Standing Rock of Homelessness

Posted: December 17, 2016 in Uncategorized

Standing Rock of Homelessness

30 November 2016

“Don’t let New Denver become the Standing Rock of homelessness,” the executive director of the Buck Foundation says, while the handcuffs cut off his circulation to his left hand. “Would one of you fine officers mind arresting me again, so I can go get my car out of the in-pound lot?”

It is day seven of the sweeps of the streets, the city’s response to the homeless crisis surrounding the Denver Rescue Mission and the Colorado Coalition for the Homeless.

“We are going to keep coming back until you folks decide to find another place to sleep. We cannot have you lying out here on the sidewalk. It is a safety issue. Please move along quietly, so we do not have to arrest anybody. If you are arrested, do realize that we will be confiscating your sleeping bags, belongings, and tent as evidence. It is against the law for you to lie down, cover yourself, or set up any camps. Your cooperation is appreciated. Oh, and don’t forget to have a great day!”

The commander opens the door of the cruiser, and throws the megaphone into the back seat. Smiling to himself, he sits in his car, watching the snow as it slaps against the windshield. The faceplate inside the car reads 13 degrees. Steam rises from his coffee cup like a small smoke signal in a cup.

“Commander, I have a bone to pick with you. You promised us that you would take our questions to the mayor, and not arrest anybody, today. What are you doing, now? Do you see that poor woman in the wheel-chair over there? Where do you suggest that she goes, once you push her off the corner? You may not know this, but there have been two miscarriages on this block, just this week. Do you really care about the people that you serve and protect?”

Ignoring the questions, the commander puts the cruiser into drive, and rolls slowly down the street, a sneer painted across his face.

“Someone needs to create a handbook entitled ‘The Urban Campers Guide to New Denver,’ which lists the service providers, and the resources that they provide. For example, where is the best place to eat on Mondays? The Spaghetti Feed on 16th Ave and Grant, of course! They provide donuts and coffee on Monday mornings, and then they serve a fantastic meal, from 1pm until 5pm. People are moving here in droves, and I am sure that they do not know where to go for a hot meal, a shower, or a place do their laundry. Have you heard about the Laundry Truck? The program just started in the last couple of months. Can you believe this? They will actually be parking outside of various venues, plugging into the Denver Water Department hydrant, and providing clean clothes for the homeless.”

“If you haven’t noticed that we have a housing crisis here in New Denver, you must be in a coma.”

16 December 2016 Friday, 10:30PM
Kaihanga taiki i to tatou iwi i te hipi mo’a e toru.

The narrative had spoken for itself, during the trial. Pleading not guilty by reasonable insanity. A thirty year sentence in the meanest paragraph house of shame, fading away into another day. Sometimes, I can see right into myself, burning inside and alone. We were never real to begin wiith, I just have not confessed to myself. I brought you here to tear into the middle of me. The laborer’s back in the final act of hospital reality. Damned you, Dentists, get out of my mouth! Tearing away at the roots of bones with a purpose. Empty holes, and he barely makes a sound. There is always the Pain, Fell asleep dying shame. You are sentenced to lie here next to strangers to your left and the right.

If you ask him, he says that he wants to die, out on the streets. Sleeping on cardboard, back against the church, he finds sleep in the graveyards and holy places. Do you believe in God? Frozen legs begging the churches to be opened up at midnight.

“Open your doors, at midnight. Put your money and mouth to the test. Let the homeless sleep in pews of the church, museum, library. Midnight slumber parties in the art museum. Hey, St. John’s Cathedral, I want to pray at midnight. Open the doors, please, and Thank You.

They have been digging up graveyards for centuries, robbing them blind. Capitalizing on the execution, it took the jury exactly 40 minutes (lunch was 30 minutes long), to convict him of trespassing. We really did think that my trial would help the other nine defendents. I was sentenced to 15 days, for the same crime, as the year’s probations, or dismissed all together.

It is not difficult for a prisoner of sound mind and body to realize his role in the jailhouse. Twenty three hours in the screaming coughing cursing, and an hour a day to walk the basketball court, or do push-ups on your fingertips. Welcome home, city and county of Denver, i have not seen the end of our relationship. As a fourth-generation Denverite, I cannot be more proud of you. Gentrification and pollution. Love you for that. The brown cloud hangs over the big black snake named Nowhere, Disunited Estates of ShAmeriKKKa, in the town of Bark. There once lived a Bard in the town of Bark.

Amoxicillin and Fireball Cinnamon Whisky(tm), smoking American Spirits(tm), and CO marijuana in the 1998 Ford 350 camper named Sally. In the dark, all of us have secrets.

Tonight we are calling it Fort Denver. Fort Denver stands in solidarity with the Standing Rock Sioux Council. There will no longer be drilling along what is known as the Ogala Aquifer. No more fracking in the mountains of the Rockies. No more strip-mining the mountains of their trees, their cover from the sun.

