempting to not appear visible. The following morning, I get a call to go into work ASAP. I get on a bus with a bike rack on the front. On this rack is a bike with an orange reflective vest tied at each end. Wedged in the bike frame is a piece of cardboard, which I assume is a sign. The bus whips me up the street to my old bus stop. Seated on a bench are a couple of Caucasian twenty-somethings who I shall refer to as "fake homeless." They are dressed head to toe in brand new fashionably drab-colored double-stitched denim. Every stitch completely clean, of course. The closest one is in an olive fatigue jacket, and he has a bandanna around his dreadlocks. He appears to have leather boots on. I bet he's even got socks. He's having a smoke as he banters with his pal. A real homeless young guy comes along. He wants to know if the dreadlocks guy will give him two dollars for his transfer. The pair is actually taken aback and have to think. "What?" the other one asks. His own almost spotless denim coat has chips in one pocket. He has a visor secured around a belt loop, and inside he carries a couple of bottles. They appear to be some kind of natural vitamin water, one bright red and the other bright orange. During his non-stop discussion with the first, I hear him mention that he is employed. The bus comes along and swoops us all up. Down the avenue, we go under a bridge. To our right, on a curb dividing the street from a concrete wall, walks a middle-aged woman. The curb is no wider than any other curb, and it's all which keeps her off the street. As we swing wide to keep from hitting her, traffic to our left honks at us. In the afternoon, a middle-aged guy comes into where I work. He's in a plaid shirt, ball cap, jeans, and has grey stubble. He appears to speak no English, but he hands me a note card with a message on it. He claims to have lost his job and has two kids. Does this business have any money to give him? As this neighborhood ain't like the one I reside in, it's upper class, I wonder if panhandlers are not allowed to hang out outside and must come in. Regardless, this is a new one on me if memory serves me correctly. After work, I wait at the bus stop shortly before 8 PM. A couple of young Caucasian male residents are walking a couple of dogs down the sidewalk. As they pass me, one says to me, "How you doin', boss?"
Thursday. I get some sleep but get a call to come into work on the second attempt at a day off. Someone quit, and I am to get to a particular store whenever I can. As I am also expecting to work the next two days, I quickly make lunch and breakfast for the rest of this week according to a new diet my doctor has me on. A half-hour later, I'm at the train station sometime after 10 AM. The bicycle-mounted Denver PD is out on the train stations. The train comes along, packed with who appear to be students headed to a community college campus along the way. I wonder if this population here on this side of town is where the Caucasian bohemians, who I see in the Vietnamese restaurant, come from? When we get to campus, they all file off and walk the same direction. I catch a connecting train, but I get out at a stop before work. I have to deposit my paycheck before it bounces (last one's a rotten debtor) and get change in case the store is out. This stop has the branch of my bank closest to a train stop. I then run into a supermarket to grab some food, according to my diet, just for today. Then I must figure out how to pack it all to ride from the train stop to work. Then it's back on the train, down three stops, and a ride through part of the "technology center." It's an ironic name for a place where my chain comes off. I dodge lunching office workers to find a place to put it back on. When I do get to work, I discover that both front doors are broken. My boss told me that one was broken, but I can't get either open. All day long, customers come in and out through a back door. Caveat emptor. Some seven and a half hours later, I am back at the same train station, where I have been coming to more times than I can remember to work at this particular store over the past twelve years. All that time, there have been only a couple of train lines running through here, both going into and coming out of downtown. Easy to remember. There is a recently opened line now coming through here, which goes to the west end of town. I must add it to my list of things to remember about the transit system.
The following day, after two aborted attempts, my day off is here. After a grueling workout, I am headed to a late lunch with the sister. Across the street from where I live is a bus stop where I just miss a bus. In the shelter is a derelict couple, the male of which speaks to the Mrs. with a gravel voice. They obviously did not get on the local route bus. I suspect that they are not waiting for a limited. The next morning, at 6:20 AM, I'm at a train station where I occasionally see passengers in costume. Or as the festival veterans say, "costumed characters." Puzzling over a ticket kiosk in the dark is a young woman in a grey medieval dress. I get on the train and see a middle-aged woman I recognize on this train before. The last time I saw her, she was hopping seats asking passengers if she could borrow their phone. This morning, she needs a napkin. She notices me as I write this down, and she asks me if I "got it all down?" Pretty much, ma'am. Eleven hours after my encounter with the phone/napkin woman, it's after work. I'm walking across the parking lot of the shopping center of the store where I just spent nine hours. I see what appear to be a typical elderly American couple get out of their car. I hear them begin speaking what sounds like Russian. Before I started work this morning, at the same end of this parking lot, I saw a van with a "Make America Great Again" sticker on its rear window. This evening, I pass a Ford F150 with "Sucks Gas, Hauls Ass" on its rear window. On another car is a bumper sticker which reads, "Another Pro-Life Democrat." Honestly, it's the first Pro-Life Democratic bumper sticker I've ever seen. The rest of them must have been either beaten by Trump supporters, hacked by Russian agents, and run over by ass-hauling trucks.
