October 1st. Saturday. I am off to work at a store at the western edge of what's left of the metro area, right up against the foothills. I get to the train station right about 7 AM. As I look toward the Rockies, I see the sunrise move its light from peak to base. Later on, I leave work at 3PM. I'm headed home as I come upon a lonely free standing cardboard garage sale sign at a highway intersection. I stop to take a photo, and then I turn around to see a woman at least a decade younger than myself. She says, "Excuse us." (Us?) I hear her pick up the sign and I realize that it's hers. I still don't know who "us" refers to until I realize that she and her sign got into one of the cars stopped at the intersection. At the next block, I look south along another highway. A band of light rain falls between here and the Rockies. A lightning bolt strikes the ground. At the train station are a couple of young women who are dressed up for an evening. One has long boots and a short dress. The other has a long dress with a neckline so open that I can see most of her boobs. When I get back on my street, I ride a short way with a girl on her own bike. I watch as her completely rusted chain comes off. I wait to see if she wants my help. She;s got it.
The following morning, I am out on my corner shortly before 8 AM, waiting for a bus to go grocery shopping. "Catty-corner" to this on is the gas station, where I watch a guy with long grey hair, along with another guy who has white hair and a white beard, drop by on BMX bikes. The latter is taking it easy as he rides in what appear to be fur-lined fair-skinned boots of some kin. The other one is trying to do tricks, and appears to be wearing a leather jacket. At the supermarket are a handful of assorted Hollywood-cast gangsters and motorcycle club members. After shopping, I go to a movie. In line at a concessions stand, I'm behind a guy who strikes me as a nerd. His shoes match his shirt and he has on a big lopsided backpack. He asks the employee, "What's the name of that other thing? ...kettle corn." He gets a "kettle corn" and an ice water from the soda machine. I'm behind him at the cashier, and there's a line behind me, when she tells him that he will have to pay for the water because they charge for the cup. Just like at every single fast food place. He's dumbfounded. He can believe neither that he is "being charged for water," nor that the prices are as high as they are. Perhaps it's kettle water. He makes me wonder when the last time was when he was in a theatre. He wants to speak to the manager, who is right there, and word for word repeats what the cashier said. He tells her that their "prices are outrageous." He sounds almost as if he should...be in a movie. He will pay the prices, and having made this...concession, eventually gathers his concessions. I go to see Deepwater Horizon. At the end, when I come out of the theatre, he has come out of the same movie. I hear him say, "That was intense. I mean, I knew what was going to happen. But still..." Have some water sir.
...the disparity of economic opportunity... ...property threatened by...outside interests - interests that do not...call the neighborhood home. "[The city] has been systematically going down...buying out and replacing...structures with something else. I know that people would like to revitalize...and basically wipe out all the...businesses that are currently there. ...that's...happening right now. ...old iconic...businesses are being bought up, torn down, and replaced with condos."
...a rendering of his new office building... Almost immediately...appeared on social networks Nextdoor...where it garnered a startling 88 comments over four weeks. This is on a network that deals mostly with lost dogs and used furniture... - the profile, 10/2016
Denver City Council president Albus Brooks's district includes the...neighborhood. "I'm disappointed in the neighborhood that they went after the developer, only because we had an understanding that, let's attack that issue that's in the zoning code instead..." ...Brooks refers to Denver as a "tweener" city, meaning...it's not...wholly conducive (yet) to only using alternative modes of transportation. The board of Inter-Neighborhood Cooperation...more than 100 neighborhood organizations, voted in favor of the...Neighborhood Association's appeal. - Westword, 10/6-12/2016
...the city and developers revamp buildings, parks, and streets on all sides... " It's important to keep people in this neighborhood longer. And we want to help give this neighborhood the attention it deserves." - Westword, 10/6-12/2016
...once the Americas were discovered. ...an underlying dependency...the colonial period would complete. Only hard work could open mines and make plantations flourish. ...recourse was had to Africa. ...of the people who lived south of the Sahara. Up to the sixteenth century their civilizations had evolved out of their own unfolding dynamic...to the influence of the outside world...the reactions had been very much their own. This...came to an end... ...Western Sudan...in the 1590s... For the Guinea Coast...a little later with...the Atlantic trade. For the East Coast...1498 with...Vasco de Gama and the years of ruin... In North Africa...the Ottoman conquests of the early and middle sixteenth century...while...1652...the Dutch made..the Cape of Good Hope. ...a long series of attempts to rebuild once more a grand Muslim polity...from the Atlantic to the Nile, within...Islamic law and order...of the old Western Caliphate. For a hundred and fifty years this vision will glow... The older attitudes...for whom Islam offered an ideological basis...for central government in multi-ethnic states... Relatively new states were built on a hierarchy of privilege... ...large regions of Africa were now pulled ever more closely...into the affairs and ambitions of a rapidly changing world... Africa is carried...finally into a political subjection which goes on until the 1950s. - Davidson
