#Cottonwood Mall

[nfcomics]

Awesome girlfriend, Carmel Curtis helping me to corrupt kids by encouraging them to read.  [1994]

📚

Chris Claremont appearance event at Night Flight Comics • Cottonwood Mall

[psychedelic-charm]

This was a thing in the 90's? How come I've never heard of it?

EduNation at Cottonwood Mall in Albuquerque, NM (circa 1997).

[xc23]

Tuesday

Diane and I popped out of our sleeping bags around 6am so we could go back down the Cottonwood Trail to see a few birds that we couldn’t find on Monday. We spotted yellow warblers, a Baltimore Oriole, spotted towhee, eastern kingbird, and a ton of robins! We also saw a few mule deer and rabbits! Then the mosquitoes drove us back to camp.

Bunny rabbit!

Once back, we quickly ate breakfast and packed our gear so that we would be on time for our Cretaceous Fossil Tour. The three hour walk took us into the restricted part of the park to see a fossil rich area. Along the way, the paleontologist who led the tour described the geology of the area and what made it so fossil rich. At our ultimate destination we were able to see fossils that were exposed to the elements thanks to erosion. 77 known Centrosaurus had been discovered in that area and it is believed that 10 times that number died in a single event and remain to be discovered.

Hot sun across the badlands.

Not only did we see an old dig site but but we were able to walk around and see and touch fossils that were just sitting on the ground. It almost looked like every stone we saw was a fossil!

Fossilized pine cone.

Leg bone that Diane picked up.

Centrosaurus horn.

Dig site.

More fossils.

Everywhere fossils!!!

On the tour we also met a couple from the UK that was hitting all the dinosaur hotspots. He was a retired geologist and was checking off his bucket list of places to see. There was also a woman who was traveling with her wife, campervaning their way to the Yukon and the NW Territories from Phoenix. We had visited many of the same places as she had been over the years.

After we left the park we decided to hotel it rather than camp. I had a lot of prep work to do for the upcoming bike ride. It also gave us a chance to see Calgary. We ended up eating downtown in a touristy area near the business district. There were quite a few places to eat and drink although all the retail shops had closed by 6pm.

Stevens Street Mall.

Space Needle downtown.

We ate at a placed called Barbarella. The food and drinks were quite good. The people watching was fun as well. There was quite a bit of strutting and preening going on.

All-in-all, a good day in Canada!

[tiptonartdaily]

Near Home, plein air | Prints not available

Prints of various sizes now available here at https://tipton-art.printify.me!

This is a plein air study at a site not far from home in a yard behind a strip mall. Lots of titanium white in the sky colors—soft, diffused light that hints at brightly illuminated clouds. In the foreground is a vast expanse of grass that stretches toward the massive cottonwoods; birds in flight suggest the scale of the trees. I took an old canvas panel I meant to rework and painted over it.…

[hakesbros]

New Homes In Albuquerque, New Mexico

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[localforecast]

[vannamania]

Cottonwood Mall, Albuquerque, NM, 2019

[nfcomics]

Night Flight Comics • Cottonwood Mall • book displaying:

DRACULA: A SYMPHONY IN MOONLIGHT & NIGHTMARES • Jon J Muth [1986]

KID ETERNITY (3 issue mini series) • art • Duncan Fegredo • (w) Grant Morrison [1991]

VIOLENT CASES • art • Dave McKean • (w) Neil Gaiman • Titan • UK [1991]

Note: VAMPIRE LESTAT • promo poster • art • Daerick Gross • Innovation [1991]

Note: BATMAN LEGENDS OF THE DARK KNIGHT • various issues [1991]

[graylycross9]

Usually a mall has one of these for the kids, right?

Well, this is our mall

In the last one, there is a functional train on the second floor

Edit the second one to the last is an actual zoo with $1 admission and $5 to hold a scaly boy

[hauntedgardenking]

My tongue runs rivers to the Cottonwood and I would deify the sands on its frozen shore. The blue jays flutter about parabolic the iris an air of whipped cream atop a raspberry life-raft, you run your fingers through my hair.

Those eyes neon a strip mall waiting with winter blustery all the things I wish to say. Maybe the matcha is ritual quality, like stunning trifecta of mango ripened couplets rolling over those gold rimmed glasses.

In the fields where prairie flowers hurl sonnets honeycombed your vocal chords en garde the white worm making fallen farms their homes. And it was always you, lock land and fruitless, the multiple lifetime grin shimmer.