On Sunday, some time after 11 AM, I am at the bus stop in front of the supermarket. It's eighty degrees F on this spring day. In the shelter are a trio of middle-aged guys. One has stubble on the sides of his head, and his hair on top pulled into a tiny tail. Another sits in the shelter reorganizing a couple of canvas bags. The groceries are on the bench and the shelter floor. He has no shirt on. Down the sidewalk comes a guy holding one end of a cane. He is "short-roping," or guiding an elderly woman holding the other end. They get to the shelter where the hair guy offers them a seat on the bench which has no groceries. He asks the couple if they are from Vietnam. It's a neighborhood with a sizeable Vietnamese population. The guy tells him they are Cambodian. The hair guy asks them, genuinely curious, "What do you do here in the United States?" Some six hours later, I realize that I have forgotten a couple of items at the store. I hop on the bike and ride back to grab them. On the way back, I pass a couple of very young, golden-haired Caucasian women strolling down the broken concrete of this racetrack neighborhood. They are in long flowered print skirts. They both say, "Hi..." Jehova's Witnesses. Cinco will get you diez.
I'm a crappy Coloradan. I'm not "typical"...of this fine state. I don't care about much of the same stuff "you all" care about. Somewhere on that list, somewhere of "hiking" and north of "whitewater rafting," is... "Skiing." ...I-70 - a great, great highway that once showed me they way... Getting up at the crack of dawn to beat the traffic...(and still hitting most of it). It wasn't always like that. There was a time when you could... Roll out of bed at 8 a.m., still make it up in time to ski plenty, and cruise back home... And have enough money left to hit Beau Jo's on the way back... - Mile High Sports, 3/2017
...General Mathieu in recent months had reversed nearly a year's worth of territorial losses to the U.N., which was reeling from scandals and seemed distracted, adrift. It was incredible that the general had been allowed to reach...the UN's regional headquarters. ...the Congolese...soldiers were...paid only ten dollars a month, and often met basic needs...by looting anyone they found unprotected. ...the general produced in society...conflicted responses... It was almost impossible ...to build a road - inevitably someone would steal the building materials. Electrical cables were ripped off and sold by communities that would have used them. "Mathieu will save us," I heard more and more. Did they believe that Bemba would protect them? ...each supported her own rapist. The pillage...leaving nothing material - was...ambiance. So were the riots. It was part of the postmodernism... Ambiance held together the street children's existences. It was in the wigged prostitutes... And it was in the self-flagellation at the churches, where the Congolese listened...to the scolding, sweating priests. ...while the individual pillaged the material, the ambiance pillaged him. Marcel...wanted to build himself an office cabin. But he was never allowed to: as soon as he bought cement requests came in from the neighborhood - for a wall, a toilet, a broken roof... ...ragged men hauled out his sacks. Marcel was not paid. ...the implicit agreement was that...when he became poor like the ragged men he could ask them to return the favor. Clementine's restaurant...was frequented by half a dozen men who ate every day for free. ...she said...so that she did not become "too independent," "too capable." "...custom." ...a powerful word. ...to succumb to custom was...to return to the simplicity, the safety of...man as weak, of survival in groups. ...large ideas must live in smaller objects, acts, fantasies... ...the forest of things that the Congolese inherited - decayed... Society...reduced to ambiance, was unable to build. - Sundaram
Algeria...inhabitants...are...full French citizens (although few Moslem women vote)... ...they retain their rights of personal status - in regard to marriage, property, and the like - under Koranic law, thus having the best of both worlds. But has all this solved the Algerian "problem," and is Algeria "really" a part of France? They are...the flesh beneath the skin. ...about two million are Kabyles, who are a Berber offshoot; they are mountain people...more pro-French than the lowland Arabs, and partly Christianized. ...the M'zabites...fiercely acute men of business. The French in Algeria might almost be said to represent a new kind of separate "Mediterranean" nationality. ...the Southern