Mill Avenue Nights: Friday, September 2nd 2011

Where Mill Avenue gets a visit from The Door and I speak to one of their parishioners

Upon arriving on the Ave, Arienne and I noticed a group out in front of the Post Office singing and carrying about signs. The signs contained mostly Christian propaganda messages that included references to “Jesus” and “blood” and other common metaphorical elements of the Christian doctrine. They had amplification and seemed to have an almost-band set up. I didn’t recognize them, so I wanted to go over and check them out.

It took us about ten minutes to make it from our parking spot back to the Ave.

After reaching them, I broke out my voice recorder and my anthropology journal and started taking notes, positioning myself on the other side of the newspaper kiosk wall.

A woman approached Arienne to offer her some literature and speak with her. The woman immediately after handing over a few tracts started speaking about the Christian religion and asking if we (mostly Arienne, as I was engrossed in my notes) knew about Jesus Christ and his activities—insert the usual Christian religious doctrinal spiel here. What I didn’t know at the time was that the woman had handed Arienne a tract identifying her as being part of The Door.

The Door is a cultish Christian group with a community church not far from Mill Ave who have been indicted in numerous bad behaviors on the Ave. They have in the past created violent outbursts during Halloween, interfered with the Mill Avenue Resistance’s amplification equipment (pulling Kazz’s microphone cord and holding it), and lied to the police about their activity after calling them on the Resistance after ostensively committing simple assault.

As a result, Arienne turtled and didn’t speak to the woman except to nod her head and smile; absorbed in my work, I didn’t realize she didn’t speak to the woman at all and the woman probably felt somewhat ignored. I probably should have had a talk with her instead, but I needed to get my notes down. Of the literature I received, one is a glossy, two-sided color advertisement for The Door Christian Fellowship Church on Broadway; the other two are Chick tracts: “HI THERE!” and “THIS WAS YOUR LIFE!”

Questioning Arienne about the events and why she didn’t speak to anyone, she confided that she didn’t want to speak to anyone from The Door because of their reputation of bringing violence and tension to the Ave. She also expressed that even though she’s a Christian, she belongs to an enemy faction to The Door and didn’t want to accidentally give that information away (once again noting fear of their bad reputation.)

A gender switch and a different parishioner decides to come talk to us

After the woman left, she was quickly replaced by a male, who immediately asked me about why I was taking notes.

(I believe he introduced himself as Tim, but I didn’t catch his name; neither did Arienne.)

I told him that I take notes about Mill and that preachers feature in the notes because they appear on Mill. He asked, “What’s wrong with that?” referring the preaching. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with the preaching per se. I explained that I study Mill Avenue as an anthropologist and I write fiction—I gave him a card for Mill Avenue Vexations—and forgot that I’m even wearing my Mill Ave T-shirt.

At first he asked questions about my religious experience and attitudes and I attempted to explain Celtic paganism to him. He elaborated that he, “Teaches other people about other religions and it helps if he understands them so that he can explain them.” Tim must be a terrible teacher because instead of listening to what other people have to say, he projects his own biases onto them and constructs entire scarecrow populations of strawmen in reply.

He asked about afterlife beliefs, I tried to explain the Otherworld.

He asked about morality and code of conduct and I explained the social construct of moral codes, harm, entitlement, and social contracts. He eventually went on to ask me about what pagans felt about “killing children…and other sins and immorality like abortion, homosexuality, sex before marriage…” I don’t know why he started out by asking about where pagans stand on “killing children” it made absolutely no sense and he quickly distanced himself from it.

We had a very brief exchange that sin is meaningless to people outside of his culture who don’t accept the concept of a divine command or divine law. Since “sex outside of marriage” came up last in his list I noted that pagans don’t care. Marriage is not a social construct that most pagans believe has any necessity with sexuality; furthermore, sexuality is something that we as a culture have developed numerous technologies to make safe and good for everyone and it’s proper that we educated ourselves and used that technology.

Tim tried to point out that nobody listens and I noted that’s because proponents of the “abstinence only” and “no sex before marriage” are deliberately miseducating and not educating people. I likened it to gun-control proponents giving out guns then deliberately not educating anyone or miseducating them; and then pointing out how dangerous guns are in the hands of neophytes as a reason to ban them (actual advocates don’t want people miseducated.) Since I don’t find “divine command” to be more important than actual harm I pointed out that his assertions would have to be backed up with more than just an argument from irresponsibility.

Noting that I kept dismissing anything that happened to be a divine command and asked for evidence of harm, Tim decided to switch to a witnessing propaganda tactic where he started to talk about how he used to be very much like a pagan: “I used to be shooting up all the time and engaging in carnality of the flesh.”

I’d repeatedly had to tell him that I didn’t say anything about pagans encouraging debauchery and unsafe behavior, which he kept intimating I meant by saying that pagans couldn’t care less that YHVH commanded people to get married first. This had already been an ongoing problem in his replies. Every time I mentioned that pagans didn’t accept some restriction placed by his deity and/or culture, he would immediately reply as if I had said there were no limits altogether. I pointed out that he didn’t care what Zeus or Odin had to say on the subject either because he’s not Ancient Greek or Asatru; but that didn’t mean that simply because he didn’t accept one of their restrictions he was reckless on all matters.

Finally, he started to make bald statements about how he had the absolute truth and that I would have to submit to my creator. To which I replied, “My creator would be a female goddess; not your male YHVH like you keep claiming.”

He kept trying to tell me, “I’m just telling you what I believe, like you told me what you believe.” Except that he wasn’t telling me what he believed; he had skipped directly to telling me what I should believe. And he did so by advocating this divine authority that he kept attempting to place on me. This isn’t an exchange of beliefs. There wasn’t any “I believe” in his statements it had all become: “You will” and “you must.”

I explained to him that his propaganda isn’t convincing and that he had started using a technique called the mere messenger stratagem. This is where the propagandist claims to be a mere messenger for a greater authority to which the recipient has no way of corroborating or access to.

He went on that he didn’t intend to convince me.

I tried to explain that when a person starts telling me what I should believe that in fact they are trying to convince me, so why was he doing that if he didn’t want to convince me.

He followed that up with some statement that Jesus told them to “compel” people…

At which point I think he lost the plot, since compelling people is by its nature by force and good luck forcing anyone to believe anything. Belief doesn’t work that way unless it involve traumatic brain injury. Here I thought he’d just wanted to fall back on, “I’m just having a conversation, an exchange of beliefs,” but no, he either misunderstands the word “compel” or he’s actually out there to attempt to force people to convert.

At this point, Tim noticed that the parishioner group of The Door had vacated the Post Office about ten minutes earlier.

He hastily excused himself.

The Door and their bad reputation

The Door’s well-deserved bad reputation for their intimidating and brutish behavior on Mill Ave has really made an impact on some of the people who visit. The fact that another Christian, Arienne, finds to cause grave concern deeply worries me. While I would like her to be able to speak to anyone who comes to Mill, I am not sure I am not about to press people into interacting with them.