General George Razee fought against the US Army massacre called Sand Creek. He did not sleep again until he was dead. They stole your soul! cried the old woman before he split her head open like a cantaloupe.

He is dying on the streets. The cold cement makes for a difficult day ahead. There are no more Tomorrows for those of us who cower against the cold rain under tarps of hope.

Dear Santa,

I know that you probably way behind on our agreement. What do you mean that they have unionized? This cannot happen here, rants Santa of Santa’s Sweatshop. You do not want to know what they did for the rest of the year. It is only fair that the elves are given a percentage of the gifts that Santa gives away. Santa has never had to pay taxes or face tariffs and stand-in-the-corner and think about you did, ruler slapped against knuckles.


Santa Elves Union North Pole elect their first president, an elf from the sweatshop who rose above his class not knowing that he would ever be King.

As soon as this storm slips away,
he used to say
for the last forty days
until the Devil named him
Blizzard. The winter is here to claim her crops.

Somewhere in South Dakota,
a little north of the Badlands,
tasting the inside of the wind
cold is cold everywhere

Those savages pulled out six teeth,
and he did not flinch
mourning the best of yesterday
another year of dying all over again.

Nothing could stop me from running away
but then I was the Other
Chased out of the garden
by a Big Black Snake.

My church is the water
and the future is nothing but black
Take to the air
beg the Sun to stay around for a year or two
renew the lease on land that has never be owned

Treaties and Handcuffs
Broken, both of them
Stories that could not rest
until someone told them to go home.

Sponsor Resurrection City

Posted: April 16, 2016 in Uncategorized

Congratulations – your campaign, Sleep Where? Decriminalize Homelessness is now LIVE! You are now ready to start raising funds and awareness!

We need to sell 50 t-shirts in 27 days, ending Friday, May 13th, 2016.

Gildan Ultra Cotton T-shirt
$ 20 Unisex – Red

Denver Homeless Out Loud (DHOL) works with and for people who experience homelessness to help protect and advocate for dignity, rights and choices for people experiencing homelessness. We commit our efforts toward goals affirmed and raised by homeless people, within our organization and throughout the homeless community. We strive to add our strengths together to create ways of living in which everyone has a safe place they can call home.

By Eric Verlo
– 3/02/2016 8:28PM MDT

DENVER, COLORADO- In the witness stand Delbert “DJ” Razee spoke eloquently about the Tiny House movement and Resurrection Village, a local experiment sponsored by advocates Denver Homeless Out Loud to suggest one remedy for the house-less of Colorado. Razee’s lawyer Frank Ingham made fools of the Denver Housing Authority stooge and four police officers who testified against the chronically homeless English Lit grad. Razee was charged with trespass on public land, on an empty city block which was supposed to have been used for affordable housing. Razee was among ten homeless activists arrested one night in November for refusing to vacate several very small structures they’d erected on property which the DHA was converting from a community garden to gentrified condos. After two days of trial, a jury of well-housed peers found Razee guilty, lest others of his untouchable caste darken their doorsteps or the vacant lots near them. On Thursday March 3rd at 8:30am DJ Razee reports to Judge Beth Faragher for sentencing.

It was an amazing trial. While his compatriots sought continuances or plea deals, DJ held his ground and never waived speedy trial. DJ was impatient to put the Denver Housing Authority on the stand. Their representative Ryan Tobin blew off a February 3rd subpoena, but when DJ’s lawyer Frank Ingham cross-examined Tobin on the 22nd, Tobin incriminated himself more than Razee. Ryan Tobin was the DHA goon who pressed charges against the activists for trespassing on the public lot opposite his $650K home. Tobin also sought a protection order against one of the activists, which restrained that person from approaching not just Tobin but the entire public lot. Can one do that? The protection order didn’t come up at DJ’s trial.

The DHA is a quasi-municipal entity which handles city property meant to accomodate lower income residents. The DHA is Denver’s second largest property owner. The city blocks at 26th and Lawrence used to be low income housing but have been razed for years. More recently a portion was used for a community garden but the DHA was evicting the urban farmers to sell the block to a high rise developer.

The logic offered was that DHA could use the proceeds of land speculation to build more affordable housing elsewhere. That strategy might impress business people but it’s clearly absurd. Instead of being a counterbalance to gentrification, this housing authority thinks its role is to be a tool for displacement.

Tobin’s testimony will benefit all the Tiny House defendants, depending on their juries. DJ is only the first of the arrestees to be brought to trial. Tobin admitted he had never clearly expressed who had the authority to issue a trespass order. Tobin also couldn’t say who precisely was present when he made his initial announcement to the group, although he claimed it was “everyone”. This was a chief contention of the city attorneys.