Territories...are administered not from Paris but from Algiers... ...are...colonies of Algeria. What really runs them is the French army. ...because of the discovery of oil in the desert regions. If oil becomes immensely lucrative, like that in Saudi Arabia...Paris would like whatever income...to be diffused through the whole French budget... Algeria was never...a national entity... Arab culture was plowed under. Algeria is not a theocratic state...it has no Islamic monarch. ...European immigrants can be proletariat, and prosperous Arabs the bourgeoisie. Algeria has Colomb-Bechar...the center of French army work on guided missiles. The "colons" know their own strength full well, and have given Paris almost as many headaches as the nationalists. Several times their extremist leaders have threatened to secede from France, and form their own independent republic to be part of a "Union of North Africa." ...Algeria could not exist economically without France. Marxist writers comment without end on the "exploitation" of colonial peoples... Algeria is a splendid market for French manufactured goods, and so on. ...Algeria gives living space and earning space to a million Frenchmen. Of course most Arabs, if from the countryside, are too illiterate - as yet - for social or official intercourse. An Arab boy...will try to Europeanize himself as soon as possible... What the "colons" want is cheap, unskilled, uneducated labor, not Arabs in their drawing rooms. - Gunther
Tuesday. Got the day off. Ha! Bike ride to a nearby post office to grab some stamps. I'm headed down both residential and busy crosstown avenues. It's the middle of a weekday morning, so there's not a whole lot of traffic. I pass an old guy in suspenders, a narrow brimmed hat, and a pine walking stick. He's shuffling down the side of the street against traffic. He gives me a wave as I go by him. The post office is in an economically abandoned shopping center from the 1960s. The anchor is a dollar store. At the other end is a grocery which has no bags. You put your groceries into recycles boxes. In the middle are four loud drunks. Two are in wheelchairs. With stamps in hand, I head for home. I stop at a pho place where I've never been before, for lunch. It's nice inside. The flat screen has a commercial for Mexican beer. It can only be because this place has Spanish-speaking patrons. I take a table next to a pair of genuine Caucasians, right here en esta barrio. They are executives, no less. One thing about white people who come to my neighborhood, they love pho. One talks to the other nonstop. He's a sales rep who almost bought a home in Boston for $400 grand. He paid his tax guy four grand so he could write his options as a loss of $195 grand. His firm has a "fucking million-dollar customer." Right now, he must pick up his son, but he leaves his partner with advice on catching a flight tomorrow. Later on, I will have dinner at the Chinese place across the street from where I live. Wandering back and forth outside is a thin, grey-haired derelict. Cross-legged on the ground, next to the entrance, is a young guy panhandling.
Wednesday. I'm up the street, headed for my old bus stop on the way to work. The time change is still playing with my sleep, and I have mostly only had enough on the days I have off. So I don't have the energy to get on the bike today. I stop at the drug store to pick up photos. Sitting on a low wall in front of a fence is a young woman who looks like Christina Ricci. If Ricci had an orange face. The woman sits motionless with no expression on her face. When I come out, she is joined by a lanky young guy. The orange on his face is a beard from the Civil War. I am sure that they are homeless. The pair look like a bad copy of a Norman Rockwell painting.
I thought back to when I had first come to Congo... I remembered...the mathematics professor. ...he began to search his drawers for something. Muttering to himself, he shuffled through his papers. ...he found... a 1970s issue of "Rolling Stone" magazine. On the front page was a picture of students...protesting against the Vietnam War. [He] had been among them. He understood why I wanted to leave for Congo. When he gave me the magazine, he had said, "We once used to go to the streets to fight for our rights, for peace, equality, women's rights, gay rights, the environment. But I don't see that anymore. I don't know if your generation really cares, or how much." He had seen I was moving my own convictions. I remember vividly that moment when I traded in my mathematics textbooks for this copy of "Rolling Stone."