The Grand Mosque Uprising...outcome of...was decided in...December 1979. Juhaiman and his accomplices mobilized religious fanaticism to overthrow the Saudi government. They fought for power in the name of Islam. It radicalized a generation of young Saudi devotees of the ultraconservative Wahhbi sect. ...Saudi money, continued to fan the messianic ideology and operate the extremist training network on the Pakistan Frontier... They created the Taliban in 1993 and assisted it to conquer most of Afghanistan. It's natural offshoot of global terrorism poses an existential threat to the West, to moderate Islamic countries.. Saudi control over...Saudi funds inside Pakistan ranged between weak and nonexistent. Pakistani President Zia and ISI made those decisions...both Saudi and American aid to the construction of...thousands of madrassas educating Afghan children - some of the 3 million refugees... The madrassas gave one to two years of madrassa indoctrination to thousands of young Afghans, followed by military training. At that point, they were sent across the Afghan border to confront the Soviet Army.. - Tomsen
Monday. I'm downtown at the bank shortly before noon to deposit my paycheck. Another week when the direct deposit is thwarted by the owner's "forgetting" to approve payroll. Which he can do from home. My checks haven't bounced in the couple of years during which they've owned the company I've been working for. Chilis for lunch. Waitress takes my order. Immediately comes back to tell me she forgot what I ordered. Desert is cookie in a pan, which I prefer without the ice cream scoop. She brings it with ice cream, takes back the scoop. I have a bite left, I don't notice her take it away. I ask her where it is. She says she tossed it. I ask for a complimentary something the size of a cookie bite, and out comes a guy with a more extensive vocabulary than my waitress. He gets me something small to go. It comes with ice cream in a cup, which I leave behind. I head out to the train, where a derelict guy stares and listens to the ticket kiosk give him verbal instructions. A cigarette burns in his hand. A cloud of smoke obscures the screen. 'Open the pod bay doors please Hal.' The train arrives and I get in and take a seat. I smell cigarette smoke and look up to see the derelict guy in the door way. He's stealing some final puffs before entering the train.
Three days later, I am out of the door around noon. The morning was dry, but I see a handful of raindrops. I don't have time to take the bike back inside and switch to the bus. As soon as I am out of the parking lot, a squall comes out of nowhere and opens up. My the time I get to the train station, it lets up. Along comes a guy who looks homeless except for his clipboard. Long hair and handlebar moustache. He asks if I am registered to vote. I say, "Sure." Then he asks, "And you are going to vote...?" Oops. Wrong thing to ask me. "Please, please vote..." he begs. "The government is begging me to vote?" I associate his faith in democracy with the messages about the importance of voting from government sources. I am familiar with the angst over the outcome of this election. "I'm not with the government," he clarifies. A few minutes later, he comes back around to ask me again if I am registered to vote. Now, I'm not difficult to remember today. The parts of me which are not covered by my camouflaged poncho are soaking wet. I remind him that he already asked me. I don't remind him that he is not with the government. I will let him rediscover this. "Okay," he assures me.
Like most people who make their living off beer...worries about what's happening in the...industry... "Every time...we lose a big brother, one that is replaced by an unfriendly entity." In the old days...he used to drop in...to borrow yeast... "It hurts. It hurts a lot." ...shelf space is getting tighter every day. ...thirsty drinkers in the Platt Park and Washington Park neighborhoods. ...they drink it all down and ask for more. "The neighborhood appreciates the neighborhood." ...breweries are...replacing neighborhood bars as local hangouts. Although small, these breweries are the engine that power the beer world - from early morning until late at night...creating cool places to hang out... ...the neighborhood, like all Denver neighborhoods, is changing. ...more young families with kids...coming into the bar. "People who are sick of the bullshit. They just want to be with their family and have a good time." a solid clientele of heavy-metal music lovers,...hipsters, beer geeks and other locals. ...the brewery has...pulsating sounds, of a black-metal clubhouse - complete with a goat's-head altar and a bathroom sign that reads, "Employees must carve Slayer into forearms before returning to work" - the staff...is all about smiles and beer knowledge. "The better a reputation we get down here, the more we will draw from River North." "We take more of a lifestyle approach, and people dig that." ...most people come...for pizza and beer. The ambiance is nothing to scream about - unless you like heavy-metal music, in which case the gory album posters will make you feel right at home. ...as many ear gauges as neckties, as many sleeve tattoos as pairs of khaki pants. "We get the heavy-metal guys at night. I didn't think we would get that." ...screams Colorado from the outside. It does the same on the inside, where there's a woman sitting alone with a beer and a laptop...and a group of seven men...each with three, four or five tulip-shaped tasting glasses... - Westword, 10/6-12/2016
...I gave a group of snowboarders a ride... "How are the avy conditions?" I asked... "Great, super soft up there, man," he replied, pulling a silver can from his otherwise empty backpack. "Did you check the avalanche forecast?" I asked, realizing there wasn't a shovel in his pack. "Huh? Yeah, the weather is good, bro, more snow coming." He sipped the beer and passed it to another. I realized he didn't know what forecast I was talking about..
