May 2013

Commander's Meeting Notes
Snowy May 1, 2013

     ...the shooting...that resulted in the injury of an 8-year-old may involve an altercation between rival taggers...  ...a known...tagger...had shot at another tagger before.  A female passenger told responding officers...that she "has enemies" as well.  An attendee asked for...help with ongoing graffiti that she believes is retaliatory as her husband is a city employee.  ...the homicide at Denny's...there doesn't appear to be any relationship between the victim and the suspects.  An attendee asked about...a suspected gang house...  An attendee...reported...a complaint of a homeless woman camping out on the attendee's front porch...  - Nextdoor Westwood (neighborhood social network)

     Before I read this, I rolled past that Denny's with a bus load of passengers at 5:30 am.  All we saw were five police cars in the parking lot.
     It's the Friday before Cinco de Mayo.  I am on a bus to work a half day shift.  We are rolling past places such as a prep school where the students study Greek antiquities.  There are two women on the bus with a child in a stroller.  One is looking at her phone.  It sounds as though either she or they all are looking for another place to live.  Every minute, she asks the other woman where this or that street is, as if she has never heard of them.  The streets which she is rattling off are locations all over the greater metro area.  Some of the streets to which appear to mean nothing to her are a significant part of my past two decades here in the big city.  I am spending an hour before work in a neighborhood shopping center; having lunch at a place which makes handmade pizzas, with a grocery with products "direct from farm to market".  It's a feel good place full of dreams of sustainability.  Both the city mayor and the governor would love this place, with their own visions of a "world class city".  I can feel the distance here from my own neighborhood, a world away from the yogurt shop here with its kids in little league uniforms.  Every time that I am here, staring at the homes and lawns, it brings back memories of growing up in places just like this.  I try to imagine where the two women grew up; where the child will grow up...
     I think it's the next day.  I get off the bus home and decide to walk home.  I pass a medical marijuana dispensary.  A woman is outside washing out a plastic bin.  She has long blonde dreadlocks.
     On another day, I am waiting for a bus for the short ride home, down the street.  Down the sidewalk comes a guy in clothes which appear new.  His head looks like a red-brown tomato with hair on it.  He sits down after a bit of difficulty being able to tell where the bench is.  After a minute, as if from a TV script, he says in slurred speech, "Hey buddy, can you spare any change?"  When I say no, on cue, tomato-head is on his way.  On another day after this, I am on a train to work.  On an interior panel is an advertisement.  It reads, Change Happens Here.  In the foreground of a photo is a man with a grey beard.  Next to him are a line of young people.  Everyone is in caps and gowns.  It strikes me that this ad is implying that the man in the foreground either is or recently was homeless.  The "Here" in this ad is the Denver Rescue Mission.  It's asking me to donate my car.  To help the homeless get a degree?  I have no car to donate, but I do have an MFA.  And a couple of drycleaning certificates.  On the train, a beautiful young woman is looking at her reflection in the window, mirrored by the inside lights against the pre-dawn sky.  She checks her makeup, removes her beret and tosses her hair.  On a packed bus home, I sit next to a guy with a grey beard, and a tattoo on his neck as so many others I see.  I wonder if the tattoo is recent.
     The following day, I am on a bus home in a neighborhood across town from where I live.  The majority of passengers appear to be both African-American and high school students.  I hear a young woman behind me who is white. She asks one of the students if she can ask her some questions as a part of her own studies to become a teacher.  Sure.  What grade is she in?   Ninth.  What's her favorite subject?  Math.  "That's cool.  No one likes math."  Are there teachers who you love, or one who leave you just feeling dejected?  She's lost her.  "Do you have any teachers who don't suck?"  Before I head home, I grab some Chinese food from across the street.  A local regular drunk is panhandling by the front door.  I remember watching several people getting on a bus he was on, as they were telling him how sorry they were that his sister had passed away.  He's wearing a T-shirt which reads "dogs rule".  As he often does, he talks to a dog on the other side of a fence.  On a connecting bus is a young woman talking to a guy behind her, telling him stories about her life which sound as though they were former mole hills which she is speaking about with much ado.  It sounds as though she is trying to come off as street wise, making dramatic expressions with her face.  She sounds as though she is from the sticks.  If she hadn't gotten off at the next stop, this would have been a long ride.  Sitting across from them is a young guy with hair I can only describe as a combover with everything shaved off except the combover.  He is wearing a hoodie with a crude drawing on the back, of a boom box from decades ago.
     It's before 5 am on a Friday morning.  There are a couple of guys at the train station who appear to be on their way to work.  One guy is coughing, and the other is prattling about his life, which includes drunks asking him for money.  His voice is echoing around the train station on this quiet morning.  "I was there myself, I was drunk, I didn't want to face responsibility."  After they get on a train, a regular train came down the track, hauling bodies of airliners.  After work, I am back at the same train station.  There is a middle-aged guy sitting on a silver chopper bicycle.  Five Ethiopian teenaged girls come along and sit on a bench, next to the guy on his bike.  They are dressed in colorful robes and all speaking their native tongue.  On a bus with others listening to the scene, I hear someone remark, "You're in America; speak English."  The guy is going back and forth with his bike on the platform...
     The next morning is the day before Mother's Day.  Shortly after 5 am, I am coming back from the deathburger.  I glance at the entrance sign for a Diary Queen across the street.  It's in the shape of a big ice cream cone.  For a split second, it looks from the side as if it is a statue of the Virgin Mary.  Less than a half an hour ago, I walked out of my front door and immediately heard someone across a street arguing.  It turned out to be two drunks, each with an open beer can.  One was telling the other loudly to "mind your own business."  (Perhaps the other was telling him to quit drinking, and he didn't want advice from another drunk.  Where is Shakespeare when I need him?)  The two part company quickly, yet none too soon.  A couple of young women in party dresses at a gas station across the street are fueling their SUV.  They are doing so pensively.
     ...I saw my neighbor chasing two girls down the alley...having caught them peeing.  ...a young man...  We...found... peeing on the side of the house...  Then while we were talking to him, a man...we...found...peeing on the side of a garage, and he ran off as we approached.  ...a police car arrived, we pointed to...another man...peeing, and they...gave him a ticket for consumption of alcohol (he was carrying his beer can)...asserting his right to pee.  - Washington Park Profile, May 2013
     ...from Harvey Park  The house...gets tagged almost weekly...  I...have tried to catch the kids in the act, but have stopped smoking so I am not out front as often as I was.  - Nextdoor Westwood
     ...there are a ton of people who would do their own little dance if they never heard another note ring through their town or neighborhood.  ...in Boulder last month...a...quiet outdoor barbecue and live show...was shut down due to neighborhood complaints.   ...going through a small battle within its town board that could shut down music festivals  and many other gatherings for good in that burg.  From an economic perspective alone, it's not a very bright idea.  That wasted dude who pissed in a resident's garden?  He'll be under that guy's skin until the festival goes away.  The town conservatives who whiffed a bit of pot in the air?  They won't be happy until they "Save the Children" by shutting it down.  - The Marquee, 5/13

     On Mother's Day, I decide to spend a few minutes cleaning up a six-year-old pile of dirt, as well a throw away some junk from my basement.  As I am carrying the refuse out to the dumpster in my parking lot, I hear more arguing directly across the street. Two men are at the far corner of a building, in the alley.  One is changing his shirt as he sounds agitated about I know not what.  When I get back from celebrating Mother's Day, with my mom and sister in the car, the drunk panhandler who lives down the street appears to be holding himself upright by holding onto my fence with both hands.  He is there with three teenagers who live in my complex.  A police car comes and stops in the entrance to my place.  It appears as though the officer is asking him some questions.  The guy sits on the ground.  He looks worse than I have ever seen him, bloodshot and swollen eyes.  He lives with a woman who may be his mom.  This is how he spends Mother's Day?
     The next day, I get of a bus and am walking home.  I hear someone yelling.  I recognize a local drunk, who I see yelling at a woman walking ahead of him.  He is walking parallel to her through a field.  He has a fresh cut over his right eye, which is bleeding down the side of his face so much that it makes his right eye appear as if it is gone.  When he comes out from behind the side of a building, he is suddenly joined by a teenager.  They appear to know each other, and the teen is helping him walk.   A half hour later, I see the pair across the street, pretending to fight with each other.  The following week, I am at a bus stop, waiting to catch a bus home.  There is a middle-aged woman selling bus transfers.  She has several in her hand.   She makes a sale to a young man with tattoos and no shirt on.
     ...slum dwellers who wake up to neatness and order are much more likely to keep it that way.  - Steinem
     I am downtown after work, to grab a new bus pass.  I'm now on a train which is waiting to depart downtown.  I am looking out of the window at a homeless guy sitting on a concrete base.  He appears to be without belongings and not in a hurry to go anyplace.  He sits in a simple T-shirt, not watching anyone or anything.  In the time it takes me to eat half of a leftover hamburger, the guy is surrounded by three transit security personnel, and a supervisor.  In a sweater.  When the train gets going, a couple of young white men get on.  A guy wit tattoos and a tank top is talking to a shorter, quieter guy who appears more as a student.   The first guy says something to the other, about, "having a baby at 13 or 14.  Your life is effed-up.  I mean, that's the nicest thing to say about it."  He is looking at a newspaper or something, when he mentions that Alice Cooper and Marylin Manson are coming to town.  "A real freak show, huh?" he asks the other guy.  At the next stop, transit security gets on to check fares.  Both of these guys had no clue that they needed to pay fares before getting on.  This is their first time on the train.  The first guy thought that transit security were fare collectors.     The following morning, I am up with the dawn patrol at the deathburger.  At the counter is a middle-aged guy in an NFL cap, a hoodie with the name of a high school followed by "seniors" on the back, and untied sneakers.  On the bus, we roll past a guy curled up right in the middle of the sidewalk.  The driver puts the bus in park, steps out to ask the guy, "Sir, are you okay?" before coming back on to say, "He's alive, so we're all good."