She has rightfully pointed out that she doesn’t want to encourage them. They have, after all, made themselves a dangerous influence on the Ave and if they should wonder why people are treating them like wild animals don’t need to go far to discover that they’ve done it to themselves.

Mill Avenue Nights: Saturday, August 20th 2011

A night during which a drunken oaf trips on my cane and blames me

The most eventful strange thing to happen to me tonight took the shape of a drunken man tripping over my cane.

I stood listening to Vocab Malone (Christian evangelist) speak to a Muslim man—the man wore traditionally modest costume for his religion in the form of a long white shirt and a cylindrical cap (I am still discerning the name for this religious garb.) As I had been standing for too long, I leaned heavily on my cane; but I try my best to keep it as close to my leg as possible, however, it does stick out some.

I felt my cane jarred as if with a blow and a body fell nearby.

A drunken man had brushed past me so close that he caught his toe on my cane, stumbled, and fell about five feet away. It took me a moment to realize that he’d run into my cane and that’s why he fell. Dumbfounded by the fallen man a ways away from me I started for a moment.

He immediately became hostile, shouting, “Really? Really!? You just tripped me with your cane.”

His friends, however, didn’t agree. I furrowed my brow and started to say something but couldn’t figure out what to say—the man’s friends helped him stand while telling him, “No, you tripped yourself.”

The drunken man then started calling me a “fag” and insulting The Legend of Zelda, “Zelda sucks you fag.” I simply stared at him and held onto my pepper spray as his friends dragged him away. At first I couldn’t figure out why he felt the need to insult Zelda. Then I realized, I was wearing a Legend of Zelda T-shirt. Not that I care if he dislikes Zelda, I suppose he figured it would insult me. Also, I’m continually baffled by the mainstream social consideration that someone should be insulted if you intimate that they’re homosexual.

The hypermasculine macho culture that we belong to seems to believe that homosexuality is a threat to masculinity (or perhaps machoism) but by the most part, being macho doesn’t contain many advantages at all. Point-in-fact, if I were actually a “fag” as in a homosexual, his insults would be meaningless; and as that I am not, nor do I care if another male thinks that I am, the only thing insulting about him was his ignorance.

Fortunately, groups have a behavior conserving effect and his friends didn’t want him tangling with someone he didn’t know.

In order to trip on my cane, he had to brush within inches of my body without paying attention to his surroundings. Also, being drunk, he would have hugely delayed motor coordination and be unable to right himself in the situation that he lost his balance. His inebriation also led him to becoming belligerent.

I expect as a non-drunk person he’s probably a lot more amiable.

Mill Avenue Nights: Saturday, August 6th 2011

A few nights now, there have been drummers set up in front of the Post Office and that had displaced the evangelical preachers across the street. However, this evening there were no drummers and thus they set up in front of the post office.

We saw a few of the usual folks standing around, including Marcus,

That’s when Arienne and I were approached by an older gentleman of notable more than average height. He attempted to offer Arienne a Way of the Master fake-money tract depicting President Cleveland. (Of course, after I got home and examined the tract, I discovered it’s in Spanish.) After introductions, we learned that his name was Ken.

Like most of the Way of the Master evangelicals his approach is decidedly deep in the propaganda training than it was much personality. It took me a while to determine that this was his first time on Mill Ave and that he’d come to the Ave with the other evangelicals after meeting Tom.

He spent some time using a lot of different elements of propaganda on me and even held a long conversation with Arienne. He seemed a little bit ignorant of the history of his religion but has spoken about tightening up on his understanding of the lack of historical evidence for mythological characters like Jesus (even going so far to repeat a common canard that suggests that there’s more evidence for Jesus than Abraham Lincoln. A slogan that’s as patently false as absurd.)

After many minutes of absorbing his knowledge of Way of the Master propaganda, and letting Arienne converse with him, I decided to see if I could speak to him as a person. As he was new to Mill Ave, he seemed pretty zealous about selling his viewpoint; but none of it is anything that anyone extracultural would want to buy. As Arienne actually belongs to his religion, I figured that I’d best observe his interaction with her to get a baseline, especially if all I was going to get happened to be mirror-speak.

Eventually, something unexpected happened and Ken started talking to Omni (the Reverend Übermensch Omnicynic) and that conversation became interesting. Not a person to sit down in front of a challenge, Omni cultivated a discussion of Christian mythology that painted YHVH as an ineffective deity who fled in the face of rivals and needed his followers to do everything for him. I couldn’t quite follow along with everything discussed; but I did hear Omni speak about much of the comparative mythology.

After some lively discussion, Omni tired, claiming that Ken had begun to repeat himself. He quit both the conversation and the Ave at that point.

Eventually, however, after Crystal arrived on the scene Ken actually sat down with us and held a much more personal conversation bereft of the propaganda that advanced a personal dialogue. We ended up in a rather lively conversation about the origin of birthmarks, freckles, and the pigment mutation in recent European ethnic descent that causes us to have much lighter skin tone than African ethnicities. The conversation wound on to discussing aberrant psychology such as schizophrenia and Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Ken revealed to us that a relative worked in a mental hospital and spoke a little bit about the diagnosis of Asperger’s syndrome patients and its apparent prevalence in the population. Elaine Mercer from Black Hat Magick exhibits some of the spectrum of Asperger’s syndrome—as similar and fantasized about in the geek community—but even these examples don’t well reflect the reality of the condition.

I enjoyed the time I got to actually sit and speak with Ken as another person. I don’t know that I can adequately approach his cultural propaganda; he lacked the apparent cynicism and paternalistic simpering of many of the other preachers who speak down to passersby and could actually be an asset to the culture of the Ave.

Chicago Still on Mill Ave

Glad to see that Chicago is still bringing his interesting bottle-tab outfit out to the Avenue. He’s laconic, but smiling black neo-punk who fashioned his wardrobe out of metal bits and bottle-tabs; the effect produces a chainmail armor and coif effect as it’s a hoodie, a shirt, and a pair of pants.

When I hit the bricks, I often find him sitting near the clock.

Don’t Know Where I’ll be in a Month

I’ll miss the Ave the most.

Mill Ave encounter with The Door on Hallowse’en

This post entails an anecdotal narrative about an experience on Mill Ave, Hallowse’en 2010, involving a Christian congregation called The Door. There have been previous problems with them and their behavior on Mill Ave; but this year they managed to comport themselves mildly and without too much friction.

The first man to approach us from The Door zeroed in on me and immediately said, "I just wanted to let you know that Jesus loves you." He said this over-and-over as if I were failing the proper social reply. He was a small Latino man, the orbits of his eyes set further apart than is normal, but his face appeared round that gave him a sort of intense effect. He'd cropped his dark hair short against his skull and wore jeans and a collared shirt. I never even got his name during the entire discussion, but I did attempt to steer the conversation away from culture shock, but he felt rather committed to the hard sell.