THE SOCIAL
MEDIA MAVEN
...how #blessed you are when you #experiencemore and #getoutside? Ding #SUPyoga at #sunrise doesn't make you more #blessed than me. Especially when I see it on your...feed within minutes of your #accomplishment. Instead it's like #OMFG.
THE REARVIEW
MIRROR LOOKER
...how rad the 401 trail is. Let them have Schofield Pass. The real goods are out of Crested Butte South...three quad-burning, multi-mile climbs with as many single-track descents. This is supreme mountain bike riding, except for...conditions ...not superlative after heavy storms...big divots in the trail, or after motocross folks tear up the trails, leaving a thick layer of dust... ...riding it with someone who starts off raving about the flow...only to emerge...complaining about how - "seriously" - this was so amazing last season. "Honestly... You're really missing out now." - Elevation Outdoors, 10/2016
"There are reasons why Colorado is doing so well," Hickenlooper said...that the arts are doing well. "We have taken the seed of the SFCD and created something that has attracted all these millennials. Arts is a strong partner of economic development. ...the critical mass of creative energy."
"We literally made Cap Hill the spot, then got swept out of our own groove. Of course we'll ,make a groove anywhere we go..." - Westword Fall Arts Guide 2016
Saturday morning. I get on the 6:02 AM bus to work. The driver says to me, "Mornin' brotha'." Twenty-five and a half hours later, I get on the 7:30 AM bus to the supermarket. Along the way, a woman gets on who I have seen around the neighborhood for years. She's who you might refer to as a bag lady. The driver questions her discounted fare, and she speaks the first words I've ever heard her say. She tells him that she's a disabled veteran, to not question her fare, to "be quiet," and to simply practice "peace and love." She forgot 'semper fi.' She tells him that she has been hauling "this stuff" (her collapsible shopping cart full of clothes) around "for three or four years." I know that I have seen her around the neighborhood for longer than that. I get out and head over to my favorite breakfast place. A guy goes inside ahead of me. He looks as though he is homeless, but I decide that if he's going in for a meal, I must be wrong. He comes right back out again. The following morning, I am up early after hitting the hay early. Very early. I'm out of the house on the bike at 4:30 AM. I don't recall the last time I rode before dawn on a regular basis. It's been a year no since I've been back on the bike, since I quit riding some eight years ago. Riding before dawn is different than using the transit system before dawn. On the bus or the train, you are moving along a system and inside the rattling metal environment. On the bike, it's quiet and the few lights along walkways or porch lights give the impression of neighborhoods asleep. It makes you feel solitary as you move through dark and empty streets, with only the occasional cat. You see a schoolyard with the bones of its playground equipment backlit by lights on the school building, as if the school itself is sound asleep. I am told that I will soon be headed to work back at the store I worked for a year, before spending the summer working at the one where I am headed this morning. I don't know how many more rides I will be making along these residential streets, through these neighborhoods where families enjoy strolling after dinner.
Late the following morning, I am on a bus back to the store where I worked for a year, from May of 2015 until this past May. I turn my head to see a woman sitting next to me. I haven't seen her since last spring. She is sometimes on the bus when we both get out of work in the same shopping center, she at a pizza place.. From El Salvador, she speaks no English. I ask her in Spanish how her cat is. It's name is Gorda, which is Spanish for 'fat.' Gorda had a kitten. I ask the kitten's name. She tells me it's Gorda Chica, or 'Little Gorda.' At work, where I watch out of the windows as the winds blows golden leaves into a tornado, customers are coming in to welcome me back. One tells me that my hair looks different. I've enjoyed spending the summer cruising through the residential streets of another set of neighborhoods. But it's good to be back in this shopping center. Is it like home? Different locals in which I find myself bring back feelings from other memories. I miss the bike ride through the parks to get here. I enjoyed getting on the bike again a year ago, pulling out headlamp and tail lamp with the same batteries which still worked. I knew the long time manager of the store I am returning to, before she passed away. I always wondered if she looked out at this same vista across the street, a neighborhood which reminds me of the one I grew up in. She grew up in Guatemala. But the son she leaves behind is growing up in a home with a lawn.
Just after 8 PM, I'm on the train home. Sitting across from me is a idle-aged guy in a Polo shirt and pants with the cuffs rolled up. He has an unlit cigarette between his lips. On his lap and on the seat in front of him are papers which he appears to be sorting. He takes a call, on which he says, "Five minutes. Five minutes. I'm on the train. The train will be there in five minutes." When he hangs up, he says, "Fuck." He turns to me to ask me when Fathers' Day is, in a voice so quiet that I must ask him twice what he said. He and I get out at the same station. He gets up slower than myself, and he has to reopen the door after it closes after me. On the platform is a guy with a 10-speed and a cycling cap. He tells the guy with the cigarette, "It looked like you weren't getting off." I jump on a bus which drops me off on a corner of my boulevard, where I must cross the avenue to get to the bus headed down said boulevard. This evening is the first time, in the decade during which I have been living in this neighborhood, that I can't reach the corner where the crosswalk begins. There is a familiar group of Hispanics with signs which mention Jesus taking up space on the sidewalk. The first and only other time I saw them was this past summer, as they came marching past a gas station parking lot which was standing room only filled with police cars. During that outing, they had a bullhorn. I don't see it here tonight, but one of the signs is a handmade Harley Davidson logo altered to mention Jesus instead. This isn't a biker neighborhood, and if they live here they should know that. At their summer march, a Caucasian member of their flock told me as he marched past that Jesus saved his life from drugs, 'etc.'. Right now, Jesus is blocking the sidewalk of a boulevard where trucks and freaking Mazdas street race. Mysterious ways indeed.