THE BIG SHIFT: Low Inventory Levels, High Demand...
     The 2013 real estate market is in full swing, and it is clear we are continuing the steady recovery that began early last year.  Denver, The Mile High City continues to be recognized by the national media outlets as one of the premier cities for several different metrics (arts, cultural center, theater, transportation, employment, housing, 300+ days of sunshine,access to the resort markets, scenery).
There is No Place in America Quite Like The Mile City
     Denver appeals to everyone from the young in years t the young at heart.  Denver is truly a mile above and beyond mainstream American cities.
Live the perfect day, every day.
...dedicated to finding the most qualified tenants for property owners in order to maximize their income and help maintain and grow property values.
...a vibrant community that offers the benefits of city living and the pleasures of suburban and semi-rural life in beautiful and well-kept neighborhoods.
...electronic Lutron System throughout...elevator, six zoned heating and air conditioning...his and her offices, children's computer room, ice-melt system for the entire driveway, SSI German keyless access system...auto-wash bay in the garage...eleven bathrooms and 10-car subterranean vault garage.
.....among the ten wealthiest suburbs in the country.  Here, it has been said, "gravel roads are a matter of deliberate choice rather than a lack of funds."  ...raise a family, start a career, retire, run a business, enjoy lunch with friends.  - The Gallery - Issue 2 2013
     ...she was, I told her, the only person I'd ever met, including myself, who liked everything written about them.  There was a flicker of annoyance...  ...she was never bored...  She had worked her way through college, tried to be an actress...  The woman in history she most admires...is Mrs. Eisenhower.  "Because she meant so much to young people."  I was in college during the Eisenhower years, I told her, and I didn't think Mrs. Eisenhower had any special influence on youth.  ...she said..."I never had time to think about...who I wanted to be, or who I admired, or to have ideas.  ...I...talked with people and learned all their funny little customs.  Now, I have friends in all the countries of the world.  I haven't just sat back and thought of myself or my ideas or what I wanted to do.  Oh, no, I've stayed interested in people.  ...the minute I sit down, I write my thank-you notes.  I'm not like all you...all those people who had it easy." - in her phrase, "glamour boys," or "buddy-buddy boys" in (her husband's) - would somehow pull gracefully ahead of them in spite of all "their work."  - Steinem

     It's mid-week at the end of May.  I am out the door to work at 5 am.  Across the street, I see the panhandler who lives in a house a block away.  He's the one who was blind drunk next to my fence on Mother's Day.  This morning, he is across the street at a liquor store.  I watch him move something away from the front door before he tries to open it.  Is he surprised that the front door of a liquor store is locked at 5 am.?  He tried a second door, also locked.  He lights a cigarette and turns to face the street, standing in the parking lot.  On my way up the street, a guy goes by on a ten speed.  In the distance, I hear a "fuck you!" 

Denver Police District 4 Commander's Meeting Minutes - 5.29/13
     A police officer reported a tagger vandalizing property down the street from where I live.  ...the tagger...threw spraypaint cans at the officer, who chased the tagger for about 6 blocks - even with 20 lbs of equipment...with the assistance of a civilian...  ...the suspect confessed to some 46 tagging incidents and provided "very good information" on other members of the...tagging crew (about 20 members).  The officer received a hearty round of applause.  ...the problem hooka [sic] lounge...is closing (yea!), but looking to relocate somewhere else in District 4 (boo!)  ...Officers have not seen the woman reported to have been camping on various front porches...  ...the lockdown of a middle school was the result of a problem ex-student...posting threats on her facebook [sic] page.  ...the student had been...arrested.  An officer recovered a kilo...of crystal meth...  Officers investigated...defrauding a senior, uncovering tens of thousands of dollars... 
     ...cultural...transformations are typically preceded by...alienation...mental illness, violent crime, and...religious cultism...essential steps in the development of civilizations.  - The Turning Point, Fritjof Capra, 1982

"A luxury in disguise"
     It's the middle of the week.  I am preparing to cross the street at another 5 am.  With me, I've just noticed, is a woman who rode the bus the short distance up the street with me.   She is in slacks and a Hawaiian print blouse.  She asks me if I am going across the street.  This is the first time in my life that anyone has asked me this.  I say, "yeah."  We both cross, and I go to and from the deathburger.  At the stop across the street, I can see that she is back on the other side of the street, taking tenacious steps down the street.  She sits down at a bus stop over there, and the bus comes by and picks her up.  The following day, I am a bus home after a ten hour day at work, with a young couple talking to each other about spending time in jail.  She is doing most of the talking, about how good it feels to be out.  He says that this is the first Spring he has been out of jail, since he doesn't say when.  She says, "I'm wearing my own clothes, my own underwear.  It's a luxury in disguise."

April 2013

     It's 5:30 am at a train station not far south out of downtown.  I see a trio of transit security guys waiting at a stop for an incoming bus.  I don't recall ever seeing such folks waiting for a bus before, but they are all standing around shooting the breeze.  I am not looking their direction when the bus comes to the gate where they are.  The next thing I know, I hear them chase a guy who must have stepped off the bus, and began running away from them immediately.  He guy only got as far as the curb before they caught him.  Those security can haul ass.  I hear a passenger say, "I was right.  They was teaming up on somebody."  Someone in plain clothes is holding up what in the dark appears to be a black marker, as he brings it over to the security guys.  I hear the apprehended guy say, "I was just scared dude.  For real.  I just want to go home."  He is non-stop talking.  "Alls I seen was dudes in uniforms saying, 'Gimme that.  Come here.'"  Two police cars pull up before my bus shows up.
     Back at my usual stop on another morning at 5 am.  There's a guy asleep on the ground, under the bus shelter on a rainy morning.  This morning there is another guy again in dress pants and dress shoes.  This guy has two earrings in each ear.  He's pacing up and down as he waits for the bus.  An second guy is doing the same thing.  Neither are regulars.  A third guy I haven't seen before, a kid, gets off the bus when it comes.  He looks like a blonde high school student from the 1950s.  His expression reveals that he realizes this is not his neighborhood.  The following morning, same time, I am at the deathburger.  Mr.  U.S. Polo Association is in the house, with his contents on his usual table.  This morning, included in his cache, is a nail clippers and an empty bottle of red nail polish.  He seems to know a couple of other guys seated at another table.  All three must go to the same clothing store to get their denim jackets.  One of the other two guys appears to be copying notes from a pad into a spiral notebook.  He has a hardback book titled Mayflower, and what looks like his mail.