"Thank you," I said, thinking that the "Jesus loves you," meme is generally a sort of blessing that Christians use (especially this evangelical type) to connect with the other person; however, that didn't do it for him. He quickly went on into his mirror speech, something that probably fits the jargon term "witness statement." Such as cliché to these statements he starts talking about how he used to live a self-destructive life, he did drugs (marijuana), drank alcohol, and partied all the time. And, now that's all changed.

Ostensively he would have attributed this change to his conversion to a particular religion. I am not certain what sect of Christianity that the Door belongs to, but it's probably theirs he would espouse.

His mirror speech followed script extremely well as he passed onto the question, "If you were to die, where would you go right now?"

And, as I like to work from Celtic mythology, as is my heritage, I said, "Well, the Otherworld."

He immediately went on to talk about Christian mythology, including about how they propose that when people die they'll be judged and then be sent to one of two places: Heaven or Hell. Here his mirror speech failed him for a moment as he ran into someone to whom these two terms create a sense of culture shock. So he attempted one of the worst metaphors I have ever heard on the subject,

"What do you see right there? In the street," he asks. Well, it's a street and it has cars driving in it. "What would happen if you tried to drive the wrong way down that street?" Well, you'd collide head on into another car. "After you die there's only two directions you can go."

That's not what the rest of the world thinks and it's certainly not related to any knowable reality (i.e. Heaven, Hell, the Otherworld, Xibalba, etc. aren't demonstrable so pretending they are is just stupid.) So I said, "No they're not..." I didn't get a chance to go on that every culture that has ever lived as invented itself afterlives of different sorts, from heavens, to hells, to happy hunting grounds, to the dwelling abode of the gods. There are near infinite and myriad answers to that question and not a single one of them can be tested (although some of them are logically absurd) so I have no reason to accept his assertion over any other.

Then he said something actually interesting and mentioned that The Door had a visiting preacher who had gone to Romania. I asked if the preacher himself was Romanian, no he wasn't, but his wife was.

Anyone who doesn't know, but there's a famous critter on YouTUBE, ZOMGitsCriss who also lives in Romania. So I'd be interested to see what she thinks about some of these subjects, but I have no reason to bother her.

Finally, our conversation ended when said missionary from Romania appeared.

He was a large man, almost taller than me—in fact loomed over me because I stood in the street and he stood up on the curb--square spectacles, broad shoulders bearing a plaid shirt, and dress slacks. His hair, dark from its appearance, buzz cut into a flat top. He carried with him a Bible that his hands dwarfed and introduced himself as John. When he spoke he delivered his mildly accented Midwestern words with a cheerful bombast that grew on his face and I could hear the slight pull of another language in some of his words (knowing that Romanian is a Romance language gave me some insight into some of the pronunciation changes, but I could have been supplying that through my own bias.) In all, John's ability to cover a full range of language and answer questions made him an interesting foil to the Latino man who had originally approached me.

I should point out that because he's a visiting missionary he's not connected to The Door or their cultish behavior directly and he's probably using them to help score himself money for his missions in Romania. This would readily explain why it felt like a totally different level of discussion talking to him rather than the Latino man who never gave me his name.

His experience in and of Romania really intrigued me. He mentions that Romania is primarily Eastern Orthodox (probably under the auspices of the Romanian Orthodox Church, Wikipedia gives the stat as 87%.) If John is working with The Door, I suspect this means that his sect is Protestant, which means that he'll face a certain amount of resistance from the local culture. He mentioned also that he had three mission churches erected in Romania—specifically in the Transylvania section, a huge chunk of the north western region.

He also went on to say that treatment of women in Romania is next to the most ugly, citing that they're second highest in the world for lack of women's rights; also that Romania is second highest in the world for abortions. He mentions there is no 911 service and that he continually hears crying and weeping where he lives in a multistory apartment building of women and children pleading not to be beaten. (I have no way of verifying these anecdotes or statistics, so I invite Romanian citizens and scholars to opine.)

I enjoyed speaking to him, but didn't get a chance for a full interview of his experience. He had to leave too early for that.

Welcome to Mill Ave, John. Just, next time choose a better congregation to spend time with.

Mill Avenue Nights: Saturday, October 2nd 2010

I didn’t feel well for most of the night due to an illness brought on my travel, but things got better with a bit of better living through chemistry. At least enough to gather up some of my friends from Mill Ave and parade them around my domain. I got to see Rocco, Steve, Kazz, and Gadfly from the Mill Avenue Resistance. I also got a chance to see some of the street preachers in the form of Al and Tom, and also Marcus (and his new two-planks wooden crucifix—an addition I should interview him about sometime.)

The Mill Avenue Resistance

A no show for most counts.

They appear to have started doing some sort of clothing giveaway involving used clothing and a rack. I haven’t seen the clothing rack yet as it didn’t arrive tonight. They’ve been doing this for a few months now. Mostly attempting to alleviate the needs of the itinerant folk on Mill Ave—an act that I appreciate greatly as the itinerant community of Mill does need a bit of help.

Drum Circle

Gone.

Not a single person appeared during my entire time on Mill. I floated in and out of the area where we usually find that gathering, yet it remained deserted. Perhaps we’ll have to wait a while for the seeds of community to sprout and flourish again. I am still investigating its disappearance.

Interesting events

While Marcus preached from the site in front of the Post Office, I listened to passersby and I noticed that we have a small, but noticeable, contingent of Muslims now—or at least one outspoken Muslim.

“Allāhu Akbar! Allāhu Akbar!” he shouted as he walked past. Cupping his hands to his lips but never turning his head towards Marcus. The well-known exclamation from Muslim culture is known as the Takbīr and translates literally to “God is the greatest!” It is a common Islamic Arabic expression and considered a formal declaration of faith. Extremely similar to the Christian English expression, “Jesus is lord.”

Marcus didn’t appear to notice as he continued on with his usual preaching through his loudspeaker.

The device seemed to have some issues through the night. When I questioned him about that he explained that it had been stepped on drunkenly in a previous outing and now had become temperamental.

"I quit," says YHVH played by Omar Call of Mill Ave

The Phoenix New Times just published an article on a guy who I know from Mill Avenue. Omar Call Preaches Atheism on Tempe's Mill Avenue by Niki D’Andrea.

He's carrying a white megaphone and wearing a shiny silver-metal backpack that resembles a vacuum cleaner — an example of the "industrial design" he loves so much.

A couple of people ask if he's going to "fire up the jetpack" and fly away.

But more ask about the big, black sign that reads "Damn God America" in gold block letters.

Usually, street preachers share the word of God. For the past several years on Mill, you haven't been able to walk from one bar to another without tripping over someone sharing the love of Christ through an amplifier or a stack of Bible tracts.

But this blue velvet guy is a different kind of preacher. He's a devout non-believer, and he preaches atheism.

I’ve seen him out on the Ave since last year; I met him the first time right before Yule as well, which means that I’ve seen him out there for almost exactly a year now. He’s definitely an interesting presence with his sign that says: DAMN GOD AMERICA.

Other things that he’s done has included dressing up as the Christian god, YHVH, holding a sign saying, “I quit.” He has quite the ensemble and often wields pithy phrases with gusto.

