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Showing posts with the label denver

Light cycles

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Slowly the light sources readjust, preparing for a new spring.

DIA: Design in Absentia?

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OK. I am usually very accepting of interesting sorts of conglomerates.   I mean, if an architect wants to bend reality and create a  sort of Arabian, Vatican, Mongolian, Tee Pee-shaped Yurt-lookalike hut collection, it is really OK with me. Furthermore, If you want to put these symbolically unfortunate constructions on top of an airport for some reason, go ahead and  negotiate it with the political context of the time. If they don't lose my baggage, I will assume it is some sort of Frank Gehry Neuveaux Shape-Shifting ideation. So my question is:  Who, how, when, why --and  especially, where did they find an architect to match these glaringly haute couture-draped forms-in-search-of-a-function with that unbelievable 5 or 6 story Moscow- of-the-50s parking garage in the foreground?  The whole thing is --there must be a word.... Denver International Airport, 2013

A Moment of Quiet

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Screeching and crashing Fast^ Buy@ Sell# Now% Substitution Satisfaction Buying time for beauty Prying out a life Rural Denver 2012
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There's no place like a home away from home for Christmas!! DENVER -- December 21, 2012 ( prior to the end of the world)

A Summer Palate

Long ago & far away That exquisite string of life sewed us to the earth. Clotheslines climbing over backyards, Wet sheets bleached by sunshine, Breezes lifting up the drying edges. Water from a vacation spring, Iron spigot smelling cold, Quivering leaf reflections, Mountain muddy, Washed in micro-studded sand. Magic waters alive with  sharp spruce, Blue jays and hummingbirds, Grey rough pine twigs snapped off for kindling.   Doorway dreams of Grizzly Bears attacking porches Just in time for morning.                                                                                        

I’m not here and I’m not there.

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I’ve fallen down a cleft in a cavern of my mind, into an injured ocean rich with silty buried treasures.  I lost my bearings in the straights of memories  between that shore where tall pines needle their way  into my wounded life to weave up the fray, and that cityscape of stoops and hot manhole covers  built to hold out against the winter steam. Snagged in the rift, my wayward toe is caught by the  monster sea: Waiting, lying, keening,  “There will always be time for love and time for making do. “ The Old Denver Post Office and Courthouse