     The Yugoslav Foriegn Minister...in June 1954 Edward Kardelj...said..."to use honest people, even if they are religious, in the system of social reconstruction of the country."  He stated that religion should be taken out of politics and should be removed from the influence of the clergy...outside of...socialist activity.  - Hutten
     True fair trade also supports systematic change in government and international trade policies, to alleviate...capitalism bent on exploiting farmers and workers...  ...small producers...are the backbone of the global food supply, the guardians of biodiversity and key players in advancing democratic communities.  ...fiar trade must impact not only the individuals that produce raw materials, but also the communities where they are sourced.  ...the diversified revenue stream provided by ecologically-managed lumber...stabilized soils...anchoring culture and traditional knowledge for generations to come.  "The roots of development must start from the village and move upwards, rather than the trickle-down approach,"...  Our prepayments and fair contract pricing have enabled...growers to stay profitable every year, and in turn have allowed us to offer stable, affordable prices.  "Fair Trade" was originally conceived as a way to address disparities between conditions of small farmers in developing countries ("the Global South") and those of subsidized farms in industrialized countries (the "North")...  The goal was to help farmers...not be forced to give up their land and become farmworkers or plantations.  ...almost half of the global population is peasants...  The majority of people in the world still depend upon food produced by peasants.  ...the commercialization and monetization of all natural resources has been renamed "environmental services" within the new framework of "green capitalism."  - For a Better World, Issue 6, Spring 2013
     In October, 1955, a German reporter suggested to a Romanian government ministry chief that "the Orthodox Church helps to keep the faithful loyal to the party line.  The priests admonish the people to do the seeding and harvesting at the right times and t follow the planned economy.  ...the clergy are paid like officers of the state..."  The Bulgarian Orthodox Church had a monopoly for the manufacture of wax candles and made a tremendous profit.  ...the state was protecting this candle-making monopoly...  In a trial in 1959, the prosecutor demanded long prison terms, and even the death penalty, for employees of the church who had obtained candles illegally and had sold them privately.
     ...the leader of the Congressional churches, Vassil Ziapkoff in Bulgaria hinted: "Behind the American Protestants stands capitalism, which is the greatest enemy of humanity.  The leaders of the World Council of Churches are the agents of that capitalism."  Accused of high treason...foreign money manipulations...and relation to...representatives of  international reaction...  Ziapkoff was arrested.  It was a show trial...  The accused were anxious to outdo each other with confessions...  The verdict was life imprisonment...  That was in 1949.  Nine years later, he was released.  - Hutten
     "Not even death excused you from going to Mass."  ...people "understood that the Catholics would support Catholic business and the Protestants would likewise stick to their own...interaction with the opposing religion could be seen as a threat to local morale or even to the safety of local lives.  ...every child in Northern Ireland knew exactly where he (or she) could be safely..."  Readers continually meet with contrasts: exceedingly strict and orderly schools, religions, social mores, and customs yield to off-the-chart rates of alcohol abuse and drug addiction, domestic violence, school violence, and widespread fear.  - the Celtic Connection, April 2013
Some Roman Catholic higher-ups say you shouldn't receive communion
     ...a theologian and legal advisor to the Vatican, said that priests should withhold communion from pro-marriage equality parishioners, while the Denver Archbishop Allen Vigeron called it "a double-dealing that is not unlike perjury" for equality supporters to present themselves for sacraments.  ...it is rare for...Catholic figures to say those...who live by Catholic teachings but disagree on political issues as a matter of conscience...should repent before taking communion...  - Outfront Colorado, 04.17.13 - 05.01.13

     It's an early Spring Saturday at 5 am.  The guy with his homework is at the deathburger.  When I come out, I see a black figure lumbering through a parking lot across the street.  He keeps going back and forth between the two lots facing each other across the street, returning to the same spot on the ground to pick up who knows what.  At my usual bus stop, someone asks me for a smoke.  A minute later, he's waving work gloves in his hand.  "Need some nice work gloves man?" he has already asked someone on the bench.  What is this guy's story?  Traffic is stopped at a red light, and he is standing off of the curb looking for the bus.  When it comes, he shows the driver a couple of sheets of paper instead of a fare.  He says something about Medicaid and loosing something, and that he just got out of the hospital.  Sure.  He's like everyone else who comes out of a hospital.  He's out looking for a smoke with a hot pair of work gloves, trying to get on a bus with some kind of documents.  When we get to the train station, he's already found a cigarette.
     The beginning of the following week is 12 degrees F at 5 am.  At the deathburger is Mr. US Polo Association in a longsleeved shirt and sleeveless sweater vest.  He appears as some kind of wandering former high school teacher.  He shivers as he stands in line.  On the way home, I get on a bus at the train station.  The passengers are all in conversation with each other as if, together, their lives constitute a common socio-economic struggle.  As if as 'invisible hand' of 'the man' is bringin' 'em all down, and they just gotta 'hang tough.'  They have disembarked by the time a trio of young guys get on, who begin talking about the friends and family which they know who are currently incarcerated or recently released.  From jail or prison.  One of them asks one or both of the others about obtaining "a case" (of beer).  He then asks his pal, "You're 21, right?"   At a stop, the front door opens.  A drunk collapses through it and drops to the floor.  His head is propped against the front, and he lays on the floor as he blankly stares at the passengers.  As they begin to show concern about the bus being delayed, the driver stares at him and tells him to get off the bus.  He speaks with a pure kind of incoherence.  A girl mentions that the police had been called five minutes previously.  He continues to stare at the passengers, through them, and into an infinity of inebriation.  He is an eye, disconnected from consciousness, in a storm of activity.  Two of the relatives of convicts get up and carry the drunk, who has fallen asleep, off the bus before we are on our way.
     When I get home, I watch a bit of local news.  There was a fatal stabbing on one bus route which I regularly ride on Sundays, and a fight on another bus route which I sometimes ride to work.  The report mentions that the driver of the bus where the stabbing happened "never stopped the bus, nor ever made an 'incident report,'" and that violence aboard the local transit system is rare...

     ...the small squids and crustaceans known collectively as krill...  It would be hard to imagine any other food mass having such  enormous economic and ecological importance .  Its abundance probably exceeds that of any other living matter.  More than half the earth's manufacturing by plants occurs in the sea...  Nobody knows precisely where the line between damage and destruction in any species lies...that point where the natural rhythm of the species has been shaken and fecundity impaired...  - Mostert

     It's my day off, and I am at a train station on my way to a grocery store.  Seated on a bench next to where I am standing is a woman with a high pitched and gravelly voice.  She tells me, all of the sudden, "I turned 58 yesterday."  When I come back on the bus to the same station, I realize that she is seated behind me.  She has a single garment from the cleaners with her on a hangar.  At the station, the bus has a short layover, where she asks the driver how long we will be here.  She steps outside with her garment, where she takes a seat on a bench.  She has a cigarette, which she appears to have difficulty lifting up to her lips.  She asks a kid next to her if he has "any spare change?"  In the afternoon, I get on a bus to go up the street.  When I walk on, a kid jumps up to give me his street.  He is animatedly talking to another kid, who it appears he has just met.  When they say goodbye, the first kid tells the other his name, "but they call me 'Little Nubs"."  He exhorts that he needs a new cell phone case, that he must get back to his neighborhood, does anyone want a transfer he just found?  On the bus back, I run into a neighbor.  He asks a friend of his what his plans are for the rest of the day.  His friend replies, "I'm a white guy living on Federal (Boulevard), I gotta be careful."

     ...our lives often bring us from one city to the next, we tend to hop into city bars, clubs and coffee shops to hang out...  ...pollution, sprawl, spiking fuel prices, and war or recessions...  ...we would-like-to-but-don't-always-remember to put our computer screens on the "energy saver" setting...  - Out Front Colorado, 4/17/13
     I've said this a million times.  Don't hate the player, hate the game.  ...whether our legislative system works and represents people versus private interest...this is the current system...  It's a lot different educating the public when there's going to be a ballot initiative at some point...  A legislator recently...said that he wished for one year he would not have to hear from marijuana legislation advocates.  So I was like...we will not lobby...on marijuana for a full year if you can prove that marijuana is more harmful than alcohol.  ...it needed to be conveyed to the rest of the world in a manner that gave it a good face.  - Westword, April 18-24, 2013
     The City Beautiful movement was...based on the belief that a quality public and civic realm was key to the public health of the citizenry and the financial stability and well-being of the community.  ...still revealing the possibility of social beauty, utility and harmony.
     Mayor Hancock has a genuine commitment.  He urged me to be bold.  "Denver needs to lead because we need a lot of other cities to come with us.  The perfect can be the enemy of the good," said...chief of Denver's newly created Office of Sustainability.
     ...broader changes...dictate a more modern "packaging" of...ideologies.  ...Pastor Tom Draayer...merged with an independent Chinese church.  Many of the members, raised in atheist China, have no religious background.  - Washington Park Profile, 4/2013
     ...in 1946 the Communist leader, Georgi Dimitroff...stated that at the time when the nobility and other important people became traitors to the people "our Bulgarian national church in her monasteries supported the national self-consciousness...and preserved...identity as a nation."  In a special law the church was recognized as a legal person.  ...the government was forced to write a law in February 24, 1949, for the protection of the canonical purity of the Bulgarian Church.  ...defined in an article in the Chinese magazine Philosophical Research...  Only when followers of a religion obey the social and political system...can their faith be tolerated."  - Hutten