How about an sidebar for activists, as a sort of debrief:

On Tobin’s first visit, someone among the activists called EVERYONE together to listen to his announcement, austensibly to have a dialog. As a matter of practice this was regretable. First, because the action was already underway and there was no expectation that dialog could or should redirect the action. Second, it presented exactly what an authority issuing a formal notice needed: everyone in one place to BE GIVEN NOTICE.

Two, the city prosecutors used a video recording of the event, made by the activists themselves, to prove that the trespassers had received notice. While the taped discussion was not so clear, and the many subsequent announcements over police bullhorns were garbled, it didn’t help that the videographer offered narration to make what was being said explicit to viewers and bystanders. Offering, for example: “so basically we’ve been given notice that if we don’t leave the cops will come to arrest us.” Which alas is the confirmation prosecutors need that lawful orders were understood.

Although the city sought to incriminate Razee with the video, the footage provided wonderful context for the larger issue, the paradox faced by the homeless, had the jury been receptive. It also captured Ryan Tobin’s cavalier attitude about housing inequities. When he was asked by the group “Move along to where?” Tobin made this thoughtless suggestion: “Where did you come from?” Boos from his audience at the scene were echoed by the viewers in the courtroom.

Ryan Tobin couldn’t identify DJ at all, neither that he’d given DJ notice to leave, nor that he’d ever seen DJ before in his life. DJ described Tobin’s failure to recognize him in a FB post:

For six weeks, from October 23rd until December 9th, I shoveled the walks, carted away the trash, and resided at Resurrection Village at the same location as Sustainability Park, and Ryan Tobin who lives directly across the street from the property, testified that he has never seen my face. Of course, he hadn’t- I am one of the invisible people who is a criminal in the eyes of the housed, and the law.

The testimony of four DPD officers was also self-damning. Neither commander, nor lieutenants, nor arresting officer could fully justify why they deployed in combat gear. Even the jurors were set back by the militarized atmosphere, the helicopter overhead, and the overabundance of cops for a TRESPASS INFRACTION. About the helicopter, a lieutenant claimed she called in a mere “fly-by” but police video proved it hovered for nearly an hour.

One amusing aspect for many of us in the audience, was how the DPD witnesses would always refer to the offending activists as “Occupiers”. Denver Homeless Out Loud, in its need to gain cooperation with civic and law enforcement entities, takes great pains to distance itself from its roots in Occupy Denver. At any demonstration in Denver, an “Occupy” presence, usually merely the familiar OD faces, always means an escalated police escort and unseen armored-up reserves. While it may have been inaccurate to label the Tiny House trespassers as occupiers, it’s true that when protesters are holding their ground in Denver, refusing police orders, they are occupying. Like the Black Bloc, it’s not a who, it’s a tactic.

Attending the trials of activists is worth it if only to hear the testimony of the police. You learn what they’re trained to do, what their objectives are, and what they think you’re doing. Most officers, even commanders, think we need a permit to demonstrate. HA!

The first four witnesses could not place DJ at the scene, but the arresting officer finally fingered the accused. Asked if he could identify DJ, he pointed to the defendant’s table and described DJ’s courtroom attire for the record. You have to wonder if police witnesses look to the defendant’s chair by default, without regard to what they remember. How could they remember so many arrestees, months after the incident? I’m guessing that anyone sitting in DJ’s seat would have been ID’d as DJ.

I pose this question because of how DJ’s arresting officer was allowed to identify DJ on the crime scene video. Instead of letting the video play through and asking the officer if DJ appeared on the video and where, DJ’s prosecutors froze the video when the camera lingered on DJ and then asked the officer to ID him. The defense counsel objected vehemently and when overruled he motioned for a mistrial. So the judge reconsidered and granted Ingham’s motion. She then asked the jury to disregard the officer’s response and she made the prosecutor play the video again without prompting the officer, even though of course now he knew at which frame DJ appeared.

The jury
The entire trial was so farcical and so mercenary considering the inconsequence of the charge, that audience members were certain the jury was empathic to DJ and the victimization of Denver’s homeless. Nope. We knew from Voir Dire that the jury included an entrepreneur, a trader, and an inheritance consultant. All but one of the NPR listeners had been eliminated but we hoped she’d be a holdout. It was not to be. When the jury emerged with its verdict, the foreman carrying the written decision was the fratboy day trader.

Fratboy had been the juror submitting written questions to supplement what neither attorney had asked. We knew from the bent of his inquiries that he was playing a role that defense attorneys fear, a self-deputized investigator for the prosecutor, filling in the gaps of the testimony, seeking, if even unconsciously, to eliminate the “reasonable doubt” which is supposed to remain as a reason to aquit. That’s why defense attorneys generally object to Colorado’s rule allowing jurors to interject with their own questions to witnesses. On the plus side, such questions do offer both sides a hint of where those jurors are leaning.

As Denver gentrifies, it should be no surprise that juries will represent the affluent more than the demographics being displaced. DJ’s jury had absolutely zero concern for punishing a homeless man for his elegant protest gesture or for his unresolved circumstance. They laughed and made no eye contact with the audience as they turned their backs to return to their homes and leave a homeless man in greater jeopardy with the penal system.