Omar is a soft spoken, well versed person who promotes positive atheism and a dialogue with passersby about the behavior of the street preachers. I have never had much of a chance to talk at length with him, but thespian types are exactly the kind of person that I want visiting the Ave.

After his first appearance on Christmas day, he started to return to Mill intermittently now and again and had talks with Kazz. Since he’s become part of the ecology of the Ave he sometimes makes it into my anthropological observations.

He is always well dressed, carrying a white bull horn, it hasn’t been until this year that he’s begun to wear that interesting metal backpack that does indeed look like a rocket pack.

Link, via the Phoenix New Times.

Update

The folks over at BetterThanFaith.com have posted their own reactions to the New Times article about Omar Call. Ostensibly to correct irregularities of fact in the information published by the New Times.

First Friday, Art Walk Nights, Friday December 5th 2008

FIRST FRIDAY!

Yes, I went to First Friday for the first time in about two years. I went there once before with my wonderful kaywngse, Nutmeg, but it really overwhelmed me. I can’t get around very well because of my congestive heart failure, and hopping gallery-to-gallery really began to wear me out. Tonight I picked a totally different tactic:

Stay in one bloody place!

Doing so allowed me to keep track of the Mill Avenue resistance, meet some lovely freaks and wonderful people, and also gave me a chance to mingle with the crowds. The evangelicals set up right across from the Phoenix Anonymous protest, so I was also able to go over there and learn what I could about them.

Also I got to see Lux again (wearing an awesome outfit, see Plague Doctor's I have Met, below.)

And to top everything off, we sang Cthulhu carols to everyone with cheer and glee.

Phoenix Anonymous vs. Scientology

Certainly people have seen these people wandering around by now protesting the Scientology Corporation on street corners. These protests have been going on for months now and they’re actually quite difficult to miss. I haven’t been involved and while I there were some offers from various organizations for experience essays and observations on the activities of Anonymous by various anthropological journals and newsletters, I felt like my time was better served sticking to Mill Ave.

However, tonight I had some good chances to observe them in protest.

The Phoenix Anonymous wear masks to protect their identity when they protest because the Scientology Corporation have a documented history of harassing, gas lighting, abusing, and otherwise criminally mistreating protestors.

Several artists from the Art Walk even joined in with the Phoenix Anonymous by performing their own protest. Materials distributed by the Scientology Corporation were plead for from passersby who had received them and then promptly destroyed. One particular girl with red hair felt so strongly about this she spent hours wrecking the propaganda. “I feel like they’ve intruded in our space,” she said. “These people are spreading their indoctrination on my doorstep. Don’t piss off artists.” As I watched pamphlets and CDs from the Scientology Corporation were bent, spindled, scratched, and raked into ruin—each one receiving a handwritten message: Go away!

Members of the Secular Free Thought Society also decided to check out the Scientology display. The display consisted of two yellow canvas tents on metal poles (it was interesting listening to them wreck the tents because of the clink-tang-tang-tang sound that pipes make when they strike the ground) and red clothed tables at which stress test administrators sat. One of the tents housed a lonely TV endlessly repeating some programme to a trio of empty chairs. Various members of the Scientology Corporation stood around wearing red vests and jackets displaying the logo on their backs.

Rocco, Colleen, and Todd (there may be more) received stress tests. Afterwards Rocco posited about the nature of the testing mechanism, the e-meter, which appears to be a primitive galvanic skin response meter—aka the basis of what has become the lie detector. It appears that the e-meter has some sort of a sensitivity dial that allows the person running the test to adjust it on the fly, which, I was told was provided to “help keep the needle in the middle.” I also discovered that the devices were unable to output any diagnostic records. They don’t record anything; they have only one dial, which is being constantly modified by the tester. These devices certainly cannot have any diagnostic use because the conditions of the test can never be repeated and they cannot be critically examined after the fact.

A member of the Phoenix Anonymous, wearing a Guy Fawkes mask from V For Vendetta, also spoke out about why he was wearing a bullet proof vest. In a recent incident at the Scientology Corporation celebrity center a man was gunned down by a security guard for wielding “samurai swords.”[1] According to news articles on the subject the man was a member of Scientology.

As the night was winding down we noticed a press release from the Scientology Corporation that stated a man implicated in DDOSing their websites had been arrested. “DDOSing the Scientology websites in the name of Anonymous.” According to the poster—a huge thing hung over the rental sign for the building that Scientology had rented offices in—the Secret Service had also been involved in the investigation.[2]

The Evangelical Christians

Most of this is going into my Roosevelt Resistance Report (the name of the street we were on was Roosevelt, so I changed it from Mill Avenue to be funny.) But we did see some of them out there tonight, in fact bits of the Friday and Saturday Mill Avenue evangelical crews: Trevor, Sean, Lee, John, Linda, Valerie.

The SFTS and Mill Avenue Resistance were also out in full force.

Dialogue was minimal, but there were certain repartees.

Interesting event happened when Trevor was walking past the Scientology site and decided to voice his opinion, “Jesus is Lord, do not listen to these people. They are false teachings!”

Cthulhu Caroling

To wrap up the night finally, we all got together with the speaker and the microphone and sang Have a Scary Solstice songs to the passersby. Wonderful songs like “Go Summon Up the Dead Ones” and “I Saw Mommy Kissing Yog-Sothoth” go to bear the grace of my mellifluous voice to the diminishing crowds of the night.

Whatever strange dweomer that we enspelled the crowds with that night, the Great Olde Ones watching from on high. Fomohault gazing down into our souls, dead and distant—

Someday they will return.

People WORTH Seeing: Plague doctors I have met

Wandering past the evangelicals I got to see Lux! She’s the interesting little critter that I saw when we went to protest the Westboro Baptist Church, and apparently she has brilliant taste—something that apparently I am good for picking people for. When I first saw her it was impossible to tell who it was as she was masked and costumed as a Doktor Schnabel von Rom[3] (Picture), otherwise known as the Plague Doctor outfit.

The plague doctors wore outfits with bird masks and a doctor’s cap, with a wax coat to keep disease away from them. The beak of the bird mask often would be stuffed with potpourri or burning incenses and salts because the prevailing theory of disease was miasma—better known as “odor is disease.” The thought at the time was that stenches were the source of illness, since illness often coincided with stenches. Thus, good-smelling things would keep away illnesses and as a result censers and open pots of burning incense were found in the homes of royalty and noblemen to ward off the Black Death.

Kudos to her for the amazing outfit!

This is where I am going to put in a little bit of a teaser: I am working on a Vex Arsenal story that involves a character dressed up in a plague doctor outfit. It is slated for release this winter after the publishing season is over. The series is almost 70% done and once it’s ready it will go into serial release. Vex Arsenal: The Holocaust Star. It will be released alongside the re-release of The Byzantium Outcast.

Subscribe to the Mill Avenue Vexations RSS to keep abreast of news!