     It's two days after tax day, 5 am.  My usual bus stop is next to a stone wall along the sidewalk.  At two spots one the wall, someone sprayed silly string.  The silly string is not covering up any graffiti.  I've never seen silly string together with snow.  Silly String and snow, it should be a country song. On the Monday of the following week, my alarm goes off at 2 am.  I had called for a cab for a short ride to the light rail station the afternoon before.  I check the voicemail for messages.  A dispatcher called and left a message, apologizing for not finding a cab.  I call the dispatcher back to cancel the cab, when I reach someone who tells me that they found one.  It will be here soon.  When I step out into the parking lot, I see who I think is the driver next to his cab.  As I get up to the cab, I can see that, instead, it is a guy urinating in the lot.  I get inside, where the driver lets me know that the guy is his friend, who gets into the front seat before we depart.  Driver: "You couldn't find your dick with both hands."  Friend: "What?  You want to suck my dick?"
     Earlier this month, I found a brochure on the sidewalk in my neighborhood.  It's in Spanish.  "gran mision  Arquidiocesis Catolica Romana de Denver.  Ano de la Fe"  There is a great mission coming to the street, more specifically to the corner on which I live.  At least there are five appearances scheduled on Sundays, from 4 pm to 6 pm.  This church group comes into a big parking lot with a couple trucks of folding chairs, a stage, a gold cross on a pole, and a six-foot high Renaissance illustration of the face of the face of the one and only Jesus in red and white.  I asks around at the local businesses, no one knows anything about it.  After a sermon in Spanish from one of the priests, the audience gets up from their seats.  Several have acoustic guitars.  At least one of them is on stage with the priest, who is singing into a mic hooked up to a PA system, and everyone dances back and forth and then in a slow circle as they join the priest in singing "hal-le-lu-ja."  There is a conga drum one Sunday, on another there is a flute.  It's all very, very 1970s, and the vibe is seductively communal.  The event makes me wonder if my neighborhood, mi plaza, has been chosen as a mission field.  Only the missionaries are speaking Spanish, and am a native English speaker.  If only Ralph Reed could be here for this.  I watch the dancing and singing from one of two remaining upright bus benches, at a bus stop in front of these proceedings.  The seat of the other bench remains on the ground, where it has been, next to an old pay phone which is missing the entire phone, but still has the line hooked up to the pole.  The Latter Day Saints used to drop by this very stop, among others up and down this "plaza", on a regular basis.  Several would pull up in a vehicle, and one would get out with an assortment of Watchtower and Awake! magazines.  Powerful mojo, as the late Dr. Thompson used to write.
     ?Que es la inglesia?  ?Cual es tu expriencia de la inglesia?  ?Quieres ser ayudado por una comunidad cristiana?  - brochure for the Arquidiocesis Catolica Romana de Denver
     As early as March 1949..."An Open Letter to the Clergy of Peking"...accused the church of having used the methods of feudalist facism.  ...it was claimed that the church and Communism were following the same goals...  ...committees of so-called Parish Soviets were organized.  ...to lead the parishes democratically and to become cells to reform the church.  In the Chinese Communist press, the Pope was depicted as the slave of American imperialism.  The government even toyed with the idea of appointing a Chinese pope.  On January 18, 1952, Pius XII sent an apostolic letter to the Chinese Catholics.  The church was not interested in worldly power, but was working...to strengthen the basis of human society...  "When they kill us, they increase us.  The blood of Christians is the seed of the church."  - Hutten
     He must summon atrophied instincts, and shake off the sloth of all his preceding days...a man in whom the weariness and cynicism of a lifetime have suddenly become accumulative...   - Mostert

     I am headed for a bus home after work, just south of downtown, next to a cell phone shop.  I hear a guy speaking loudly from across a two-lane boulevard, to someone in a car parked in front of a gas station.  I can't make out what he is saying.  He sounds slow and determined, yet incoherent.  When I look, I see that he has a big sign for the cell phone shop next door.  He backs up from the brown sedan and spins his sign a few times before knocking on the open door of the gas station.  He wanders back to the cell phone shop.

     Until recently, our sea commerce...took its time because costs were relatively low, economic pressures less, and...crew not expensive...  ...the maritime nations...employed thousands of ships...  But inflation has put up the costs...and prosperity in the affluent societies has made it difficult...to get men to go to sea.  ...ship-owning families...North European dynasties...from their stolid family seats...  Many of their fortunes grew from...the decades following the Napoleonic wars and the collapse of the East India Company monopolies, when the industrial base of Britain and the rest of Europe was rapidly expanding...  ...you could usually tell nationality...by rake, colors, or just by...a strange assortment of...family traditions, and national tastes...  - Mostert

     Last year's 4/20 Smokeout, as our city's recent local downtown communal annual marijuana happening is referred to, I don't remember as huge.  Then again, last year I was downtown during the Sunday part of the weekend's festivities.  Stragglers wandered through downtown, vaguely extolling belief in the virtue of marijuana.  In Civic Center park, a gangsta crowd with a mean vibe listened to someone on a microphone who spoke as a cult leader, about how marijuana cures everything from cancer to anxiety.  Cures cancer.  Yes, sir, you have successfully gotten high.  I was downtown this year for Saturday's get together of what turned out to be ten thousand folks.  I went downtown after work, to get next month's bus pass.  I didn't inhale.  I never saw so many people on the pedestrian mall.  This mall, from which have been chased by new city ordinance the night's slumbering homeless, numbering a hundred times fewer that this crowd who appear all to be dressed in black.  It was as if I was trying to elbow my way through some kind of enormous wake.  Could this be what the governor, who is the former mayor, and current mayor mean when the extol their urban mantra of a "world class city"?  The line for the lightrail is significantly longer when ten thousand are waiting for it.  Thanks to my intimate knowledge of the transit system, I got on a bus one stop before the waiting thousands, across the street from a now closed billiard hall where I once saw someone who appeared to be a male farmer with makeup on his face.  At the next bus stop, a middle-aged woman with a tattoo on her neck came on, pleading with the driver to let her and her two kids on without fare "because their was a shooting" in the park.  When I got home, I saw some news footage.  At the sound of shots fired, I see a mass of people running in the direction of an expanding circle.  I remember listening to a TV interview with a veteran of the Korean War.  He described the Chinese troops crossing the border with the appearance of "wind through a field of wheat".  Ten thousand people; the kind of numbers which the gran mison can only dream about.  It's hard to comprehend why so many people would come out of the house for...marijuana.  Where do they hide their black germants during the rest of the summer's full calendar of endless outdoor festivals?
     The following Sunday's gathering was canceled.  A full week after the 'marijuana shooting' (if only I controlled the introduction of labels for mass usage), I am at a bus stop across the street from where I live at 5 am.  A young guy in an orange construction vest is drinking a Rock Star as he recounts his Smokeout adventures to another guy.
Personal Styles
     The following day, I am on my way to work later in the morning.  On the bus up the street is a guy who appears to be dressed for the Australian outback.  He is on his phone, telling someone that he "designs things".  (Did he design his outfit?)  In the usual deathburger, a regular drunk from section 8 housing is sporting a bright tie-dye T-shirt.  At the usual bus stop, a guy on a bike goes by.  On his pack is a marijuana leaf design.  A middle-aged guy on the bus with an unlit cigarette stub in his hand has on a square dancing T-shirt.  A young, skinny kid with waist-length hair gets on at a stop.  He's in a marijuana T-shirt.  On a connecting bus is a woman in a T-shirt which reads "tax refund joy".
     On this same bus, a woman, a Mongolian native, begins asking the driver for directions.  I help her out, and she tells me about her life.  She came here to Denver with her young son and husband.  Her husband passed away, and her son is now studying economics at a mid-western university.  I have no idea, she tells me, how difficult it is to come to another nation and learn a new language.