Taking over...spiritual power vested in a particular...priest or wizard or soothsayer - Muslim leaders sometimes acquired a mystic authority denied to them by the orthodox tenets of Islam. ...the Trjaniyya...an 'Islam for the poor.' ...whereby the later Muslim revolutions of the nineteenth century were carried through. It was to be the instrument for conversion of many peoples of the countryside... ...against autocracy, political brutality...denounced the collecting of concubines and fine clothes and horses that run in the towns, not on the battlefields...' Religiously inspired revolution could demolish an unpopular and stagnant polity lacking any new "material" policies, it found...building a better social structure altogether another problem. A much larger expansion of slaving also developed along the central and northern sectors of the Swahili coast. ...Imam Sayyid Said...in 1840...transferring his court...to...Zanzibar. ...Zanzibar was already the greatest slaving port on the whole East Coast... ...every year...between 40,000 and 45,000. Sayyid Said pushed it higher. - Davidson
From the time of the Soviet withdrawal (from Afghanistan), bin Laden's main goals have been to...create a totalitarian political order stretching from Indonesia to southern Spain. His tactics have much in common with those used by Lenin and Stalin Juhaiman al-Otaibi's 1979 Mecca uprising inflamed a sensitive rift in Islam between cleric and ruler as old as religion itself. Religious legitimacy to rule had been an eagerly sought commodity by kings and potentates in medieval Europe. It was granted or withheld by popes... Popes fielded their own army...and promised life in Paradise to Christian soldiers... Pakistani dictator Zia ul-Haq's vision for Afghanistan's future was sweeping, audacious - and unrealizable. In the longer term, Zia imagined the formation of an Islamist confederation of Pakistan and Afghanistan. Saudi Arabia's oil wealth would reinforce this powerful geostrategic bloc... Zia envisioned that, eventually, the five Muslim-populated Soviet Central Asian Republics would join the...confederation. The Soviet occupation of Afghanistan made Pakistan a leading candidate for President Reagan's support for Third World insurgencies targeting Soviet-aligned governments. Reagan and his top advisors forged a close working relationship with Zia...and...assistance to Pakistan skyrocketed during the 1980s. "Gulbuddin Hekmatyar:" ...warlord... Hekmatyar's party manifestos...calls for transforming Afghanistan's tribal society. But...promised a Muslim utopia instead of a communist paradise. The Pashtun firebrand advocated a centralized, revolutionary, Islamic state ruled by Sharia.. The ISI steered the majority of American-Saudi combined covert and private aid to Hekmatayr. He was the ISI's favorite Mijahid and therefore the CIA's favorite Mujahid. Libyan leader Muammar Qaddafi also provided substantial funds to Hekmayar. ...the White House...appointing Edmund McWiliams...to...special envoy. ...McWilliams drew on his meeting with Mujahidin sources to pen a major policy message to Washington. ...challenged long-standing U.S. support for the ISI's promotion of Hekmatyar. Ambassador Oakley...ridiculed McWilliams in embassy meetings and to his face. During an Afghanistan briefing for a senate staff delegation...Oakley ordered McWilliams to leave the room. "...telling him to 'shut up,' and saying that he wouldn't take any more of McWilliams' 'bullshit.'". - Tomsen
TAIWAN
A FLOURISHING DEMOCRACY IN ASIA
On Oct. 10, 2016, the Republic of China (Taiwan) celebrates its 105th anniversary...heralding the dawn of a new era characterized by innovation, reform and the building of a more progressive, caring society. ...the efforts of the citizenry to safeguard freedom, protect human rights...are recognized worldwide. Based on the principle of mutual assistance for mutual benefits, the initiative paves the way for Taiwan to work with all like-minded countries and territories in playing a more significant role in the international community... ...helps the nation quickly adjust to changing global conditions and the trend toward regional economic integration.
TAIWAN LEADING IN WORLD'S INNOVATION
...showcases unique ideas such as WiFi-powered rice cookers (start cooking with the click of a button when you head home from work) to compactable bicycles. - Asian Avenue Magazine, 10/2016
Thursday. Going on 5 AM. I am down the street from where I live, on my way to an open to close shift at work. I pass a front lawn with a tree. Hanging from a rope is an office chair. Friday. I'm too damned beat to ride today. I'm on a bus up the street at 4:40 AM. I get out with a guy on his way to a construction site. He asks me how to get there on the transit system. He's in a hoodie and cap with the logo of the city's football team. He asks me, "Who won the game last night? I fell asleep." The bus comes along to whisk us to the train station. This station has had new condominiums where the parking lot used to be for a year now. Where the dregs of the city used to gather before these condos, the beautiful people now wait for their trains. I remember being here one winter night when a couple of young gang bangers punched a drunk before they ran off in a choreographed sprint. The bus showed up. The police showed up. One concerned passenger exclaimed, "I know six niggas on this bus with warrants." Where this memory occurs now stands a young guy in a shirt and tie and Italian shoes, listening to his I pod, looking as if he has just stepped out of a catalog. I watch a little blonde in long boots lock up her 10 speed, her headlamp in my eyes, her backpack almost a big as her. She walks to the ticket kiosk where he spends the longest time, as if perhaps bewildered.