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[1] http://www.nbcwashington.com/news/us_world/NATL-Sword-Wielding-Man-Shot-Dead-at-Hollywood-Scientology-Building-.html

[2] http://www.usdoj.gov/usao/cac/pressroom/pr2008/140.html

[3] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plague_doctor#Other_effects

Mill Avenue Nights Saturday November 29th 2008

Expanding my interviews

I have finished up most of my interviews of new and old street rats and have decided that it’s about time that I expanded my interview process of other visitors. This is going to include the more long-time evangelicals as they’ve become part of my observation mandate.

So, I asked Jim if he’d be interested in an interview. I will try to do that next week.

APS Fantasy of Lights

The parade crashed through the Ave and sprinkled electrical dust on everything. Well, not exactly, but it did cause the city to turn on the trees—and by this I mean, they turned on the Xmas lights that wrap around them. The usual white trappings are now across the Ave with some additional changes: colors.

On University and Mill Ave there are trees with green-lit trunks and strange bunches of red and blue “fruit” glowing in them; further down Mill Ave we can find trees that have red trunks, and blue, green, and white “fruit.” These differing trees always occur at intersections. They seem to be the new variety offered by the city to interest people.

The parade culminated in a giant firework show launched from Sun Devil Stadium at about 8:30pm (that was the finale moment.)

They cut off the Ave from normal traffic and let people run about through the street willy-nilly—I love it when they do that. As much as I know it disrupts the normal operations of the city, I have long wondered about if there could be more pedestrian centers. We do have a beautiful bazaar.

People were walking around with cheap light saber toys that filtered strange blue, green, and red lights—some which twisted and twirled through kaleidoscopic merriment as they swirled them in joviality. Welcome to the Ave. Enjoy and be free.

The parade and the crowds that crushed behind it also brought with them a mountain of trash. Discarded wrappers, cups smashed underfoot, tied wrappings of lit-toys that exploded under car tires like backfires.

New Evangelicals

I noticed a fellow who claimed to be a street rat on Mill Ave when he was sixteen; I don’t know how old he is now so I couldn’t say if he was during or before my observations—he seemed to recognize me when I walked past; but I didn’t get a chance to talk to him. I didn’t even get to know what the name of his troupe is (troupe of one…)

He had an honest to gods piano.

I believe it was a KAWAI (I know, that’s Nipponese for “cute” but it’s a real brand) a large, black affair run through with electronics; probably to connect up to his two large speakers on staves. He broke down and ran away before I had a chance to really talk to him. He spent part of his time playing and part of his time proselytizing. I’m sure the Resistance were interested.

I also got to talk to John, who had come out with Lee.

And amidst the groups was Trevor again, although we didn't really get much of a talk in. He got some time on the microphone while I was listening in front of the Post Office before I went to see the people who run the Thirsty Dog.

And then there was also a new young man named Brant who, if he wants to be part of Mill Ave culture, should really learn to be conversant outside of his mirrorspeech or he's going to have a very hard time assimilating into the local color.

The rest of my notes on encounters with evangelicals tonight and the operations of the Resistance will be on the Mill Avenue Resistance observations column. Please direct questions and criticisms of observations there as I can use them to enhance my notes.

The Drum Circle

There weren’t any drums tonight.

Our hangout is pretty much doing well with some wonderful people to stop and talk to. But our drums are lacking.

I saw Vince out tonight, as well as Nikki, and a few others, but largely it was just a social gathering for us to stand and get some attention. I hung around for a while to get news and information on how everyone was doing. By in large people are still being people—plus there was this rumor about Osiris, see below—but really it was another night.

There were about thirty people to be visited with tonight. I don’t have any specific notes on them, pretty much milling around and cajoling with the best of them.

Drum circle / streetrat children

And by this I mean the kids of street rats I used to know. I met Barbie tonight. Her mother was actually before my time, but she's old enough to recall when the RHPS goths were the norm (my particular intra-tribe in the Tempe subculture.) After I offered her one of the books she sat down next to me and regaled me of some street rats that I've known for some time.

She was seven when she was out there with her mother and recalls people from long past, some who haven’t been back to the Ave in years. It was amazing and wonderful to get a chance to chat with her about the nostalgia of the Ave—so much of it has changed since then.

However, being a living, breathing organism and shaped by everyone (all of us) who visit; she is yet another beating heart in the great, glory and breath of life that is our community.

Osiris being hit by a car

Yes. He was hit by a car.

Yes. He is fine.

Thank Gaea that he’s made of some mysterious skymetal that regenerates and protects him from serious harm. What the hell can I say, I am so overjoyed that he wasn’t minced. I just learned tonight that he’d been ploughed over and through and gone to the hospital by another street rat.

It is so good to hear that he’s alright.

Mill Avenue Nights Friday November 21st 2008

Dawn, Shamancat, Sebastian, Vince

It’s been a while since I’ve seen Dawn and her dog. They used to come out to Mill Ave pretty much every night years ago, but since I haven’t seen her around much at all. It wasn’t long after I reached the red bricks that I found her sauntering past, hippy skirt and dusty-gold dreadlocks in her wake.

I managed to stop her for a bit and inquire as to her health and whereabouts, which are both good. Apparently she’s spent most of the summer in Chicago. A place rapidly getting cold so she’s returned herself to these warmer climes—which has precisely been my idea on the matter.

She used to spend her time selling hemp jewelry bound up with the requisite glass and plastic beads in interesting designs. However, two years ago or so she stopped due to harassment by the local police who had taken to mistreating transient-looking individuals and Mill rats in order to “clean up the streets.” Even now there are propaganda messages posted alongside some of the Mill information signs.

This has changed slightly, according to Dawn.

“Yeah. I was set up near ASU the other day and the police came to tell me that I couldn’t sell there. ‘Go to Mill Ave,’ they told me, ‘It’s okay. We know who you are and we like you, it’s okay.’ In their words a Mill Avenue Council has been set up and word has come down from the mayor not to mess with vendors selling stuff on the Ave. The shops and culture have taken several major shakeups and hits due to the economic downturn; and he’d like to see a return of musicians and other reasons for people to visit our little carnival. However, they still don’t like spanging (panhandling)—but it’s interesting to see this change in attitude by the distant powers-that-are.

Sebastian Rain Valintino is an interesting fellow who I’ve seen a few times on the Ave already and it was good to be able to stop and talk to him. He has close cropped hair that curls in tight bunches—possibly due to his Italian ancestry. Looking at him from a distance you’d think that he had a very light goatee or beard, but really it’s a carefully pinned tattoo around his lips that extends in sharp fang-like markings. At first it reminded me of a Celtic brooch pin, but upon closer inspection it’s designed from two bridled-arcs and fangs around his mouth. He also has his left eyebrow tattooed (no hair) and a small teardrop from his left eye.

By way of explanation the tattoos around his lips are an Irish-Italian mixture relating to a Bear Clan and Wolf Clan, hence the fangs. I did not properly document his reason for the eyebrow—but he explains that the teardrop is for his uncle who is in a Federal penitentiary for killing several police officers in a firefight.