     What we felt about ships was...a curious combination of our then sense of distance, the time it took to cross the seas, of the balance of the world, the way it connected and held together...slow changing.  - Mostert

March 2013

     It's 5 am at the bus stop across the street from where I live.  From the alley behind a liquor store comes a thin guy with what appears to be a thick steel camping pot.  A few mornings later is the beginning of a new work week.  This week, I am catching a slightly earlier bus.  It's going on 4:30 am, and I am walking up a dark and quiet boulevard to catch a bus.  As I step on something small and hollow, it sounds as if a gun has gone off as the sound of it popping echoes off every dark building.  When I get up the street and around the corner, the wind begins blowing.  I can hear it wailing through the bus shelter.  Inside is a derelict guy, with a cast on his calf, a cane, a grey moustache and dirt on his skin.  With what is left of his voice, I hear him mumbling before I realize that it's directed toward myself.  He puts two fingers up to his lips.  He wants a cigarette.  The wind comes in gusts, and it blows the giant empty plastic drink cups down the street.  The derelict guy can see that the rest of us there notice the bus coming, and he begins ever so slowly digging into his left pocket for his fare.  In his seat, he hangs onto a bar and rests his head on his arm, closing his eyes to get whatever rest he can, if not sleep.  The driver announces that the train station is almost the end of the line.  The guy does not get off.
     I take the train to the end of its line, where I have a short wait for a connecting bus.  When it comes, the driver gets up from behind the wheel to sit across a row of seats with his legs stretched out.  Both posted signs and a surprising number of people notify passengers not to "place your feet on the seats".  He is taking a cat nap before his short layover.  I wonder if he has an alarm set to wake him, and sure enough his phone goes off in a few minutes.  I wonder if this is the drill for this week?  The next morning, the driver wakes up and acts as if he has awoken late, though I never heard his alarm.  As he is hauling ass down the street, I hear his alarm.  After I get home, I run across the street to grab some Chinese food.  A regular panhandler is standing there, and asks me for fifty cents before I go in.  When I come out, he asks me again.  I remind him that he has already asked me.  He says, "Oh."
     Ride West.  The adventure begins 4.26.13.  Riding the rails.  It's a western tradition as old as the hills.  See the sights and explore the modern West when  RTD's West Rail Line opens on April 26.  - RTD print ad, 3/13
     A couple of days later, I'm on a train home when the line loses power.  I get off the train and hop on a bus.  At the bus gate is a short, thin guy with long hair who is on his phone.  "This is ridiculous," he is yelling.  "You ruined my family bitch."  The driver is telling him about the small chances that something which he lost on the bus will be found.  The bus proceeds without the guy.  The driver tells a passenger that this guy got on the bus in my neighborhood, along the way here.  He passed out drunk, and some high school kids stole his wallet.  I get off at a stop for a connecting bus.  A guy with long blonde hair and a grey beard appears to be asleep.  I snap a picture of him before he awakens to tell me that a "long snow is coming.  And in two weeks, it will be spring."  I hope he does not forget about Daylight Savings Time this weekend.
     The following day is my day off, and I am out and about upon the boulevard of derelicts.  Some are familiar and some are not.  On the ride to the bank is a guy with a long white beard and some kind of small dolly.  It almost looks like a dolly for an oxygen tank, but it has a five gallon plastic bucket, a rolled up piece of cardboard, and I don't know what else wrapped in what appears to be plastic belts and wire from the trash, or I don't know from where.  Sticking up in the middle are a couple of poles, one of which has what appears to be a duster at the end.  Is he a homeless guy masquerading as a window washer?  After he gets up to move for an oncoming wheelchair, and sits back down, he begins spouting nonsense.  He slaps one of the poles and tells the dolly to stay put.  At our stop, he asks the driver if he can use the wheelchair lift to get off, and so that he can "drive.  At then thousand miles an hour."  I see him cross the middle of the street with his dolly, and disappear.  I grab lunch across the street from Catracho's Barber's.  The staff are listening to pop music in Spanish.  Inside is a homeless regular wearing a good pair of jeans inside of a pair which is falling apart.  Some high school kids come in, and are all speaking rapid fire Spanish.
     I like talking to "outsiders" who don't see the human species as needing to urgently correct course, as needing to change to avoid some looming (or distant) disasters.   - Nexus, March/April 2013
     In April 1955 the first Youth Dedications were held.  The vow...stated "Are you ready to devote your strength to...a happy and beautiful life, to progress in economy, science, and the arts?  We, the community of workers, promise to help you and protect you.  Let us go forward with united strength to victory."  ...during the Mardi-Gras of 1956 in...Brandenburg...an actor parodied Christ.  In a long white garment...a red paper rose...and a crown of thorns; in one hand...a bottle of whisky...  He was assisted by girls of the Free German Youth.  - Hutten
     ...cities are back...the news is quite good.  People are coming back, crime has declined, economies are improving, and cities are once again becoming desirable places to live and work.  Immigration is actually one of the factors behind the national decline in crime rates.  - Discover, 4/2013
     Surely, not to have seen the great cities of the world is not to have lived.  For it is in those cities that the life of our times, its actions and passions, are most sharply experienced and exceedingly felt.  - "Getaway", Faye Hammel, 1971
     Another Saturday, headed to work at 5 am.  Snow flakes are coming down again in this snowy month.  I am standing inside the bus shelter at my usual stop.  This morning, it smells like urine.  There is change on the ground, which I never see.  Like the empty cream containers and sugar packages all over the ledge some weeks ago, within throwing distance from a trash can, I believe this is evidence of the presence of derelicts.
     On Monday, I am scheduled to work a closing shift.  I get called in to work, and I take the buses which come next, after my usual ones.  At my usual bus stop is a guy who is telling another guy, "I ain't paid taxes in so long."  He says, "The buses out in LA...goin' every which way.  Two of the same number show up, two of another behind them."  I take the bus to a train, to another bus stop.  A big guy comes up with a small woman.  I hear him quietly telling her to "stay prayed up.  If you're still dirty," he tells her, "you take another shower."  He says that it's the same thing with sin.  When they get on the bus, he continues to speak to her in barely audible tones.  "You have sinned.  You know what I'm saying?"  He mentions discernment.  She is half his size, and she sits demurely listening to him prattle about the behavior of humanity.  When the bus pulls into another train station, they both get off.  During the five minute layover, perhaps he walks her to the gate for a connecting bus before he comes back on alone.  I hear him quietly say, "Thank you Jesus" before he sits down next to someone else, telling them, "Bless you, good morning."
     ..."Higher Powers" in the sense of St. Paul could be recognized only if they agreed with Christian understanding of what is good and what is evil.  But if Higher Powers decided autonomously what is good and what is evil, then...Romans 13 did not apply to them.  ...thoughts advocated by Karl Borth in 1938.  ...Walter Ulbricht, Secretary General of the SED (the German Communist Party) stated: "...socialism, Communism, and the Christian church must work together...  The Christian who takes...humanistic and social obligations seriously...cannot be anything but a socialist."  - Hutten
     They had listened gravely, watching him, but there was no comment when he had finished.  It was not often that they saw him for himself.  ...he sat a moment longer.  "They lay all these improvements to help you, but none is fool proof.  There is only one perfect way of navigation, to know the error of your compass and to take two bearings on shore positions.  Don't any of you ever forget it.  Good night."  - Supership, by Noel Mostert, 1974
     On the bus home, a guy gets on who is talking on his cell phone.  He just got out of work and has to go back to "the block."  As in cell block.  He has to do 20 hours a week in jail.  The next morning at 5 am, sitting in the bus shelter across the street from where I live are a couple of homeless.  They both have baseball caps under big hoods.  And they are sharing chips and dip.  The next morning is another Saturday.  Five am.  I see a few police cars going back and forth.  I wonder if they are after someone again.  I stop into the deathburger, where a couple of young men are whispering to themselves, almost like little kids, before they begin saying "fuck you" as they leave.  They are looking in the direction of both myself and the staff.  As I head back to the bus stop, I hear more "fuck you"s before I see the two slowly walk across the street, as they look back toward the deathburger yelling "fuck you bitch!"  I get on the bus, and a couple of short stops away a kid gets on to ask the driver which direction is the boulevard from which we just came.
     I'm on my way back from the Chinese place across the street from where I live. I see four people come out from behind a building across the street from where I live.  Two appear to be local drunks, and two do not appear neither drunk nor familiar.  They give me the impression that they were briefly hiding.  The two apparent non-drunks go on their way.  The drunk man appears to give the drunk woman something before they each head down opposite directions of the street.  The next evening, I am on the way home from work.  A couple of guys sitting behind me are discussing life after prison, in the halfway house.  One of them was told by his parole officer that he will have to live in a hotel.  He wants to know if the state will pay for it, along with his food.  Sitting up front are a couple of women talking about having started out in the same county jail way back when.  One is talking a mile a minute, suggesting the other get some kind of resume together to take downtown.  The other replies, "I can make money fixing motorcycles.  My dad died and left me a (mechanic) shop."  On a connecting bus home are another couple of women, one a bull dyke in a black leather jacket missing a front tooth.  The latter tells the other that she was a volunteer firefighter.  They are discussing health care.  Sitting behind them is a homeless guy in a knti cap which reads "chaos."
     It's 8 am on a Wednesday.  I am at the local deathburger before heading off to work a late shift.  The big, drunk guy, who required the manager to call the police, resulting in two squad cars and a paramedic unit from the fire station to drop by, is back sitting at the very same table where he and his friend were both making pencil drawings before he took off his shoes and attempted to put them back on again.  Today, he appears sober as he sits next to a grey-haired guy, talking to him about the bible.  In the corner in a homeless guy sleeping in a booth.  Sitting next to him is a guy with grey, shoulder-length hair, reading a book titled Holy War.  An hour and a half later, I am in a snack shop at the train station, standing in a short line.  The train stop is next to a community college.  A grey-haired couple come in.  The guy has a book bag, wire-rimmed glasses and a neatly trimmed goatee.  They both look like continuing education adults.  They sneak through the line and go into a back room, before coming out and asking if there is a rest room.  I instantly realize that they are both homeless.  The following morning, I am back at the same deathburger, this time again at 5 am.  Where the big guy was sitting 21 hours ago is a familiar homeless guy.  He too has a grey goatee, along with a red face and dirty grey hoodie with "U.S. Polo Association" on the front.  He does not appear to be the kind to have put his time in swinging a mallet from a horse.  On the table is what appears to be the entire contents of his pockets: some Zig Zag rolling papers and his change, which he counts with a shaking hand before looking up at the menu.  On the bench are his back pack and a plastic grocery bag.  On the floor is his rolling suitcase.  When he disappears into the men's room, he leaves everything at the table, including his money.  When he comes out, he scoops up his change and gets in line.  Heart of Glass is playing softly over the speakers.
     On Friday, next to a downtown deathburger, a young guy with hair and a beard like Grizzly Adams is sitting with a sleeping bag and other parcels directly underneath a sign.  The sign reads, among other things, "no soliciting, so trespassing."  As I passed him, he asked me for a new pair of shoes.  The hiking boots which he had on, he claimed, were worn out.  All I could do was stare at the sign, and then back again.  He told me, "God bless you."  When I get home, my tax refund is in the mailbox.  I go to my bank's local branch to deposit it before the weekend.  When I get there, the front door is locked.  A notice on the door asks customers to go around to the side door.  When I go inside, I ask if the door is locked because of the homeless.  The answer is yes, partly, and partly because of three robbery attempts.  The homeless come in and take mints, or they stand between sets of doors in the foyer.  The next morning, at 5 am, I am at my usual bus stop.  The day will bring white out conditions, shutting down both interstates.  In front of a Walgreens is something which I have never seen in the eight years I have been living in this neighborhood.  There is a guy shovelling snow on the sidewalk.
     To a generation of gay urban-dwellers...  Millions of job losses and home foreclosures...wasn't our story.  It meant...the freedom to relocate spontaneously, trying on different neighborhoods or towns - slipping into their streets and seeing whether we wore them well.  ..there's an appeal in...life outside home ownership or being tied down by our "stuff."  It meant idle time and energy to put toward independent projects we may not know exactly how to make money from...  Creativity is the dream.  Denver photographer...said his images are...of a particular gay subculture based on a rugged, unkempt look.  (..."a slender, fit, hairy gay man.")  - Out Front Colorado, 3/20/13
     It's 5 am on a Monday.  I get off the bus at the usual stop, up the street on the way to work.  There is a middle-aged guy coming up the street from the east.  When he passes me, he mumbles a "how's it goin'?..."  It's 12 degrees F but feels colder.  This guy is not wearing a winter coat, but an unzipped hoodie and a knit hat.  He doesn't appear cold.  He looks lost.  He crosses one corner and turns north.  He goes a short distance before turning around.  The way he walks, he will stop, turn around, and look down the street as if expecting someone to come along.  He does this over and over.  I watch him come back down the street and cross it against a red light.  I don't think that he is inebriated.  Instead of slouching through oncoming traffic on some kind of autopilot, as the "drinkers" consistently do, he appears genuinely surprised upon arriving at the median to find traffic expecting to go.  He hurries across the street and does his turn arounds, going a short way before again coming back up to the corner and turning west.  Soon after, he in coming back the opposite direction.  He is coming the way he came.  Crossing his third time, he passes me again with another "how's it goin'?"  Looking into this bewildered face, with its mouth hanging open, am I staring directly at mental illness?  I watch as he heads to the deathburger, goes inside, and sits down without ordering.
     The following day, I'm on a bus home from work.  Three women are discussing, in both Spanish and English, the purchase of two cabbages for a dollar; 25% less than the supermarket.  The bus stops at a stop where a wasted derelict is getting up from the bench.  He is talking to another guy.  When they say goodbye, the other guy heads off while the derelict turns to get on the bus, only to find that the door has closed and the bus is leaving.  He makes a futile attempt to alert the driver by raising a finger.  It's a foggy morning at 5 am.  I'm at the deathburger.  I smell urine.  I turn to see Mr. U.S. Polo Association.  On the table are the contents of his pockets again.  Gone are his parcels.  He has two lighters, a hairpin, and some kind of tiny wooden rectangular pipe, into which he is putting something.  I wouldn't know where to find a hairpin in 2013.  Oye Como Va is quietly playing through the speakers, and he is quietly singing along.
     It's my day off, and I am on my way to have the broker of my original mortgage take a look at some refinance paperwork from the company currently holding my mortgage.  In he office, a young woman whips out to grab the papers, she's gone for less than a minute, and she whips back out having copied every page and sent them digitally to my broker.  By the elevator is a big window five stories up.  It overlooks a neighborhood in which I lived for 16 years, and a world away from where I live now, before blogs and derelicts.  I continue to watch this place from time to time, a passing of people and homes and the creation and installation of a self- made global generation.  Somewhere, out there in the view of homes peeking out of bare trees, homes which start at half a million dollars or more, are the lots where I lived in three different homes between 1992 and 2007.  I am back here a few days later.  On a rainy spring day, it still feels like the same place.  The office buildings, the condominiums, the small dogs on short leashes.  In this part of town, age comes not at the expense of unrepaired sidewalks.  Their good order is required by strollers, where residents pursue all things health-related.  And the Mercedes are brand new of course.
     There are memories here, as I attempt to remember how it used to be, and if it's different now.  It's the time, not the place which has changed most.  I worked with a guy a couple of decades ago who lived here when the place was a forest.  A health food place at the time he remembered as a gas station called Shorty's.  And of course he knew Shorty.  He passed the memory on to me.  I pass it on, along with my own, here. My own years here were big, bam, boom years.  The condominiums which replaced the post WW I housing started at half a million.  At the time, that was chicken feed.  In 2007, my landlord got a cool million for the two houses he owned on a lot, along with the land.  I bought my own place at the same time.  My credit was sterling.  I had mortgage schlubs falling over themselves to give me a loan.  I closed on a place a year or so before the party times came to an end.