The ride to and from work on Saturday takes me through parks and streets, all with forests of changing trees. I notice that my front tire is extremely low. On Sunday, I take it to the bike shop for some air. Every gas station with a working pump will only fill my tires to 35 psi, and they need 90. When I get to the shop, the tech tells me that I need to top off my air once a week. Hmm, something else I won't be able to do. I head down the boulevard to find a place to eat. This stretch of the street is just outside of downtown, and in proximity to both a train station condominium and streets lined with brownstones. It's a street of wandering derelicts between 30 and 60 years of age, and of tattooed Caucasian hipsters in there 20s and 30s. I watch one guy go past, selling this month's issue of the city's local homeless newspaper. Every day is like Halloween 'round these parts. On a corner with a bus stop which always smells like urine is a big bar and grill. This afternoon, there is a line. Next door is a brand new little place where I had a good meal before. For $18 I have a sandwich on a roll, yellow squash, a pickle and a drink. New age music is coming out of the sound system. Perhaps after we eat, we will have take Ecstasy and have an orgy. (I love you, a pickle and a drink, a pickle and a drink...) The waitress comes around with an abundance of joy for the menu. She wants to know how my lunch is. A couple of thirty-something women in yoga pants come in. The one with skulls on her pants tells the other that this is her favorite place. The other asks the waitress how big the avacados are. I go to the counter to ask the pensive-looking guy, who I assume is the owner, for a to go box. "How about some foil?" he asks. Low overhead, far out.
The following morning is another double shift, and I am up with the pre-dawn patrol. I'm headed down a trail next to a street which trucks like to race along. This morning, in the dark, a man walks along the street with a pair of crutches. The following evening, on my way home I am approaching a bridge at the intersection of two bicycle trails. To the side of one end, I can see in the dark the metal frame of a ten-speed leaning against the bridge. On the bridge, a guy in a T-shirt has something long and metal in his hand. As he swings it, it catches the light from distant streetlamps. I hear him say, "Call the cops. I'm serious, call the cops," as he walks toward the direction of the bike. Thursday morning. I am back at my bus stop of old, waiting for the 4:45 AM. Across the street, the former medical marijuana place which was raided by SWAT some years past is now being transformed once again. The usual folk are here. There's the guy on the floor of the bus shelter, under a blanket. There's a couple of other regular passengers. Out of the dark comes a couple slowly moving along. The woman is wearing hot pink and black print pajama bottoms. The guy is decked out head to toe in the colors of the local football team. He walks with his right foot to the side, and his leg appears to be in pain. He asks if this bus goes to the end of the line. When the bus appears and we all get on, the guy takes a seat. The woman talks to the driver before asking everyone, "Do any of yous got change for a five?" The bus is silent. She tells the guy that they must disembark. He painfully makes his way back down the aisle. The fare for two people is more than five dollars...(?)
Some nine hours later, I am out of work when the sun is out. It's been a while. I get on a bus back to my neighborhood. It has mostly kids who look like they are in high school. I sit next to an ROTC kid. A corner of his hoodie is on the seat and I sit down on it. It's a few minutes before he asks me to get off of it. At one stop the driver has just let out a passenger, and a kid jumps up and asks to be let out. The driver slowly pulls forward. The kid says, "I...wish...you...would...let...me...the..fuck...off." Up the street, the ROTC kid pulls the cord to let the driver know he wants the next stop. He doesn't realize that another passenger has already pulled it and alerted the driver. In a high school voice, he says, "I need to get off here." When I get home I decide to get a workout in, and I jump on a bus headed down the street. One guy with a distinctive voice in back is talking to someone else. The other guy comes to the front of the bus and takes some small plastic trash bags from where they hang by the door. The guy in back says, "Driver, he's having a medical emergency." The other guy tells the one in back, "I've got my paper work." He has a file with him. "I just partied too much last night." He proceeds to dry heave into one of the trash bags. Where I change buses, the street is blocked off going one direction. At the stop for my connecting bus, I hear one bus driver tell another that a bus jumped the curb and ran into the stop. When my other bus comes, there is a child and a parent in separate seats. The child is standing in her seat, next to another guy. We suddenly hear the parent yelling at the guy, telling him not to talk to the child in a way which disturbs the parent. I don't look up, but the parent threatens the guy, and the guy mocks the parent. Then there is silence. When I look up, the child is being held by a woman. I wonder if the indignant guy is the one now sitting behind them. He has greying hair and a shirt with Grumpy from Snow White on the front.