I also ran into Shamancat who was standing around with an older gentleman. We didn’t discuss much but he might be making his way down to Sedona. Which, he suggests, that he might go see the “spaceships.” Sedona is well known for its alien and UFO cults, occultists, esotericism, and other supernatural activity. It’s a real hub of the weird.

Vince appeared on the Ave today. He was wearing a gigantic tweed/wool trench coat that reminded me of a German barrack coat. Grey and dismal, but possibly massively warm. Turning him into a giant, woolen version of Cousin It.

I also had a moment to visit with some of the other newer street rats. One in particular, a girl who kindly warned me not to sit on the ground due to an anti-homeless law that the police do like to enforce. She mentioned she’d had a wound on her foot, thus her boot was loosely tied. I couldn’t get her to let me look at it, but the skin lividity in the area was fine, no visible signs of infection (shooters or puffiness) outside of the region. She also promised to go to the medical van tomorrow and get it checked out.

The Preachers Tonight

Out tonight were Jim and Valerie. They brought with them a number of props. I had some discussions with Valerie about typesetting, desktop publishing, cover design. A lot of the things that go into my prints of Mill Avenue Vexations—my seminal work that is attempting to capture the evanescent zeitgeist of Mill Ave in fiction.

I gave her a book but warned her that she might be outside of the audience. Being neither street-rat nor goth.

She described an interesting in writing but never knew how to properly get it printed. I told her about how manuscript creation is often very separate from the editing required to produce a book. Fortunately, when writing a work thou need concern thyself little with how it’ll format when it’s done—it’s the words that matter. Let the typesetter and binder (even if that person is thee at a later date) worry about that when it comes around. Plus, Microsoft Word and Adobe Photoshop can be used to produce an extremely professional work and the learning curve is only a few months.

Maybe she’ll decide to write something and take my advice. I even explained to her that booklets come in pages of 4. Since every letter-sized page is folded in half producing two pages to a side, and two-sided, meaning each sheet creates 4 pages.

They eventually got set up with amplification in front of the Post Office and the SFTS showed up to talk to them. Pretty much tying them up the entire night.

The rest of my observations of them is available on my Better than Faith observations blog.

Mill Avenue Nights Saturday November 15th 2008

Envy

An astute reader by now might wonder why I keep bringing her up. Partially because she’s a person from last year, and someone worthwhile. And also partially because she is of the romantic affect that the written word is immortal and by writing her name in my research she also drinks of that immortality.

So be it.

Envy has been coming to Mill for about two years now. She’s worthwhile company for the time she spends. Takes my books. An avid reader. It’ll be less interesting without her around for the next few months. Although, this possibly also means I’ll miss her until I leave again.

Orange Signs

There were a bunch of odd, orange signs on the Ave today. They seem to point to a walk or a march event taking place. For the most part they were big orange signs with blue circles, white arrows within—one in particular said “Walkers please use crosswalk,” another one stated, “Another death happens every two and a half minutes.” Whatever they’re walking for…

Mountain View High School Marching Band

About the time that everyone hit the red bricks I noticed a cadre of drummers circled in front of Coffee Plantation. It is uncommon for anyone to go unmolested by the overzealous, pompous guards of the Centerpoint complex so I wondered what they might be about (or if the Coffee management were asleep.) The drummers added to their midst a flautist (possibly a clarinet, actually) and a young lady spinning glow sticks.

I stopped another young lady soliciting donations, a troupe captain’s hat outstretched—she told me that they were a marching band and they were with Mountain View. That they’ve gotten extremely close to winning state finals.

Good luck to them.

Mill Avenue Evangelicals

Tonight they played some loud music at the SFTS when they were in front of the Post Office at the beginning of the night. Taking the weapon that the SFTS use against them very commonly (music) and turning it back. Although terrible covers of various songs, it was funny to hear something similar to the Beach Boys singing a re-imagining of “Fun, Fun, Fun.” Except that most of the words were replaced becoming “fun, fun, fun while Jesus preaches the word—” or something very similar.

It didn’t take long after the SFTS set up that the evangelicals abruptly changed positions to take up in front of Borders and then, like the clockwork machine they are, the SFTS followed.

Continued on my Better Than Faith observations blog.

Night’s Wrap Up

Pretty much the wind was up tonight. Blustering between the buildings, rustling the trees with a vengeance. I didn’t wear my hat tonight, which made something of a problem when my hair kept trying to whip me in the face. I like to use a bandana or some interesting hat to keep it in check.

Ah, yes, and to anyone who wonder’s about my makeup.

Priss Stratton from Bladerunner. Watch the movie. Thou’ll understand.

Mill Avenue Nights Friday November 14th 2008

The Mill Ave Coaches

These carriages ride up and down the Ave, giving visitors the experience of riding a horse-drawn buggy. They are elegant, white painted buggies with green and black velveteen upholstery, smiling cowboy coachmen (and women) who treat their fares like high class taxi riders. The horses are beautiful, huge dusty brown and white creatures with chests larger than kegs and flaring nostrils—Clydesdales with their huge hooves and scratchy manes.

A ride costs about $20 for twenty minutes.

The Clydesdales sound different from the mounted police; the clop of their hooves echoes a more pastoral, polite sort of canter as they draw the carriages rattling past. Snorting gently against the patting of passersby and interested parties. During my observation more people seemed interested in touching the horses and getting pictures than slaking their curiosity in the business. I hope that they can keep it up.

Mill Ave Trivia

I met a middle-aged man tonight who paused to talk to me as I sat and wrote in my book. He had some things to say about how much Mill Ave has changed in the past twenty-five years or so. Including that there once was a car dealership down at the end of Mill, near Mill’s End, in fact. Possibly where the hotel is right now.

Dana Brothers Dodge.

I’ve never seen it, so I am hoping to find old pictures of the property.

Envy & Cole

It’s been a long while since I last saw Envy. Early last year in fact. She is one of the more lively and talkative street rats, and is still hooked up with Cole. We spent a while speaking, standing aloof of the crowds whispering by on the red bricks; I leaning on my cane and she straight-backed, Christopher Paolini’s new book, Brisingr, in the crook of her arm.

She just got back from visiting California and will probably not be seen on the Ave for a few months—an understatement from her—as she’s pregnant and already having back pains. I made sure that she and Cole received a copy of Volume 9.

Ben

Of course, he came out with his amazing colored contacts—white against his olive complexioned face. I’m still waiting for the day that he puts together his horror troupe and starts making amazing movies al a Troma.

Even without the drum circle present it’s still possible to collect street rats around the bronze-man. As Ben and I sat and chatted about the recent changes to Mill Ave (mostly on my side the sudden proliferation of eateries—which makes me wonder how that has affected Monti’s business)—and the different stores that have come and gone from the Andre Building and other locations across the street.

We were drawn into a surreal, confusing conversation with a street rat so drunk that we could smell him like a perfume of alcohol from feet away. He wanted to know if the “government” said “F-you” and told us we had to fend for ourselves would we fight? Could we trust our family? …very, very drunk.