     ...to provide neighborhood independence - allowing taxpayers...to retain up to 80 percent of their federal income taxes to use for local purposes.  ...politicians...have spoken kindly of increasing a neighborhood's independence from governments and corporations by employing "community technology" to fulfill its own survival needs.  ...populist science...wanted to prove that technology was great - not a killer - if you understood and controlled it. If America becomes a federation of 100,000 or so neighborhoods, the cheap computer...could be much more of a unifying instrument - of the American culture...than anything ever to hit political science.  - Omni Magazine, April 1979

     It was about 25 years ago that a shorter, gray-haired gentleman...appeared at my  desk and chewed up maybe an hour of my time ranting about...developers taking over the east Cherry Creek neighborhood in which he lived.  ...there would be no more bungalows for working class families, just...rows and rows of high-priced townhomes...  I remember thinking..."This sounds a lot like, 'The Russians are coming; the Russians are coming!"  Well, as time went on...it came to pass...  Developers were making offers homeowners couldn't refuse...  - P. Kashmann, ed., Washington Park Profile, 3/13
     Henry visits his mother's house several times a month, though she's been gone now for thirty years.  It's where he was born 75 years ago.  It's where he brought his wife after World War II...  Now he hardly recognizes the place.  Someone buys a modest house in a middle-class neighborhood.    ...the new owner tears it down and builds...in its place.  Perhaps a row of townhouses.  Maybe even a mansion.  ...puts the property on the market and sells it for a huge profit.  Land values soar, property taxes rise...  Walk through the neighborhood today and you'll find a new house, condominium, duplex, or townhome on practically every block.  The original bungalows are toppling like dominoes.  People want to live here.  And they're willing to pay...often $300,000 or more.  ...several blocks from the Cherry Creek Shopping Center and the boutiques...The Denver Country Club...Congress Park.  ...the posh neighborhood of Hilltop.  To city planners, this is good news.  ...to lure people to the city's core, reduce freeway traffic...more tax dollars, more construction jobs and more shoppers...higher property values...  Henry's wife, Vera: "Something you used to see was a lot of children.  You don't see that many anymore.  What you see is people with dogs.  They always say how friendly the dogs are."  Henry: "You don't see that many people period."  Vera: "They go in through the back and you never see them."  Henry: "...it's strange to see one couple living in a huge box where the whole family used to be.  If you don't take your turn at the four-way stop...if you miss your turn...you get honked at..."  Vera: "When you go walking...it's almost like you're invisible.  Some of them would just as soon walk over you as look at you.  We feel like we're new here.  We've lived here fifty years."  - Westword, April 16-22, 1998