More than 100,000 moved to Colorado last year. Is that good news? There are roughly now 200 more bars and restaurants in the metro area than there were a year ago... ...too many spots are coasting or even falling short - whether from lack of training, overextended chefs, tired concepts or a tight talent pool. - Westword, 10/20-26/2016
While partaking with confused zeal of much that the western world has to offer many parts of Africa are at the same time attempting to throw off the political shackles of the West... Africans want our education and techniques, our mode of life and standard of living... Of course there are millions of Africans still too ignorant, too backward, childlike, and uneducated to know what nationalism means... ...Africa lies open like a vacuum, and is almost perfectly defenceless - the richest prize on earth. ...it pants for development. - Inside Africa, by John Gunther, 1953.
This fury carried all before it. The imperial scene was set in western Europe an atmosphere of frantic national competition for oversea possession. European imperialism...a driving power of its own. Pursuing their interests and ambitions, they blew the trumpets of patriotism and banged the drums of national rivalry. Early Catholic endeavors of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were now reproduced on a continental scale. Nineteenth century missionary enterprise...did much to promote...a Christian educated elite. This was to play a part...even before 1900, in the formation of anti-colonial trends of thought. ...what "The Times"...called the 'scramble for Africa.' ...Leopold II of Belgium...carving out for himself an enormous central African colony... ...decisive pressures. ...were released by...western European capitalism... It was all above men like Goldie and Rhodes who ensured that governments in Europe should underwrite imperial enterprise beyond the seas. And it was out of their efforts...that the strenuous ideologies of European imperialism now took shape and action. ...limits of expansion for Britain, France, Germany, Belgium...Italy, Portugal and Spain - were defined with little trouble at the Berlin colonial conference of 1884-5. - Davidson
Friday. I'm back on a closing shift. Out on the trail in the morning, it's an unseasonably warm week for the middle of October. Caucasians are on their bikes, and they are all over the place. In matching Lycra and riding in formation. This may be the last week to represent for the team trail riders. With turning trees and temps in the low eighties, it's a gorgeous day. There is a detour through a set of concrete berms, with four ninety degree turns. A group of ten riders come through it, one at a time. When I turn off the trail onto another, the swarm of riders disappears. Until I make my way through a neighborhood of opulent homes. A couple in matching black Lycra comes along. The next day, I am too damned tired to get on the bike. I'm at the corner up the street, preparing to cross it to my Saturday bus stop at a quarter to six AM. Coming along the cross street is a young guy with a skateboard. I'm in my winter gear, and he's in an unzipped hoodie. He wants to know what time it is before he is on his way. Some thirteen hours later, I'm home from work after dark, and I head to a pizza place behind where I live. I come back through an alley to my parking lot. At the exit of the alley, in the dark, is a middle-aged homeless couple. The guys says, "Whazzup?" The woman is, in denim shorts and a hoodie, both of which appear too big for her. Her sunken eyes peer out from inside her hood.
Sunday. I am a bit late out to the bus stop this morning. A couple of guys pull up to open the roasted chilli stand on the corner. One of them is a portly grey-haired guy with a crucifix on a chain around his neck. A middle-aged couple comes walking along. The guy asks me, "Is there a bus comin'?" The Mrs. takes a seat. An SUV pulls into the parking lot, and before I know it, a woman in a long coat is standing in front of me, asking me to pick out a Watchtower Magazine. She points out to the guy, "Your money is about to fall out of your collar." I can't see his collar, but apparently this is where he keeps his money. It's 9:30 AM and the sun is burning off the chill during this Indian summer. The Mrs. on the bench next to me, she turns and says, "That sun's startin' to kick, huh?" Sure 'nuff, ma'am. After the bus comes and takes me to the supermarket, I am waiting for the bus back home. A middle-aged guy with a bike comes along. He has a Scooby-Doo cap and is talking to himself. On the back rack of his bike are secured a couple of small cardboard packages. In his hand is a shopping bag for the department store across the street. When the bus shows up, he turns to me and asks, "Gettin' on?" Sure 'nuff, sir. He asks the driver, "Fastest way downtown?" If he lives downtown, he should know the way. But if he's from downtown, why is he shopping all the down here? He puts his bike on the rack at the front and gets on. He tells the driver, "I'm a mess, kid. I'm a fuckin' mess." He sits down and continues to talk to himself. He's constantly jumping up. Instead of placing his shopping bag next to himself, he has it on an empty space above one of the front wheels. I notice in his bag that one of his purchases is a new box of crayons. After dropping off the groceries, I pay an overdue visit to a favorite lunch place up the street. Riding through an alley, I pass a guy with his shopping cart parked against the fence. Later on, for dinner, I'm at my usual Sunday spot; the Vietnamese place behind where I live. Whatever Sunday dinner used to represent in the traditional Caucasian household, I now spend it at a Vietnamese restaurant with...half a Vietnamese restaurant full of college-aged bohemian-looking white kids. One huge guy had a T-shirt with, I don't know, a video game logo? Outside in the twilight, the Jesus crispies are back, complete with bullhorn. This evening, their numbers are comparatively tiny compared with the last march of theirs I saw during this past summer. It becomes clear that they are advertising an event, described on a card one of them hands me as "Puppet Master live on stage." That's right, it's Howdie Doodie time. I saw the guy bringing up the rear of the march in a T-shirt with "Soul Patrol" on the back. The event is produced by Victory Outreach Denver. The card which I was handed has an image of a new Camero in one corner, a tool perhaps of the defacto mercurial Puppet Master.