DJ was not tried by a jury of his peers. Can the homeless get justice in the US court system? American juries are racist and classist, but you’re unlikely to find someone more untouchable to jurors than someone who is dispossessed.

As activists, we’ve got to do something about these Denver juries. Advocating for jury nullification is not enough. Denver’s urban social climbers need a welcome-to-the-community brochure, or swift kicks in the ass until they acknowledge there’s a brotherhood of man.

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Comment from Dan Caldwell   (IP:
Time: March 3, 2016, 8:32 pm

Reading through your “tiny homes” for ‘houseless people’ article, I was sadden to learn apparently nothing in the way of help can be expected by those houseless people who call Denver home. Your article also raises the question of what are the politics of this current mishandled debacle by the City of Denver’s Housing and Police authorities, in their ongoing attacks on those unfortunate people.

One of those unfortunate people who has gained some attention by his eloquent approach and response to this event is D. J. Razee. He was apparently sentenced today (March 3rd), to 15 days in the city jail and other puntitive punishments.

Razee was born and bred in Denver as where his family. I have known D. J. for twenty years. Notwithstanding any disparaging comments about D.J. by the authorities, he does strongly believe in justice and he believes houseless or “homeless” people are first and foremost Human Beings, with the same civil rights as every other human being.

Yet, it is well documented in the city police files and local television stations file video footage that homeless people are the targets for gang attack, school kids attack, assault with grevious bodily harm, and robbery. Those acts against these people while terrible, are mild in comparison to being beaten to death, decapitated while trying to rest in a city park, for example, all because a human being does not have a home.

If, a city can be judged by the way it treats the least of its citizens, surely the City Council, Denver Housing Authority and the Denver Police Department should be ashamed, and judged accordingly.

Dan Caldwell

D.J., like many people in Denver, has been experiencing homelessness. He has been on the front lines of the fight, even going to jail during Denver Homeless Out Loud’s heroic fight at Sustainability Park, where they attempted to set up Resurrection Village and had the tiny homes they had built confiscated.

He has had his laptop, phone, wallet, and sleeping bag stolen, and as you may have heard, there is a BIG STORM coming this weekend!

Let’s DO THIS, Denver! This is a small amount of money, but for those of us who are struggling, it can be insurmountable. But for many out there, this isn’t much — please help if you are able!!!

Denver Homeless Out Loud

Right 2 Rest Fest is Monday Jan 25!

Inline image 1

Organizations Commemorate Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. with Western Days of Action in Support of Campaign Protecting the Civil Rights of Homeless People

When: Monday January 25th, 11am-3pm, 2016

Where: State Capitol Building (Colfax and Lincoln)

Last year 300 plus people gathered on the Capitol steps for the first “Right to Rest Fest” to gain momentum for the legislative hearings of the Right to Rest Act that year. The bill did not pass last year but the Right to Rest Act is back! in 2016 Representatives Salazar and Melton are again sponsoring the bill.

On Monday January 25th from 11am-3pm we will be back at the State Capitol for the Right to Rest Fest! Join us to speak out, eat food, listen to music, and call for the end of the criminalization of people living without homes!

In the spirit of Dr…

View original post 506 more words

Hey, at least they are doing their jobs…and four are standing over my shoulder at Denver Diner, as I type.

Denver Homeless Out Loud


Image result for cardboard signs

Last week–as a result of a Federal District Court ruling that a Grand Junction panhandling ordinance is UNCONSTITUTIONAL (because it violates a person’s free speech rights)–Denver Police Chief Robert White instructed all Denver Police Department officers to stop ticketing people under the Denver Panhandling Ordinance (Section 38-132)!

This means cops SHOULD NOT ticket you for sitting or standing on public space asking for money, or flying a sign to do so, EVEN IF IT’S:

# Near a public toilet (public toilet?? What’s that???)

# Near an ATM machine

# Near a bus or shuttle stop

# Near the entrance to a building

# After dark

# Near an outdoor patio where food or drinks are served

BUT–You CAN still be ticketed if, in the course of panhandling, you:

* Touch or cause physical contact with someone against their will

* Interfere with the safe or free passage of a…

View original post 116 more words

Sleep Where?

Posted: October 2, 2015 in Uncategorized

It is impossible to sleep anywhere in the public eye in the sky. Now where do we go to cry?

Somersaults and Caskets

I remember a Monday Night
Football broadcast
that they interrupted.
I was tying up the phone
that phase in adolescence
between stealing combs
and having cars.

They were telling Amerikkka,
arm chair quarterbacks
and the barflies,
that John Lennon had just been shot.