Here in mondo condo  Or, 'Where have all the rentals gone?'
     Is there life after barbecue?  Refugees of the 'burbs, those...freaked by matching appliances have come rolling into the inner rim of Denver to set up housekeeping in more tolerant environs.  Out there in the realm beyond urban culture, neighborhoods are characterized by guest lists of weekly cookouts.  Who only eats Boca burgers?  Shifting alliances...  Signs of the times  Huge banners with telephone numbers for reserving a "unit" and tentative prices (anywhere from the $200s to the $800s) have been stretched up along the construction sites.  It's a mystery to many as to exactly who is going to purchase these "units," and where they work.  - Denver Daily News, date unknown

     From the start, we made the cow the symbol of...Denver.  Back in the about-to-bust oil boom of 1984, city boosters were worried that...was holding us back.  From what?  Scraping away more of our past, maybe.  Building high-rises that could be Anywhere, USA.  But the subsequent economic downturn actually helped preserve much of...this city...  ...with suburban sprawl temporarily stymied...  - Westword, 3/28 - 4/3/2013

     'Tis yet another Saturday at 5 am.  I see who I think is a drunk middle aged-woman holding a Coke bottle.  She is talking to a younger guy, who turns towards me to ask, "Hey, do you know what time it is bro?"  I realize that the one who I think s a woman is actually a guy.  The younger guy appears to be dressed as someone who may work in an office somewhere.

February 2013, Year of the Snake

     It's another Saturday morning at 5 AM.  I'm headed for the deathburger next to the usual bus stop.  As I head toward the parking lot, I can hear a voice.  Standing next to a parked SUV are a couple of guys, both in red down parkas.  The one on the phone is bald and looks young, and appears skinny in his big parka.  The way that they were standing next to the car, I thought at first that they guys perhaps were having car trouble.  As I pass through the lot, I hear the one on the phone say, "I opened the bag and they pulled two guns on us."

     "This is more like Compton because of the diversity of gangs here,"...hit hard by the recent recession.  Thousands lost their homes to foreclosures, and the area began changing...  ...80 percent of the children in the area are at risk either because they were born to teen mothers or mothers without a high-school education, or because they live in a family near poverty level.  That's among the highest rates anywhere in the city.  Although he feels supported by his teachers and school administrators, he's not so sure about the faceless education officials who run the show downtown.  ...teachers had to re-apply for their jobs.  Those who were let go were informed via e-mail during the school day...and some of the broke down in the middle of class.  When...a member of the school council, he says, the school board promised...new computers and other resources - but when the assets arrived, they went to the kids in the new programs that opened in 2011.  ...in the four school programs now housed...to the shared campus agreement...to make room for three other lunch periods,...students have to eat lunch first: at 10 a.m.  "That's what happens when there are three other schools in your school.  We got the short end of the stick."  - Westword, 2/7-13/2013

     A church who merely says and does what the state says and does...does not help to preserve peace, but disturbs and confuses the relationship between church and state...a politically colored picture of the church...a pretext for carrying politics into the church...  - Hutten
     ...Christian terminology...vehicles for messages of the defeated, dejected, desperate, and disaffected.  Millennial expectations and radicalism fitted into each others needs.  Riches were a property of the great Beast...  Rank was a cause of woe.  Respectability and a good reputation could be marks or perdition.  - Weber

      It's the Monday after the Superbowl.  I'm on my way to a friend's home to get a ride to work on an early shift.  It's 4:30 am and I'm walking past a gas station across the street from where I live.  In a bus shelter next to the station are three people.  One of them I recognize as a local drunk   I watch as he ambles up to someone filling up at a pump.  It appears as though the guy at the pump gives the local some change.  Touchdown.  On the way home, I change buses at a stop where a guy is on a bench.  he is so tired that he's dozing off and waking up when be begins to fall over.  He says "hey bro" to everyone who passes by him.  He gets up and shuffles over to me, asks me for a cigarette.  I'm sure that he's younger than myself, with a gash over his nose.  When you are constantly having to move along, it must be such that you are never awake and never asleep, never quite.  He isn't dirty nor are his clothes, and he has a tote bag which appears brand new.  If he isn't homeless, I can't figure why he's falling down asleep or greeting everyone who goes by with "bro".  We get on the bus when it comes.  At another stop, another derelict gets on.  They both greet each other as "bro".  Bro one asks bro two in Spanish what his name is, and Bro two answers in English.  Bro one is in his seat, dead dead tired to the world.
     The following morning, a guy in his sixties gets on.  He has on a style of coat popular with guys forty years his junior and has a bag with a huge yellow denim tag which reads "hanzzoff".  He asks the driver how he is, and the driver tells him that he's "tryin' to keep up."  He tells the driver, "When I was younger, I used to talk about treading water.  Now, I'm just tryin' to keep my ass off the bottom."  This statement must be on a bumper sticker, somewhere in a gift shop.

Moral Absolutism
     ...we usually suppose morality to be threatened only when the law is violated.  American morality...follows Cartesian logic...If our premises are unsure, how can we have confidence in our conclusions?  "To the good American," Santayana says..."is...the dogmatic cast to American morality.  ...the frame of mind which regards doubt as foolish and even wicked."  - The American Style, ed. by E. E. Morison, 1958

     Another morning at the old deathurger.  Sitting outside, on the ground, waiting for the door to be unlocked, is local derelict Richard Spotted Bird.  When his prayer is answered, he arises and goes inside to get a cup of coffee.  In the time during which I am inside, I never see him sit down.  I watch him continue to pour sugar and cream into his Joe.  When I am outside, I turn to see if he ever took a seat, only to find that he has vanished.

Morality and Power
     The organic state of English absolute idealism give primacy to the state as more metaphysically "real" then the empirical individuals who compose it.  The locus of morality...in the larger whole, the national community whose ideas produce the movement of history.  - Morison

     Saturday morning.  At ten to five am, I'm out the door.  Parked across the entrance to my little townhome courtyard is an ambulance.  In the street in front of my place are two police cars with lights flashing.  Across the street at the gas station is a dog in the back seat of an SUV, with its head out the open window barking while its owner is inside.  At the bus stop is a short, curvy girl with no bus fare.  At the train station is someone belting out, "Are you reelin' in the years!  Stowin' away the time!"
     Many of us are wildly romantic.  ...half-holding our breath through life to meet (not choose, but find)...swept off our feet, lonely years abruptly lifted like a spring dawn...days yet lingering on an imagined horizon we can almost touch - will be poetry.  - Out Front Colorado 2/6/2013
     ...passion for facilitating the kind of group collaboration needed to get controversial things done...  ...the current regional affairs director for Mayor Michael Hancock...  "I had been working for about 10 years as a communications consultant for human resources consulting firms that handle employee communication strategy...  ...neighborhoods, developers, city staff, and elected officials could figure things out together."  ...public relations/lobbying firm...local communications, government relations, and political consulting issues.  ...land use and property development in multiple jurisdictions,such as the Gates rezoning on S. Broadway...  ...entitlements for architect...development...  "...the Gates redevelopment...have long-term positive effects on our community, granted the length of time it takes for them to realize themselves, legacy kind of stuff.  - Washington Park Profile, 2/2013
     He originally "stumbled" upon the campus...  "Next I know I'm getting concerned about...their exams, their break-ups, their hook-ups."  After a long career involved in "white collar" crime...  He also...lectures at classes on campus.
     On any given weekday, Bill wakes up in his empty apartment no furniture, save a T.V....he battles emphysema, depression and PTS...
     I started to count how many friends had passed away in the four and a half years that I had been homeless.  ...(my number is 44)...  When you're homeless...  The friends you make are for life.  ...more basic...  You aren't always driven by money or social status.  The friends I had before I was homeless disappeared when I couldn't afford to go out...  A couple of them that I've seen act like they don't know me at all.  When I became homeless, I...saw that death was just around the corner.  Living on the streets, he was closer - just two steps behind you, with a slightly longer gait.  There were some cold nights I felt him breathing on the back of my neck.  That is a very cold breath, that not only goes down your spine, but travels up into your brain.  You can only sleep lightly...  I've known...homeless men and women...who ended up in the hospital, only to be released too early.  I have learned that life is not the adrenalin rushes.  The homeless know this and that's why we can live this way...  - Denver Voice, 2/2013

The Year of the Snake
     On Sunday, I'm across the street for lunch at my usual Mexican place.  I suddenly hear what sound like four thousand fireworks going off at once.  On the other side of the street are four dancing Chinese dragons dancing in the parking lot of a small Vietnamese strip mall.  The next morning is a frosty 5 A.M., and the beginning of another work week.  Before leaving the house, I turned on the TV to see the Pope giving a resignation speech.  Now, I get off the bus which takes me the short way to my usual stop for a connecting bus.  I can hear someone coming from way up the street.  He is talking to himself.  When he gets to the intersection, he crosses on the green light.  As he walks inches in front of the traffic, he turns toward the cars and yells, "Fuck your god!  Look at you in your stupid purple car!"  When he gets to the bus shelter, he doesn't find any beer, and he continues on his way talking to himself.  I look to see if he has gone into the deathburger.  I don't see him there, or up any street, or anywhere.  He has vanished into the frost.  The year of the snake has begun.
     The following day, I am working a late shift, and on the way to work on a later bus.  I drop a small packet of sauce from the deathburger on the floor.  As we get off at the train station, I see someone pick it up.  On the way home, the bus passes through a neighborhood built in the 1970s.  One of the passengers is talking to the driver about his upcoming review at work.  He says that he's "down to 16 hours a week now."  You get a review for less than part time?  He mentions using something called "Job Coach", which I know only as a service which assists employees who are disabled 'in the membrane'.  This guy sounds completely lucid.  He then mentions someone he knows.  "All my money goes to her, and she's too much like my parent."