Monday. If all goes to plan, this will be the last time I have to work an all day shift until the next foreseeable emergency. Yet again and again I find myself at the bus stop across the street from where I live, here at the hour of 4:30 AM. At the intersection, where 12 hours ago the Soul Patrol was approaching vehicles to tell them about Jesus, the usual guy with a cane follows my path here from the other side of the boulevard. In the bus shelter this early morning are four young adults, two guys and two girls. One of the ladies has what appears to be a small bike for an older child. The frame has been spray-painted white, which had stained the tires as well. If it isn't stolen, I wonder why it appears as if it was repainted as quickly as possible. The bus comes along to take all of us up the street to my bus stop of old. The guy with the walker is asleep in the shelter at this hour. My connecting bus arrives, and I get on and sit across a guy in a long coat with his head inside of a big hood. He reminds me of the Spirit of Christmases Yet to Come. We all pile out at the train station, where a guy with long hair and in a woman's coat is looking inside all the trash cans. At this station which used to be a transit hub for homeless, they still collect at the side of the new condo, right next to the "White Whale Room Coffee + Cocktail" bar. I am Ahab...
Thursday and Friday, I only had 6 hours of sleep each night. Saturday night was only 4, and Sunday another 6. Yesterday, I was falling asleep at work. But today, my friend, today is Tuesday. And somehow, I went back to sleep after waking up after only 6 hours again. I tell you, I feel like a new man. You know, you make me tired enough, and eventually I will get a good night's rest. Some time around noon, I am awake enough to get back out on the bike trail. This is the week when the trees are losing the last of their leaves. It continues to be an uncharacteristically temperate week for the end of October. I am cruising through a string of connected parks. Among the housewives walking their dogs is a lone guy on a bicycle. On this overcast day, he is wearing sunglasses, a hunting cap, and overalls. I see him looking in a trash can. The trail lets me out in a neighborhood of opulence. When I stop under a tree, I am attacked by falling acorns. Some seven hours later, I am out of work and on the bike path home. At the trail head, I stop to put on a warmer shirt and windbreaker. Across a creek is a high school athletic field, lit up by stadium lights. A year ago I would come past this place during football games. On this evening, a marching band is out on the field, and a band director is leading practice. He's telling one section that they are 'going to have to come in faster, the are just going to have to come in a little faster.' Further along, off one trail and onto the next, I am almost to a street back on my side of town. I forgot to bring my headlamps and tail lamp with me today. In the dark, I come up on a guy slowly riding one bike in the dark with his left hand, and guiding an empty ten speed with his left. Over his shoulders are three full trash bags. As I pass him he says, "'Scuse me, sir." Dow the street and on the last short trail to my own neighborhood. I approach a spillway in the dark. As I do, I can see the street illuminating the embankment. I smell marijuana. A couple are crouched there with their dog. The light catches the face of a young guy with a foot-long goatee. Overhead, southeast of where I live, the local police helicopter turns circles as it shines it spotlight. When I arrive at my corner, I watch another, middle-aged couple cross the street. The guy has a tall can in his hand, and he gestures as he barks words at the lady.
The next morning, I come out of my door and I hear a middle-aged couple in conversation. I don't recognize them, but they obviously live in one of the town homes on the other side of my complex. The guy is in camouflaged shorts and has a walking staff. That's what I need when I see the Soul Patrol loitering on the street corner. When I see the Puppet Master, I can use it to "smash him, homie..." When I get out on the trail, I pass an oncoming woman who is running. Her head is in a big white hairnet. Thursday. I am out of my door at the same time as yesterday. At the corner, I wait at the light as I watch an SUV race a pickup down the boulevard at what appears to be around 55 mph in a 35 zone. On the way to work, I'm almost there. I'm passing the football field as the marching band is out for a late morning practice. On the trail home, emerging from an underpass are three guys slowly walking in the dark. Off the trail, I get to the crest of a hill. Once again, I watch the police helicopter turning circles over my neighborhood. Further along, I am coming up a street as I watch the helicopter cross over the block ahead of me.