My favorite English teacher
they weren’t professors yet,
he liked Jethro Tull
explained the Morrison Oedipal Complex
just because I asked,
had cancelled Shakespeare for the day
the shades were all pulled
it looked as if he had been crying,
as he wrote IMAGINE
in dusty and erasable
please-don’t-smear chalk.

And for the entire hour
all we did
was sit there
silent and appalled.
(May 1989)

Lewiston Laughingstock

16 June 2011

Lewiston Library
after visiting Trinity Church
for lunch
and the cop shop
looking for a referral
for a bed at Saint Martin’s.

I really need to get back into
Hope Haven Gospel Mission
after being evicted from
Hebron again
by the psycho schoolteacher
with the daughter who cuts herself.

Hitched back into town
along Highway 119
seven times running
a ride been provided.

This morning, it was in a dump truck
who dropped me off at Home Depot
in Auburn, two miles down the road.

Strolling into Kennedy Park,
after walking into Lewiston,
I find Tim working his community service
picking up huge wood chunks
in a day-glow vest.

At Trinity Church,
there is Joey
slouching on a couch
next to the television,
where I have some coffee
and chocolate chip muffins.

There is Vicky
the kind woman who gave me
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
that first day in the park.

Off on another day and adventure
after she kicked me to the highway again
I really need to stop playing this game
and let her just die in her beer can.

The Other
As the Other staggers
drunkenly into the aisles
of the Academy,
strips off her clothes
and passes out on the floor.

In the darkness,
me, myself and eye
steal and identify
secrets, whispers
and lost promises.

Immense pile of filth,
says the Green Pope
if you make bombs
you are not Christian
but probably a capitalist.

Nothing to say
always and never
the right thing
but it is always something.

Stop Reminding Me That I Hate You

The day that my spirit animal left me
she disconnected
stopped saying anything
terror came home and made herself comfortable
The signs say go home and be miserable
and you are already home.
There are no more promises to keep
I think you told me about my serving
an ultimate and intimate resolution.
I never said that I couldn’t be there for you
I never said that I would be there for you.
All of these promises never kept
this year has been a lie and a worry
about pregnancy and hypocrisy.
Nightmares never leave, they just gain character.
I hate you for loving me this much
I wish you had let go
a long time ago.
Anyway, I thought that I would call
scream a few times out of the window.
I always remind me of everything that makes you.
Be well, all covered in skin and promises
I never lied because you are never old enough.
Tears drip sand promises never kept
if there is anything that I wish
I did not have to show you
I know that there is one thing-
another kiss could have been a promise.
Bubblegum promises fed on corn and a bigger city
calamity is not so difficult to speel
if you are a bee or a cast
spell maker.
No absolutes that I could mean
get any better
you be you
and I love you more.
The mourning bells are singing worldwide
today, there is nothing better to do than die.
I will never do anything bad again.
Promises promises and all you keep are letters
left behind in the carry-on compartment
of your heart and other emotional baggage.
Spitwads are not free speech.
Say you love me like you mean it.
I hate you anyway.
The adventure has become bothersome,
with the cannibalization and pontification
of sorrow and the loss
that comes with destroying the love of your life.
She will participate in a couple Take Back the Night parades,
and he will write a few poems.
Everything will go back to where it was
before and after the events look like each other.
Passion stopped being worth the discourse
about 100 broken hearts ago.
Stop making excuses
you like it, you bastard
You thrive on it.
Stop reminding me that I hate you.