The Street Preachers

The night began with the discovery of street preachers in front of Urban Outfitters. They came with a large, tall sign depicting their god, Jesus, being whipped and insulted by Roman soldiers. Among their crew were Tom (a grey-blonde haired man of some celebrity) and Ed, an older man who I’ve known for some time as I’ve been coming to the Ave.

There were also some people set up in front of the Post Office—the same two that we met on Halloween. While they did come over and visit with the preachers in front of Urban Outfitters I am not sure if they’re connected. I believe it was thought that they were with The Door, but right now I’m not quite sure.

The elder with the trumpet and his semi-charismatic partner, a man who looks like he was taken directly out of a 40s Humphrey Bogart film, probably The Big Sleep. He has a raw boned, handsome look and his eyes simply look through people or past them.

Further observations and narrative at my Better than Faith Mill Avenue Resistance Column

Night’s Conclusion

Pretty much we concluded the night by gathering a small cadre of street rats around the bronze man. We caught up on the passage of time. A few have come in from California and one other from Nebraska. I got to make the acquaintance of Evil Chuck—a punk/metal rocker type who wore ragged clothing, carried a CD with the new Slayer album, and a vibrant personality. And Shawn, a black-clad who mentioned that he was happy to see more goths coming out to the Ave, as we are a twilight bunch on the red bricks.

There were also fireworks.

Apparently from a basketball game.

The first few hollow gunfire booms caught me by surprise as they echoed between the buildings and startled the bats into a frenzy, their tiny bodies flickering bright white and yellow hither-and-thither as they flitted between the trees. The fireworks, though hidden invisibly behind me by a tall building, reflected themselves in fractured mezzotint patterns, repeated and spit across the windows of the unfinished Centerpointe Towers. They compete, however laughably, with the red beacons flashing atop the towers. Flashes of red, blue, green, white—scintillating like dying flowers, falling and burning pedals that eventually fade to embers and disappear in the lower windows.

Mill Avenue Nights Saturday November 8th 2008

The Thirsty Dog

There is a new venue on the Ave, which I am extremely excited about. It’s called The Thirsty Dog and it’s actually a little bit difficult to find. This is because they’re not directly off Mill like most of the other shops—instead, they’re on a side street, around the corner from the Post Office.

Mill Avenue has long suffered a dearth of stop-and-get-out style food shops that cater to the, “I want something now,” crowd in the way that gas station and convenience store stop-and-rob style locations do. For a while there certainly was the gas station on the very end of Mill at University—but that’s a CVS now (of course, we can get what we want there, but why walk all that way?)

Why indeed. The Thirsty Dog is staying open until 2am Friday and Saturday so go check them out and say hello for me.

The Drum Circle

I keep hearing from my fans that they’ve been avoiding the spot due to a change in culture. This I’ve witnessed myself—insofar that I’ve been on the Ave—but I haven’t had much time to comment on it. Indeed, for the past two weeks the number of drummers has diminished somewhat and I haven’t seen much in the way of talkative folk who actually used to come around.

The gathering still persists, however, and I do see people who I’d like out on the Ave. The problems that see extant happen to be a general apathy for the get-together itself. It is the fundamental hangout spot, but perhaps we’re suffering uncanny beginning of winter blues or something similar.

The Ave

So far Saturday, I met several of my favorite people. Starting with Mark, my favorite fan, who of course got a book! Then Ben appeared with his amazing eyes—he went as a zombie Joker from the new Batman on Halloween. And Jimmy came out as well.

One of the evangelists, Erin, also appeared and I had a good time talking to her on the street in front of Borders. She’s been up to the same stuff. I didn’t get a chance to offer her a booklet, but then again I’m never sure if any of the evangelists would want to read my things.

Jim also came out, he’s another one of the evangelists with the wheelchair of great age (I say in case anyone has forgotten him.)

The Centerpoint condos, which are essentially dead-in-the-water right now stood up behind us, blinking their eerie red lights at the sky. Driving down the freeway into Tempe proper they are the most prominent building in all of Tempe, standing in grim defiance to the single red light atop A Mountain. I still find their presence perturbing, and I know it’s going to get worse.

Met my friend Gonzo and his wife—both of whom are working on novels—and we got a chance to speak for a while. I haven’t seen him in literally years and now he’s bald (shaved) so I almost didn’t recognize him.

The rest of the Ave was fairly drab, although I did like visiting the Drum Circle and The Thirsty Dog (and proffered booklets there, although, Omni did suggest that I was being unfair, giving semi-bored clerks something to pass the time.)

The Street Preachers

I am going to start up a column on the Better Than Faith website for a friend of mine in order to give a blow-by-blow of the experience of recording and witnessing the activity of the SFTS and the evangelists who come out to Mill as part of their “Mill Avenue Resistance” project. They have become a major spectacle and event on my Ave and as much as I’d like to give them more airtime they’ve been eating up a lot of my words over here and I’m sure a lot of my readers want my anthropological analysis of Mill itself and not just the hottest of the hotspots.

However, here are still some highlights from the spectacle that is the evangelists vs. the resistance.

The night started out a little chilly with a stern breeze from the south. The smell of dust and car exhaust mixed with anticipation and chuckling chatter. Among the evangelists there were concerns about setting up in front of Urban Outfitters because there is a busker with extremely powerful amplification there who often sets up before them and then drowns them out with wild, powerful riffs on his electric guitar. So they prepared themselves for a night in front of Borders.

The Resistance rolled in like a fleet of warships on the cusp of an oncoming storm. They struck with a force unseen before on the Ave with two giant speakers and a bullhorn on the field, numerous signs, and a roiling mass of supporters. (Not to mention Lizard Man, the god incarnate of the unwashed, also arrived yet again.) To say the least—the noise levels were off the charts and made it a little bit difficult to actually take notes of the event.

To add to the fray, two longtime rivals of the opposing sides also arrived: Todd and Jeremiah. Todd with his booming, clarion voice which needs no amplification and Jeremiah with his small but extremely clear amplified-speaker. They were perhaps the true highlight of the minor skirmish. Rachel, Todd’s girlfriend and primary artillery, did take the mike a few times and managed to deal blows of her own. And Rocco also took to the mike—but largely the night belonged to Todd as it commonly does.

Even a sleepy reader at this point will notice all of the “war” allegory that I’m using here, and there’s a reason for it. Primarily because while the Resistance don’t seem to view their debates with the preachers to be battles insomuch as loud disagreements, the language that the evangelists suggests that they do. Or worse, they seem to insinuate into their everyday lives the language of war.

I’ve noticed a tradition among the evangelists that they may not realize is coloring their take on the world. A deliberate addition of hostility to their message—I know they say, “What I’m saying is offensive,” and they’re only half right: what they’re saying isn’t just offensive, it’s designed to be an offense: as if an attack or assault on other people. The supposed “other.” This hostility is steeped in a lot of their behavior, their martyr complex, and the wholesale subversion of memes used by the SFTS and others and blatant transference of their own bad behavior onto the “other.”