...Beg laid out his geostrategic vision for Pakistan and Afghanistan...that the two Muslim countries combine forces after Afghanistan's liberation. Beg called for...Islamic revolution in the Muslim world. There was, Beg claimed, a leadership vacuum in Islamic countries. Utilizing a map, the general pointed to the five Soviet Central Asian Republics. A different color distinguished them from the rest of the USSR. He predicted that India would disintegrate when the Islamic revolutionary wave reached an advance stage. On November 21,1990, an article written by retired ISI brigadier Mohammed Yousuf, chief of the ISI's Afghan Bureau in the mid-1980s...sounded the alarm... Yousef...hallucinated that the victory America denied in 1989 'would have created a politico-religious base and momentum for beginning of Islamic revolutionary warfare against the USSR... The psyche and natural follow-up of this movement would have led to an Islamic bloc comprising Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iran, Turkey and the Islamic Soviet Republics. With friendly China, this Islamic bloc would have stood against the expansionist designs and aspirations of the superpowers and regional powers like India... The whole superpower structure and political scenario of South Asia and the Middle East could have changed.' - Tomsen
If the years 1880-1900 were broadly those of the conquest and the 'establishment of presence,' the decades 1900-1920 may reasonably be defined as the 'period of pacification' during which installation of colonial rule was made complete. ...this helped the...dismantlement of traditional forms of rule. ...products were gathered by...forced labour... In...what Coquery-Vidovitch has called 'economy of pillage'...the companies were purely parasitical on African life and labour, while the colonial state...guided the colony towards 'civilization'... - Davidson
...at...Stapleton's 36,000 square-foot gaming center...more than 160 games and 210 player stations since opening it doors last March. '...premier entertainment and gaming experience in a safe, welcoming environment.' ...a 5,500 square-foot split-level laser tag arena... ...up to 24 players... "The whole experience is state-of-the-art." ...eSports LAN gaming zone... ...nearly two dozen Xbox One S consoles, and five Nintendo Wii U systems. ...parents can enjoy American food and a craft beer... ...a full bar and 16 taps... "We offer killer happy hours." ...a collection of large screen TVs for sports lovers. - Colorado Parent, 11/2016
Friday. I get a call at 4 AM. I have to open today. I find myself out on the trail before sunrise. In the dark, I pass a tandem bike with a headlamp in front of the lead rider and another headlamp beneath the handlebars of the rear rider. Red lights dot the bottom of the frame. It's a lot of battery power just to ride a tandem bike in the dark. The following morning, I'm too tired even to ride a bike for one person. I inadvertently leave my camera in the bag I have over my shoulder when I ride. This morning, up the street at my Saturday bus stop, I am directly across the street from a billboard. In the dark at 6 AM, it's lit up with an ad for an audio book company. A twentysomething woman is in her workout gear, on a rowing machine. Fastened around her left bicep is her audio book player, and on her head is a slammin' pair of headphones. Sitting next to her is a Viking sailor in fur with snow in his long hair. Behind them is the rest of the crew; on the bow stands one who blows a ram's horn. They row through a blizzard as, beyond their shields lining the boat, mountains rise off the port and starboard. The entire scene sits atop a small Vietnamese office. And my camera sits in a bag at home. After a nine-hour day at work, I am back home and coming back from the Chinese place across the street from where I live. I see the strangest thing I've seen on the sidewalk in this neighborhood. A young, blonde, Caucasian guy in a tuxedo is walking into the brand new apartments across the street from my own place.
The following Monday is Halloween. On my ride home, right across the street from work is the neighborhood of opulence. Children and parents are both in costumes, and out in the street with glow sticks. One parent asks a child, "And did you thank Mr. Norton?" This morning, I scouted out a route from the train to the trail to work. I had to stay a few minutes late on this, a busy afternoon, and I decide to try the train home to see if it's any faster. It quietly comes along, and I see a transit system security officer checking fares in one of the cars. I get on with only three short stops to go. At the next one, a guy who also has a bike gets on. He has blonde hair like a surfer, beads around his neck, and a Bob Marley T-shirt. A couple dressed as pirates also get on. The last passenger to come on is a thirtysomething geek. He's asking the others if the transit system is letting everyone ride for free today. He's confusing today with New Year's Eve, when the transit system will let passengers ride free from around 6 PM to 6 AM New Year's Day, to prevent drunk driving. At the next stop, the security officer changes cars and comes into ours. Everyone has fare except the geek. He tells the security with a laugh that he thought we could all ride for free today. Amused, the officer says, "No..." The geek tells him it's a hallowed day. The officer wants to know how today is hallowed. "Because it's Halloween," the geek replies with a laugh. The officer asks if he is getting off to puechase a fare at the next stop. The geek is in fact doing so. He tells him that a ticket in Denver county is $82. "I don't want that," he says, this time without a laugh. Transit system fare. Yep, it's hallowed. Back in my neighborhood, I cruise through an alley, behind a backyard with a glowing blue ghost hanging from a tree. Walking through the alley is a guy with a plastic bottle and long hair who appears not to live any place in particular. I turn up a street where I see some more trick or treaters. I pass the gas station across the street from where I live. A young guy I haven't seen before is out in the parking lot. He's singing and he sounds drunk. As I go past, he tells me, "Wear you helmet at all times, young man." I cross the boulevard and I hear him yelling at me. It is, I think, a fitting tribute to this, the Age of Moloch. Happy Halloween kids. "Moloch, with your fare waiver assumption and your helmet a drunk guy wants you to wear..."