There are no promises about sex. I told you that!
Scrubbing out the museum of lost love lives, we realized that you were the pinball queen acid wizard. Our promise is spelled out like this: Teethmark Clever Envy, and a slice of pie, oven baked, once a week. A Circus has no Chains. Sleeping in the hammock of your cobweb-haired Dragqueen Cowboy, you find yourself secure, locked in the safe behind the painting, hanging in the library.
The porn star and the political satirist meet for drinks in a dark bar with Grateful Dead posters and photographs of hippies on the wall. They order Sancho’s Broken Arrow Amber Ale, because they are two-for-one during Happy Hour, 4:20 to 6 in the evening. 420 is the police code for marijuana possession. The date today is four-twenty. Earth Day. Save the planet day, and smoke-out day. How leftist is that? Smoke some grass and pick up a pile of trash. The cat has their tongues.
It started out as a nighttime picnic and ended with her handcuffed to the hood of a 1965 Ford Mustang named Buttercup. Budget Rent-a-Car should have reimbursed her for polishing the hood with her ass. The news is belching full with mass graves named Jenin, and the marches upon the Disunited Estates of ShameriKKKa federal government buildings in protest of the wars. Revolution is dancing in the streets of Kabul, Caracas, and the District of Columbia, today.
Father Phil U. Rupp is a Catholic priest who is also a part-time pedophile. He fits right into the middle of The Root of All Evil. What are the chances that Chad Dangling and Dwight Twilight are the same person? The mystery deepens. How is the text a feminist treatise on women and pornography? What makes the story a politically charged satire of the world-at-large? His pussy runs frantically around the small room, while he begins to take charge of his thoughts. He thinks about the packages that left his hands on Thursday, and wonders about the backlash that will follow. Will he be ignored? No comment. Will anyone have anything critical to say? Who will be the first one to shoot him down from his high of independent publishing, today?
It is called nonviolent civil disobedience. You must not fight back. Turn the other cheek. Father Phil knows all about turning the other cheek for the ecstasy in the Rectory. XTC is a drug that should not be allowed in the hands of children, pedophile priests, or other madmen. I baptize thee in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen. If you masturbate, God will kill a kitty!
Touch it, baby. Break down my promises. Prep me for your punch it in. Stroke me slowly on your words, embroidered on your training bra. What is the definition of right and wrong? I am too embarrassed, but not too nervous to deal with it. Do you ever remember what you mean when you are saying things from the beyond? I hate you. I love you. You are not perfect unless I say so. You hate me more that I could ever love you. How does it feel? Suck. Suck. Suck. The gears of the machine are chasing you, telling you that there is no escape. Give up and stop fighting it. Resistance is fertile.
The procession walks slowly through the rain, their wooden burden slacking the pace up the hill. There is little regard for the pallbearers. Death visits your home and you are left wondering if there is something else left to be said. Tomorrow, I will not be happy that you are dead. Don’t disturb us any more. Alice, have you come to ease my pain? Am I worthy of your bath? I don’t know, but I guess so. I am looking for a moment’s interruption in the new direction. The Northwest Flying Typewriters are coming to a city near you! Pull up on the highway of Lies for a little powwow, right in the middle of the interstate avenue.
She has sugarcoated lips, which are so sweet to kiss. I can be your backdoor man, baby. Just place me on the pedestal and I promise to stay. If you could see yourself now, baby, your secret life hiding your possessions. Pseudo Romeo mourns the death of Alice in Chains, while the rest of us know that Alive means more than Alice. Bury your burning cross in somebody else’s yard, Cowboy. I used to get punked and bullied on my block, until I cut a kid’s head off, and stuck it in his mailbox.
“Today’s religion is tomorrow’s superstition” she says with a wicked smile on her face. “It is only a matter of time before we catch you.”

Unable to have children, Razmania’s extended family joins a traveling freakshow act, which keeps the world mildly entertained for years.

Standing by the window watching Daddy go off to ruin the world, after putting eyeglasses on for the first time a clown zombie…

“Power to the people,” chant the protesters. “The whole world is watching.” Meanwhile, back at the Last Chance Hotel, Razmania worries.

Ten minutes after the last transmission, the FBI kicked in the door and arrested Mr. Coyote. Torture ensued. Nightsticks were used liberally.

“I am running out of heroes, Razmania. You are in short supply around here, you know?” Nobody returns his phone calls but he is still proud.

“Whatever twists your knot, Peaches.” Razmania is looking hysterical. “I will perfume my sheets for you, and make enchiladas!”

“We can hire another producer to edit your show,” Mr. Coyote says. “It might be complicated but you are still expendable.” Note the lawsuit.

“What camera are you using?” Razmania appears to be drunk. “I hate when I share something beautiful with you, and all you do is stare at me.”

Addiction is more complicated than originally believed. Now we just know better. We are in the nicotine delivery business. Note burning car.

Williams Burroughs and Kathy Acker are making love underneath a palm tree in the backstreets of the Dominican Repubic. Yes, Repubic.

“What is the definition of the postmodern dislocative narrative?” She is not really asking, but it looks that way, to the untrained eye.

INTERIOR Basement of the Last Chance Hotel, Mr. Coyote and Razmania are sitting on the couch, eating Girl Shout cookies, and drinking beer.

If you are writing a story on Twitter, how do you write it in reverse, so it is linearly cognizant? There is a line forming outside.

“Freedom? What would you know about freedom? You have never known freedom.” She is amping up for a full blown temper tantrum. Hide the guns.