Activity...resumed. Mothers began to search for food... Husbands traveled into town to look for money. The ambiance resurged.... The churches gained more followers... The crumbling buildings had further deteriorated,; on the broken cement were bright new edges that would soon be sullied by moss and grime. The roadsides were lined with bonfires giving off black smoke. And across the vast city these thick columns rose, and joined with the grey sky. - Sundaram
...a weak clan structure in a country where clans have traditionally played a very important role. ...a class of laboring people. ...little better than serfs... ...two classes constituted the main social forces and determined the contours of development. ...did not benefit at all from the long period of united resistance, democratic rule, and moderate reform... Nor...benefit from that that extended period of internal peace that enabled communities...to carry out land reform calmly, step by step, in orderly fashion... Freed from control...leaped perforce from reactionary bastion to revolutionary storm center in the course of a few days. ...transformed under forced draft... ...the sudden destruction of the power and privileges of the gentry led to rapid social advances. The revolutionary process...remade not only the material life of the people, but also their consciousness. I had come to China...with the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration...and had been sent to the Communist-led area... ... in the fall of 1947...I accepted an invitation...to teach English... The University was a guerrilla institution which moved according to the dictates of war. Those without land...were often even unable to marry. ...had to sell children or even to sell wives... ...no general irrigation was possible... The land held by the landlords and rich peasants...seemed primarily...for other forms of...exploitation which...raised a handful...far above the rest... There were no saving banks; there was little commerce and less industry. The only thing left to invest was land. ...at least half of the population...lacked the resources for handicraft production, for small local industries... The iron ore in the hills...and the coal in the mountain...were never mined for lack of funds... - Hinton
Friday. I worked a double shift and some time after 7 PM, I'm out at the bus stop across a highway from the store. Earlier in the afternoon, I had dropped into a coffee place in the same shopping center. I was helped by a girl with a name tag, her name in huge block letters. Here at the stop, I can hear someone's steps as they are running across the highway to this stop. When I look up, it's the girl, still in her apron. Saturday. 5:30 AM. Train station. I am waiting for a train to work, earlier than usual on a Saturday. I have connections to make requiring longer layovers. A train pulls up headed downtown. A trio of young adults disembark, two guys and a short girl. The guys both have sunglasses on a good half hour before any sunlight is to be seen. They make each other laugh with noises and profanity. Pacing in a circle is a middle-aged bald guy. The morning is cold enough for gloves. He's' in shorts and a blanket. With him are three small dogs, each one on a leash. On the back of each of his lower legs is a tattoo of a cross. He and the dogs get on a train which is going all the way across town. Twelve hours later, it's been a long day at the same store. The bus scoops me up and I sit across from a grey-haired guy asleep in his seat. In front of him are three roll-away suitcases, and next to him is a ruck sack which appears to be falling apart. The bus pulls up to a stop next to a deathburger, and the driver parks the bus to run in to use a men's room. The sleeping guy wakes up and stands up. He can't stand straight right away, and he spends a minute hunched over. He's bent lower than 45 degrees, and I expect him to start vomiting. Instead, he hauls out a couple of the suitcases before returning for the rest of the bags. The bus drops me at the train after a short ride. At a stop down the line, a guy gets on. He has his hair pulled back into a short bun, and he's wearing sunglasses on an overcast afternoon. He asks a couple in the next seat if he can use a phone of theirs, to dial a number he has written on his hand.
Sunday. The time change has been jacking with my sleep. Last night I got an exceptional sleep, and am getting something of a late start to a busy day. I need breakfast, a workout, there's grocery shopping to do, and the plumber is coming. After a quick breakfast, I'm on a bus to the gym. A grey-haired woman gets on who begins giving the driver a history lesson about the church across from the bus stop. "There's only two nuns left. The woman who started this Catholic church died of leukemia. She's the one who invented the orange belts for crossing guards." When her stop arrives, she talks all the out the door, and continues from the sidewalk. The driver finally says goodbye and closes the door.