The worst of this is how they refer to their Bibles as swords. Jeremiah took to his metal stand, grabbed his mike, and realized he lacked a Bible—so he calls out, “I am without my sword; could someone toss me one?” And sure enough a Bible is delivered to him. The concept of “spiritual warfare” is lovely enough as an allegory to rally confidence, but when it is delivered up as if us-against-them and the most important item of the mythology is being conflated with a weapon of war and murder? Surely it speaks to the beating heart of all the wannabe alpha males in their group but it alienates everyone else who does see them as a hostile, aggressive, and invading force delivering offensive language—and apparently want to be known to be dangerous.

To the evangelists: Think about this before thou really screw up.

Mill Avenue Nights - Friday November 7th, 2008

Today I went to a meeting with the Secular Free Thought Society (SFTS) based at ASU to get a look at how they organize themselves. By in large the meeting was fairly boring, involving logistics and some internal maneuvering that needed to get done. What I did like was that there were visitors from a local Humanist group—three elders, two women and one man—who had things to say to the group about how they struck themselves out into the world.

Speeches were made as to the origins of Humanism and its dichotomy to religions. The Humanists are largely atheistic in their worldview, and seem to be politically active, by in large they described themselves as, “Old Hippies.”

The SFTS group (who would quickly be marauding) ate at Chilies because they hadn’t gotten food, I went to get the sights and sounds of the Ave—and found some evangelicals. I also stopped by and talked to Josh, my friend the chef, who wants to start a Voltaire Fanclub for Tempe because of the terrible showing at one of his concerts. Which I would wholeheartedly support should he get it off the ground.

I finally hit Mill at about 10:30pm and discovered a group of evangelicals passing out tracts. Mostly the tracts were the Million Dollar bills of the giant type and the tiny type. I counted four girls and one boy. A brief meeting and I learned some names.

First is Johnanna, a Latina girl who seemed to have an Azteca accent when she spoke English—and once said something in Español that I didn’t catch due to road noise—her American English is strong, but way too Harvard (which made it obvious she was ESL); her mirror-speech was unshatterable, I think because I couldn’t modify my argot simple enough to get points across. We spoke for a while and she pretty much just regurgitated lines of extremely common mirror-speech and I couldn’t get a word in. She has some interesting things to say, some self-depreciating language, but largely it would be nice to know what brought her to this life and why she’s on Mill Ave. Hopefully I can get a chance to speak to her as a person and not as a mirror.

Natalie (I could have her name wrong) who is a small girl, with a short haircut, and sciurdae features. Her presentation a bit more forceful that Johanna perhaps in that she’s a veteran of speaking to people. She tried, unsuccessfully, of course, to pull out Pascal’s Wager—except that she doesn’t realize that the Wager doesn’t work on people professing a different belief (like Paganism) it only works in the event of a dichotomy “there is a God; there is no God,” it becomes extremely meaningless when it’s between “there is the Christian God, YHVH, or there are the Children of Danu,” since then it becomes extremely easy to point out that it is therefore equally likely to be Amaterasu, Odhinn, or Huitzilopochtli—a blood-drinking hummingbird warrior god of the Aztecs.

Jonathan, who made himself the de-facto leader of the group using insular heteronormative social behaviors because he held himself as alpha-male and pretty much controlled the girls therefore—I will go more into this shortly. I had a discussion with him different than the others involving my name. I gave him my street name first, as is proper for speaking to people on Mill Ave; it’s an exotic name so he asked if it was my “real name.” A term which I find extremely amusing: all names are real. However, I believe he wanted to know if it was my common name—which it is not.

--

“Are you confused about your identity?” Johnathan said. His posture stiff, face open, but eyes roving as he spoke. His dress, simple but modest for the Avenue, consisted of a pair of brownish pants and a pale shirt, carefully ironed before he had buttoned it up. The entire time speaking to me he clutched a book—probably a Christian Bible—against his hip. Unsmiling, he awaited my reply.

“No, not really,” I said. “My identity on the street is simply a collection of social mores, protocols, and expectations that differ from other interactions. I don’t interact with people on the street the same as I do with say…the City of Tempe.”

“Don’t you feel like you live double life?”

“Heh. Double? If I thought about it that way I would have a thousand lives. I have a different identity to every group that I interact with. I behave differently talking to my bank, to my friends, to the street rats, at work, to the City of Tempe. I am probably just a lot more sensitive to it, I guess, because I study these things.

“I write. And in order to do a good job writers try to discover how people empathize, what faces and masks they wear. One of my favorite teachers, Father Prat, once told me that as I went further into writing I would eventually hit a point where I would start asking questions like: What makes people tick?

“And he’s right. How else do we writers create characters on the page that real, living, breathing people fall in love with? Empathize with? Cry with? I am essentially giving people who know real people a chance to find a connection with something totally imaginary.”

--

There was certain amount of almost overtly sexist heteronormative behavior on the part of this group as well. Something that we don't see a lot in the urban USA. An almost tribal sense of “you’re a woman; therefore you’re not as capable as men.” With the group that comes out on Saturday I saw this with Jerimiah who sometimes says, “Please don’t swear, there are ladies present,” and it’s obvious he doesn’t think about saying this because he’s said it to a woman before (talk about putting a foot in the mouth.) More than once I saw the single male acting as alpha, trying to herd the girls, constantly saying things like, “Just making sure the girls are alright,” and at least once telling them he was uncomfortable with them going off in a pair to get food.

This sort of behavior instills a wall between them and the rest of the community who don’t have this sort of outward expectation that women lack responsibility or capability. Especially on a busy street, surrounded by police officers, and various mundane watchful eyes. Certainly any individual alone may run a particular risk of danger from the drunken mobs, but this is an age of cell phones, and walking in groups/pairs, where it’s hard to get out of eyesight or earshot of Mill.

My discussion with Jonathan wound to an end about the time the marauders appeared because I wasn’t interested in participating in one of their rituals. Johanna offered to pray over/for me and I just don’t have enough time for it. I’ve seen it numerous times with other groups and the rite doesn’t change very much. In fact, even this time I got to see it happen again. So I’ll take notes on it now.

The group gathered together around a single Mill visitor (sans one girl whose name I did not get) and Johanna spoke over him. She evoked the names of two of the Christian gods, “God” and “Jesus.” But I noted that she did not bring up the third that commonly comes in that group “the Holy Spirit.” The entire event lasted almost three minutes, involved bowed heads, and a sonorous sing-song voice affect that is used in a lot of cultures and rituals as a hypnotic.

Of the SFTS tonight there were many. A group exceeding almost eight. Rocco, Kazz, Brian (and his orange hair,) even Ezra—I am missing numerous names here, but they will be filled out as I learn to recall their names properly.

Also visiting the Ave is a group that I’ve seen before consisting some shock punks, and one young man wearing a lizard costume. The monstrous mask displays a giant reptilian head with fangs extended and tiny eye holes in the throat. He wore a crudely written sign made out of a piece of notebook paper, with the words: Hug the Lizard Man $1.

Eventually the hugs became free.