The Screenplay
20 March 2011
The end of the world, 23 December 2012
Last Chance Hotel, Toxic City, Distopia in the Razee Universe
Countess Razes/Razmania,
PimpDaddy Longlegs,
Betty Bukowski/Firestarter,
black bloc
Mr. Coyote-Prankster-Trickster-
The definition of violence, war, battles, competition,
Freedom of assembly, freedom of speech, advocacy and human rights, crisis support,
A play within a play
the role of biased media in our current society
You have to play the game to know why you play you play the game.
What they don’t know, they don’t want
Often called the point of attack, the inciting incident is the first premonition of impending trouble, dilemma, or circumstance that will create the main tension of the story. It usually falls at the end of the first sequence. But it can sometimes appear in the first few minutes of a film.
The protagonist is locked into the predicament that is central to the story, which occurs at the end of Act One, This lock in, therefore, propels the protagonist into a new direction in order to accomplish his/her new objective throughout the second act.
The first culmination generally occurs around the midpoint of the second act and is a pivotal moment in the story but not as critical as the Lock In or Main Culmination. Consider the first culmination as the second highest or second lowest point in Act Two, the second highest hurdle to be faced.
The final culmination occurs at the end of the second act and brings the main tension to a close while simultaneously helping to create a new tension for Act Three.
The twist is an unexpected turn of events in the third act. Without a twist, the third act can seem too linear and predictable. It can also be the last test of the hero.
Try stating your story in one sentence.
It is the end of the world, and superheroes are limping home from a long day at the office.
In this madcap comedy, a merry band of superheroes find love in the afterlife.
Act One:
Scene One:
Do you have any last words, my son? It is never too late to beg for forgiveness.
Just fucking stick the needles into me, and let’s get this over with. I have places to be, and people to see.
I’m not worried about ghosts in general, she said. Just the ones that are related to me.
Do you care to share some last thoughts on the subject of redemption?
Every time that I see someone holding up a sign that says “The end is near,” I get sad in my heart and wish that I could believe them. Well, Father, that time has come. I can actually believe them.
Scene Two:
Merica was born in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, deep in the belly of a penal ship heading to the New World. Her daddy fell overboard on the third day, and on the fifth day, her mama jumped over to join him. Orphaned by the seas, she took to prostitution like a dog to a bone. By the time that she turned 20, she ruled the world.
Scene Three:
I pledge allegiance to the fags
of these Disunited Estates
of ShameriKKKa
and to the shaved pubic
for which we can’t stand
one nation invisible
with library cards
and sippy cups for all.

Act Two:
Scene One:
Amazing Disgrace
Dear America,
it is too late for apologies,
but we forgive you anyway,
not for you, but for us.
You are raping all of our women,
the bowl-cut terrorist screamed,
just before he opened fire.
You do not have to do this
was the preacher’s response,
but it was too late.
We shall overcome
the hurting,
the beatings,
lynchings and murder,
the master’s midnight rapes,
the prison sentences,
and the profiling.
Take down the flag,
not because you have to,
but because it is the right thing to do.
It is all about dignity,
and it is never too late.

Scene Two:
Scene Three:
Act Three:
Scene One:
Scene Two:
Scene Three:


This postmodern transmedia narrative chronicles the misadventures of PimpDaddy Longlegs, and Betty Bukowski, two love-struck abusive drunks on a path of destruction in Toxic City, in the Disunited Estates of Shamerica.
Narrative is the structure, story is the form.
Standing by the window, watching his father go off to ruin the world, after putting eyeglasses on for the first time, a zombie clown sets out to write a new national anthem.
The Invisible Museum stands naked, attacked by Grandfather Dustbunny and then there was the hired killer, taking no hostages, while Zen butlerhood goes viral and a commercial plays “I told you so.” After the heart attack, a talking cigarette falls head over heels in love with a zombie clown named Kerosene.
Transmedia Junkets
Daddy Longlegs Takes a Walk
Betty Bukowski is Dead
An Evening at the Circus Chapters 1-4
Deadend Avenue
Across the street from Kitty’s Cathouse is Ugly Bob’s Burgers, home of the sloppiest slice of Heaven on this side of the Elysian Fields.
Mask (:45)
Selfish (:45)
Visual Orphans
Electronic Quiver
Razee Radio
Isla del Razes
Pimp Daddy LongEnough on
Boot Hill Jihad and the Hangman’s Noose

Monday, 26 August 2002
Imagine Truth to be a precious princess, surrounded by bodyguards of Lies. She is suffering from teen-age angst, feeling cock-hungry and arrogant in her white gowns. The thought-police are watching and investigating, waiting for the right moment to strike back. History ‘lies agreed upon by the victors.’
Doublethink is the national anthem. Our anti-heroic outlaw is a real estate agent dealing in intellectual properties. What is mankind going to do when God wakes up, one day, and decides to be an atheist?
If Anybody had taken a moment to investigate the murder of Nobody, Somebody would have realized that Anybody could be a suspect in this crime of passion. Of course, Somebody grew paranoid and began looking over their shoulder for Anybody to sneak up on them. Nobody takes a restful nap in the city morgue. The murder weapon turns up in a bridal gown, in the back of a pawnshop. Anybody’s fingerprints were all over the weapon of mass destruction. Define the hypocrisy of why Americans has bombs, but no one else is allowed pharmaceuticals. Somebody has come between Nobody and Anybody.

“Be my friend, or I will scare you.”

“You are not only a political bully, but also emotionally incorrect. You have a severe case of mind-madness.”

“You can make up all the stories that you want, and name our daughters Jenin, you princess-queen of the pathological liar.”

“Welcome to Cold Facts Avenue,” she says. “My pimp is Mister Crack.”