...schools now in danger. ...would be eligible for closure if they earn the lowest ranking...on...performance ratings, due out in September. The schools are: [#1 on the list is the high school down the street from where I live.] ...a...Montessori parent [says] "DPS [Denver Public Schools] has just shown over and over and over again that they are not skilled at engaging in deep community engagement." ...community-designed schools would not get an opportunity [to improve], she said. ...executive director for...a pro-reform group...said..."I think there continues to be a disconnect about how the district perceives the conversation and how the communities are perceiving the conversations." - Denver Herald-Dispatch, 3/23/2017
Monday. It feels good to be back out on the bike again. This evening saw some Spring rain. I'm coming out of an underpass as I approach behind I homeless I recognize from some months past. I saw him on a bridge. He's a grey-haired guy in a camouflaged coat, and bright red pants. I remember the pants. I myself am in a camouflaged poncho. This must be how we roll out here on the bike trail. I don't see earbuds, he must be playing music in his head as he strolls down the trail. He points to his left, almost as if he's directing me around him. But I'm sure he didn't know I was coming, because he appears startled as I move around him. An hour later, I approach the trail head where I disembark for the streets home. At this end of the last bridge is some kind of an open metal shelter, I suppose for visitors to the nearby pond to sit under out of the sun. This evening, there is a Hillary tent pitched inside, taking up the entire space. From inside the tent, I hear slow, tired (homeless?) laughter... Wednesday. I was supposed to have yesterday off, but it was moved to today. In the early afternoon, I head across the street to the Chinese place to grab lunch for the mom. There is a gaggle of drunks camped out front. A guy in his twenties asks me for change, again. When I get back across the street, I watch a couple of drunks, both of whom must be 20 years my junior, meandering along. One walks with a cane, who is hanging onto the other. Both have faces baked brown by the sun. Later on, I head downtown for dinner with the sister. We end up at a hotel next to the art museum, at the penthouse restaurant where cocktails and dinner are being served. There are guys in suits here just the same age as the drunks who were slowly making their way past my home.
Tamanrasset in the Sahara...is capital of an administrative area called the "Annexe" of the Haggar... ...about 2000 people...no bank, no newspaper, no plumbing, no telephones, and...electricity...for three hours a day... I have never seen before shops so rawly primitive as the few that line Tamanrasset's single street...selling padlocks, combs, odd bits of cloth. ...a young French military officer...the chief administrator of the Hogan regions, and a former "Mehariste," or member of the Camel Corps. ...the area has been pacified since 1916. His...duties...such realms as sanitation...and public health. ...nationalism...is utterly unknown in these regions. The population is altogether docile and friendly. The bulk of the population is Negro. These Negroes were...slaves of the Tuareg nobles... Tuareg girls...have a chance to flirt, since they do not wear veils. If a girl is a vassal, she may be deflowered before marriage with impunity; if a noble, she may not. The Tuareg are...almost never homosexual, as Arabs often are. They eat with spoons, not with their fingers as the Moors do. One was taken to Paris as a curiosity by Pere de Foucauld some forty years ago... One French officer told us, "For twenty years we have been trying to teach the natives to grow crops...to learn about irrigation, to live decently on the land. Now came the oil invaders, and everybody rushes off to work on their camps. Oil may enrich the Sahara. Also, it may ruin it." here...a Dutch prospecting team is working for Shell in Algiers. [French army] officers inspect tribes, watch the pasturage, administer justice...and punish thieves.
Tunisia... "Item." The country has a strong, urban bourgeoisie...a "native" middle class. "Item." In the big townswomen are beginning to drop the veil. "Item." Tunisia...had no strongly entrenched feudal lords, and the tribal structure is not so fixed. The was no need for prolonged military "pacification." ...Tunisian nationalism is more educated and articulate. Tunisia has an intellectual elite that knows exactly...where it is going. ...in Kairouan...a bomb exploded near the city gates. A French policeman...thought that the United States and Great Britain subsidize the Tunisian nationalists. We passed the hill where Aeneas and Dido are supposed to have made love... We passed Roman monuments... We passed on to Sousse... Caesar landed here in 46 BC. If, people sometimes ask, Tunis and its periphery were fertile enough to have fed Rome, why cannot these regions be made more productive now? For on thing, the Romans had unlimited slave labor... Modern times have, it seems, even reached the family of the sovereign. Most emancipated Tunisian nationalists...concede...the royal circle...are worthless parasites...however...has a certain value as an instrument to reach the masses. - Gunther
...the Mile High City has only become surly-chic enough to support a hipster community in the past five or so years. It took...real estate expansion into once dilapidated areas...recreational marijuana and an influx of millennials in the post-recession years to create the ideal environment for hipsterism to take hold. And take hold it has. A 2016 report from...Infogroup dubbed the Denver metro area the third most hipster city...in America... - 5280, 3/2017
WTF?
Aurora city councilman...gives some money to Tito...and Tracy...March 22 outside Aurora Municipal Court, after a hearing on the couple's dog... The canine was detained after Animal Control questioned if it was part wolf. - Aurora Sentinel, 3/30 - 4/5/2017
