I have slept in a suite in the Royal Hawaiian Hotel in Honolulu and I have slept in a flophouse on Larimer Street in Denver.

The Royal Hawaiian smells better.

ANOTHER #%$*#&!!! FESTIVAL

Saturday.  October 19, 2013, an absolutely beautiful day, 12 days before the High Holy Day of  Halloween.

This is the last day I have this week to complete three projects which I am multitasking on.  I also have a couple of errands to run.  The errands easily win out.  A quick shower and I'm off.  I miss my bus by one minute and wait, breathing automobile exhaust for a half hour before the next one.  I am in downtown Denver by noon.  Plenty of time to do what I need to do and get back in time to finish my work. 

I make my purchases and have lunch at my favorite place, Leelas.
Leela European Cafe.    
There is still time to catch the free mall shuttle down to the Office Depot, pick up some copy paper and ride the shuttle back to the bus station and home.  I limp over to the mall and wait for the shuttle.  It is nowhere in sight which is not unusual because sometimes it runs sporadically.  

All day I have noticed an increasing number of younger people on the mall, all walking toward the lower end.  Everyone seemed to be made up in costume with a lot of painted scars and fake blood.  As usual I am totally obtuse to my surroundings. If they wanted to look like a fool t was OK with me.

I limp to the center island to look for the wayward shuttle.  No sign of it so I sit on the edge of an empty planter to wait, propping my cane against a nearby tree.  Within 5 minutes a polite woman in a yellow vest appears.  It was almost, almost as though she has been directed to me, perhaps by a small two way radio, after I am spotted through an overhead camera sitting on a flowerpot.  She smiles at me.  I look at her and say "What do you want?  She indicates to me that it displeases the Powers That Be for me to sit on an empty flowerpot.  Suddenly I am imbibed by the spirit of Rosa Parks.  I play the poor, sick old man card.  I tell Shelia that I don't care what she or the city wanted, my foot hurts, I am tired and I am simply not going to get up from my big flowerpot.   I plan to sit there until my shuttle comes.  Shelia keeps her cool.  She appears to  agree with me.   She tells me the shuttle stopped running.   I react with confusion.  The shuttle is a given.  "What do you mean?"  The shuttle has stopped for the festival.  "What festival?"  The Zombie Fest.  Why am I not surprised?  This explains why all of these people are walking around looking like idiots but it does not explain how I am going to get off the mall.  I have already done Zombie.  I did it for the 26 years I drank alcoholically.  I have also seen enough blood and brains and gore to last a lifetime.  

So the city stops commerce so they can put on a show.  I am thinking that if they want a show, I can drop my pants and bend over.  But I don't say this.  It dawns on me that I am probably already close to being put on the lunatic fringe list.

I take my leave, faintly hearing a voiceover of Woodie Guthrie Singing Alice's Restaurant.  I start walking toward the upper end of the mall and after a block realize I am no longer capable of walking much further than that.  I double back, take a slow train out of town to a park and ride.  After a half hour wait I catch a bus home.  It takes me three and a half hours to run a small errand and have lunch.

Imagine A Great City / FREDDY PEÑA

UNWITTING MARTYR

IN MEMORY OF

MATTHEW SHEPARD

DECEMBER 1,1976 ~ OCTOBER 12, 1998

MURDER IS MURDER

IF BLUEBIRDS FLY THEN WHY, OH WHY, CAN'T I

FOR ALL THE YOUNG MEN

Here’s to all the young men –

Who have thrown a noose over a beam in the haymow.

Those who have sat by the water with the shotgun, contemplating who to shoot first.

Those who would put the muzzle in their own mouth.

Those who have driven unfamiliar Nebraska country roads too fast at night.

Who drown their talents in bad whiskey to seek oblivion.

Who marry for validation.

Those who sob into their pillow at night because it is not getting better.

And they can’t express their angst to anyone.  No one.  Because no one can handle 

such unspeakable things.

For the sensitive ones without the hardcock assurance that the jocks take as their birthright.

For those in the hinterlands who would run but have no idea of where to find asylum.

For those who already know the policeman is not their friend.

Those who have endured the flaming words of flaming hate.

Support the ones who would spring the trap and drop into a permanent oblivion.

Persevere.  Endure.  Your day will come.  Don’t give up.  Keep 

the faith.  You are the strong ones tempered in the flaming words of hate.

                                                                             Daniel Wenger     

                                                                             For me.

                                                                             January 20, 2013
(C) copyright
Daniel Wenger 2013                                               Reblogged from Jan. 20, 2013

CHILDREN OF GOD

YEA, VERILY, THOU SHALT NOT SHOW ME

  

INCONSIDERATION,

FOR I, LIKE THEE AND ALL OTHERS,

AM A CHILD OF GOD.....

..... AND CHILDREN OF GOD

ARE NOT TO BE FUCKED WITH! 

DIABLO

Yesterday I ran into Luis.  I was standing next to him at a store counter and I recognized his voice.  Luis is Puerto Rican, New York City.  We go back a long way. 

I remember the last time I ran into him  on the street.  It has been several years, probably more than I realize.  It was about 10:30 that night and we started walking on East Colfax in Denver just North of the Capitol Building.  We were casually strolling on the sidewalk talking  about "back in the day".  It was dark.  Luis was carrying a badminton case.

Then I saw this mammoth figure looming and rapidly approaching us from an alley.  It had shaggy hair which added to it's size.  Oh, Jesus, it's Sasquatch!  My only thought was "Omygod, we're dead."  I don't remember saying a word to Luis nor did Luis utter a sound.

This obviously insane man, who I later learned was aptly named Diablo, reached us and centered himself in front of us.  As the man approached Luis had been fumbling with something.  He opened the badminton case and pulled out a stiletto.  Holding it palm up he pointed it about three inches below Diablo's belly button and said in a flat voice, "Look, youse has got your choice.  Youse can keep on going or youse can get stuck.  Which is it?"

Diablo apparently wasn't as crazy as he looked.  I never saw anyone that big disappear  so fast.

Twice more in my life after this was I doomed to cross paths with Diablo.






 

IF by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you   

    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

    But make allowance for their doubting too;   

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   

    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

    And treat those two impostors just the same;   

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

    And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   

    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

    If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   

    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

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