“To be a pimp, you have to be a burgler of psychology,” he says. “You have to break into a bitch’s head and steal her mind. It’s a damn shame, but sometimes you just have to trunk a bitch.”

“The overt commodification of sex is less disturbing to the courts than the covert sexualization of art,” says the Whore. “The collective fictionalizing of individual identity creates a kind of carnival of passion, a festive space, at once, real and imaginary. I am just another prop in the masquerade.”

“Fiction is not an easy way out of anything. Violence is in the mind of the actor. It may not be assumed from the broken glass.”

The execution of the Deathrow Kitten is complete. Thieves of identity have kidnapped Truth from her protectors, holding her hostage for a large ransom. Her virginity is a political agenda of property. Intoxicated by passion, she markets herself as a compassionate person, full of hope and love. Her bodyguards of lies protected her for as long as the sedatives were in place, but once that she was out on her own, there was little that could be done to protect the world from her evil experiments. She becomes a Playboy bunny, a playmate in the sexual playground, a pawn in the institution of beauty. Continuing to be emotionally impotent is her job, her name, and her very identity.

“I am paving the Internet Superhighway with my pussy,” she says. “I am going to turn your name over to every information gathering agency in my Rolodex, you evil bastard!”

“It was back in ‘02, when the times were hard, Stagger Lee.”

The screaming coming from your room was a bit unnerving, to say the least. We were worried that maybe you had killed someone in there.

Jester’s Faux-Pas

28 August 2002

The Outlaw and the shellshocked Bombmom hold hands in the church, ignoring the others, even if there is a wedding going on, that of her best friend, who they screwed together, back when they were sixteen. Twenty years later, there are more virgins to be taken, and more screaming that they are the wounded Daddy’s Little Victim. He is the arm-twister of Justice, and the hairpuller of Truth.

“My head is above water, but the house is on fire,” he says. “I am weeping to keep us from burning.”

“You want like Time makes a clock envy,” she replies. “You have a relentless bedtime, curfew with the tease-police. This howl is the ranter’s revenge, the jester’s faux-pas, just waiting to happen. There will be no screaming in the black box, no matter what color that you make it.”

“We promise to tear down the fourth wall with explosives, next time,” he says. “You think that I am kidding. Look into my eyes, do I look like I am kidding?”

Protect your kittymonkey from the demons crawling out from the petting zoo. There are closet midgets lurking around our ankles, waiting for the perfect Money moment to strike. It feels like Monday, all the time.
It is a photo session for underwhere.

“My ex used to practically ask me to move out, if I went to the grocery store.”

Snakeoil Recipe Merchant
Aug. 29th, 2002 at 10:24 AM

The meaning to the meaning of life is mental dishealth warfare and the offers of war for those without mass destruction, but plenty of weapons. We are playing hide and seek with the ghosts and goblins of our imagination. Everybody is wearing masks and neckties, so if they happen to catch themselves about to be beheaded, maybe by the grace of god, they will be spared losing their heads.

“I have been known to lose my head, a time or two,” Texorcist says.

“That is what makes you a hothead,” Jane Malady, the ideological prostitute, replies. “And a secular humanist. You have lost God’s pager number, my man.”

“The erotic silence of the snakeoil recipe merchant reminds me of Chrysanthemums thrown from a tinker man’s wagon, discovered on the ride to the boxing matches.”

“Remind me to have your name added to the international database of Bad News.”

“My name means Tangle Candy Flying Southbound in Arabic, didn’t you know?” Texorcist says, while absently staring out the window. “You all are making my life into a big publicity stunt, but you can’t scare me. I have been hit so many times that war seems friendly. Do I need to remind you that a short path is not through the truth? Have you read my head, Doctor?”

“I was just wondering about that. True anti-socials wouldn’t hide, because the remorse wouldn’t be there. My ex sounds like Bundy.”

“I should not tell you stories before you go to sleep.”

“I went to sleep, and the FBI was trying to find me. All because I was framed for narcing on a murder that I was framed for. It was so weird. I was shaking when I woke up.”

“Maybe we should make naked pizza, together,” Texorcist says. “Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?”

“This is a story about a 24-year-old artist that gets sick of society, and proclaims that her home is an independent nation. She declares herself the Queen, establishes a government and imposes laws. Nevertheless, the Pirate is her man, only because he thought she was a slut. He enticed my hormones, awakened my fantasies, and now we are sleeping together,” Jane says.

Monday sunrise
time to chase my tail again

after the casino
cutting fruit for six hours with Maria
and walking outside,
the mountain side
exploding in fireworks
and cheering tourists.

Three hours on the bus
up that mountain
high hopes and anticipation
smiles dealt out like gift cards
the chance to win millions

While the drunks pile back on
(one seizes up
like an old engine
and spasmodically
slumps into the aisle)
dead promises and lost hope
crawl back down that mountain
at midnight like Cinderella
carrying her broken ass heel
and her mascara drooling scary.

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