     Substantially all students, American and foreign, agree that American culture...is overwhelmingly a middle-class culture.  The dominant American values are recognized...by virtually all adult Americans.  - Morison

Fried Foods
     According to the package, each square of Hashheath has about 100 milligrams of cannabis extract - which seems about right, given the ganja-heavy flavor...  The list of ingredients indicates that the cannabis extract is in the medicated butter...  ...the muscle-soothing buzz began to vibrate from my head to my toes.  ...if you're the type of patient who only requires about a fifth of the bar to get where you need to be.  ...I was in a stoney haze for a good three hours.  ...billed as Cookies and Cream - looked more like a bar of Irish Spring soap.  ...the thing mostly tasted like dried marijuana stems.  Like a tiny chocolate rocket ship...took effect almost immediately.  ...pronounced "stoned" effect that put me in a zombie-like trance of pain-free bliss.  And the taste of the weak tea wasn't much better; it was like drinking the run-off water from a bubble-hash extraction...  - Westword, The Chronic-le, Your Guide to Medical Marijuana, Enjoy!, February-March/2013

     ...Russian Research Study of Americans...(Roseborough and Phillips, 1953)...  '...Americans admire people who are sociable, sensible, strong, and sincere.  They are critical  of...unsociable people...of indecision.  ...of people with unusual or defective physical appearance.'  ...the Wolfenstein and Leites (1950) content analysis of American A films...  'The hero is typically in a strange town where there are apt to be dangerous men and women of ambiguous character and where the forces of law and order are not to be relied on.  If he sizes up the situation correctly...if he relies on no one but himself...demands sufficient evidence of virtue from the girl, he will emerge triumphant.'  - Morison
     Since 1959 the state has established ...a committee for the Observation of Family and Community Celebrations...charged with the arrangement of national holidays and...family celebrations...  "Today the birth of a little baby [is a] joy [that] only our government can bestow."  - Hutten

     Another Saturday at 5 a.m..  I step out of my door into my parking lot.  A guy on a ten speed bike coasts by on the street.  He has a giant trash bag full of I know not what on his handlebars.  He pulls in to the gas station and stops by the dumpster.  On the way home, I wait for my last bus at a stop with a homeless-looking guy.  He sees me pull out my camera, which I am advancing in order to snap his photo.  He asks me what I take pictures of.  I tell him, "Nothing in particular."  He ass, as I snap his mug, "Whatever looks cool?"  I guess that means that I think he is cool.  Stay cool bro.  The bus arrives and takes me up the street.  I get off and I'm walking in the direction of my front door after a long and productive day at work.  In the vicinity of his usual spot is a regular panhandler, one who lives in a small house just down the street.  Walking up to him from across the boulevard is a teenaged girl in a grey sweat outfit, with a sleeveless leather jacket over it.  I watch her as she walks up to him to hand him something.  She then returns across the boulevard.  I watch her go and stand in a bus shelter, and I see her not get on a bus when it comes.
     The following Monday is a frosty 14 degrees F at 5 a.m..  I step into the gas station across the street from where I live.  Outside is a regular drunk, manning a regular panhandling spot.  He goes inside after I do.  I get a doughnut, and as the guy behind the counter is ringing it up, a second employee is asking the drunk if he can look in his inside coat pocket.  The employee must have seen some merchandise which had yet to be paid for in this guy's pocket, because the employee began telling the drunk that he was going to "call police.  I call police."  The drunk acted surprised to hear this.  He replies, "Seriously?"  On a bus home, a middle-aged guy is telling the driver about a park where someone was "selling bad cocaine.  You turn me loose in that park with five guys, I'll have 'em rounded up."  In his hand, he is holding a rubber spatula wrapped in a plastic bag.

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     It's been snowing all night, with some six inches on the ground by morning.  It's the biggest snowfall of this winter.  The same drunk guy is back at the same gas station with the same twin employees.  They do not appear to like this guy, who I've seen on this corner lately day after cold day.  He may actually live someplace in the direction from which I have seen him come and go.  The twin employee guys make me wonder what they think of this neighborhood, one with a deathburger which has a clock that has been ten minutes fast since the beginning of the year (to trick themselves into opening on time?)  Everything about this couple of guys suggest that they are not from anywhere near this place.  I am in front of one of them, who is ringing up my doughnut.  "Just one?", he asks.  He should be able to see that it is only one.  When I pay with my card, I like to keep the receipts because they help me keep track of how much I have in my account.  My receipt prints out.  The twin behind the counter takes it in hand, and stares at it...

     ...Roy  conducts heartfelt interviews with members of Denver's homeless community.  ...he's had difficulty getting his interview subjects to open up about their situation...some want to deflect blame...  "...the general public thinks you already view yourself as a victim, and they don't want to hear it," he says.  "...the more real your story is, the more people are going to relate."  - Westword, 2/21-27/2013

     On my day off, I am at a deathburger for breakfast.  I got off the bus with a derelict guy who comes in with me.  I hear him tell someone he recognizes that he slipped on the ice outside.  I saw him go in, I never saw him slip.  For lunch, I am downtown at a place in an office building.  I run into a woman I know on the custodial crew.  We converse briefly in Spanish.  At the lunch place, disco hits are playing over the speakers.  A woman at a table of grey-haired people mentions that, "a rapper was killed.  A rapper."  She then begins talking about the TV show CSI.
     A couple of days later I am at the local deathburger, across the street from where my photos are being processed.  At a table are a pair of men who appear to be in their thirties.  They are both making what appear to be pencil drawings on pieces of typing paper.  The drawings appear to be alike, waves of lines.  One of them is falling asleep drunk.  The other appears to be just fine.  Throughout the drunk guy's antics, the sober one remains oblivious to them, quietly continuing his pencil drawing.  His face is expressionless and his nose is running.  The drunk one has now taken off his shoes.  While adjusting the laces, he is dozing off.  He wakes up and puts his shoes on the seat of a chair at an empty table.  He then moves them to the seat next to it.  He then moves a third chair to look under the table.  He sits down at a booth with someone who appears to recognize him.  An employee walks past, points to his shoes, points to him.  She notifies the head manager, who comes out to quietly tell the guy that he can not stay without shoes on, or he will dial the police.  The drunk guy puts his shoes back on.  A third employee comes by to tell him to exit stage left.  The drunk guy is trying to tie one shoe with the lace around his ankle.  While bending over, he is having trouble steadying himself.  The head manager comes back out to get some kind of conscious response from him.  He's lights out.  The manager is headed for the phone.  A couple of gaggles of teenagers have come in.  The drunk guy wakes up and says, "Oh boy.  Whew!"  I am waiting and wondering if I will see five-0 slowly stepping in through the door.  On my way out, the drunk guy is standing, and trying to steady himself as he stands in line at the counter.  After I come out of the photo place, I watch a couple of police cruisers turn the corner and pull into the deathburger.  From the bus stop, I can see that a fire truck is already there, SOP for the inebriated.
     It's a frosty morning after an all day snow.  At the bus stop, a truck goes by with a couple of big American flags mounted on poles attached to the sides of the bed.  The next day at the same stop, I see a neighborhood regular go by.  He has salt and pepper hair coming down from under his stocking cap.  He's coming back from the gas station, where I have seen him before, and headed toward some drab apartments which are a halfway house or something.  In one hand is a Keystone Ice, and in the other is a phone.  He's telling someone that he will be home soon.  Is 5 am too early for a beer?