[adtothebone]

Saw this spiffy bowl at the Dakota Flea Market today in the old Sears space at Gateway Mall. The bowler — That’s what you call them, right? — said it was cottonwood but he doesn’t know why or how the wood ended up groovy like that. $250 and it could be yours.

[rjzimmerman]

This is a great essay published by the Sierra Club, addressing how important small chunks of public lands are important to us. The author tells us about his early adventures in one of the forest preserves of the Cook County (Illinois) Forest Preserve District. These preserves ring Chicago, are sometimes are in the city proper, and run through several suburban areas. The total amount of protected area is about 70,000 acres, or 11% of the footprint of Cook County. We live a block from one of the units, Thatcher Woods, which has been a source of friction in our community lately, with most of us grateful to have the resource right there, including its wildlife, while the nature haters, mostly old people and the younger privileged princes and princesses, are pushing to have the deer slaughtered because they eat the hosta and poop on the front lawn.

Here’s the essay in full. It’s a short essay, but a long post because it’s worth a full read.

As a 10-year-old in the 1970s, I found myself marooned in the vast sprawl of suburban Chicago. Seeking more inspiration and adventure than the strip malls, giant parking lots, and endless tracts of split-level homes on cul-de-sacs could provide, I would get on my trusty green Murray bike with the banana seat and ride the two miles or so to Linne Woods. This little nature reserve was the nearest outpost of the Forest Preserve District of Cook County. In 1916, the same year the National Park Service was founded, the forest preserves were conceived in a bold act of civic devotion. They eventually grew to 70,000 protected acres or 11 percent of the second-most populous county in the United States. Today, these forests, prairies, savannas, and wetlands form a significant biodiverse refuge in a sea of asphalt sprawl.

While Linne Woods was barely more than 100 acres and surrounded by six-lane arterial roads, fast-food restaurants, and vinyl-clad houses, it was still, to me at least, a mighty citadel, bursting with mystery and magic and biological integrity. Towering old forests of oaks, hickories, and sugar maples were cheerfully carpeted in spring with trillium and mayapples. Growing in the bottomlands along the Chicago River were mammoth cottonwoods, which seemed to me as big as sequoias, where large mobs of raucous crows would roost. Along the western edge, the forest gave way to sunny open prairies and brushy meadows that filled the humid summer air with the scent of wild bergamot and Virginia mountain mint, both of which grew profusely. Here the natural world cast its spell on me and led me to be its lifelong student. Here I wandered aimlessly for hours and once tried to fish (unsuccessfully of course) with a stick and a string and a safety pin. Here I taught myself to identify trees and once fell through the ice of the river on a 10-degree day—and lived to tell about it.

Later, after I procured the driver's license that conferred full citizenship on a child of the suburbs, I branched out and began to explore forest preserve units further afield. Later still, as an adult, I have had the privilege to trek and tramp through America’s glorious public lands—from the dark, dripping rainforests of the Pacific Northwest to the swamps and bayous of the South, and from the austere canyonlands of the Colorado plateau to the emerald forests and still, clear waters of the Northwoods. Mine has been a life defined by my connection to wild land; it's something I have devoted my academic life to as well.  

I owe all of this to those humble patches of accessible public land near my house in the third-largest metro area in the country. As a suburban kid with city-bred parents and grandparents, I had very little exposure to wild nature. We didn’t have any sort of family traditions in the great outdoors. There were no camping trips, no grand tours of the national parks, no summer camps in the woods. My passion for wild nature all started from my bike trips to the urban woods—public woods, collectively held and open to all.

The Forest Preserve District strives mightily to incorporate an equity framework in all of its efforts to connect residents to its parks. Even as a 10-year-old, I could intuit that Linne Woods belonged to me (along with everyone else), and no one could tell me to scram. That made me possessive of them in the best sort of way. I was always shoving litter into my back pocket and later, in my twenties, I became a restoration volunteer on nearby preserves, cutting invasive plants and collecting seeds. It is only today—as a political scientist who grapples with issues of democracy, equity, and civic values—that I can more precisely identify what I only knew in my gut as a kid: These public places bind us to things larger than ourselves. They bind us to human community, the natural world, and collective values in ways that enhance responsibility and devotion and love. This is something we crave and need desperately.

Public lands do this partly because they are a kind of fountain from which issues a continuous flow of outrageously valuable things—treasures that are at once biological, aesthetic, cultural, psychological, spiritual, and historical. To be connected to such a place is to be a collective account-holder of a treasure trove more valuable, both tangibly and intangibly, than a million Fort Knoxes. But unlike a dead bank account, you must actively and vigilantly love and protect this treasure, because there are always those who don’t believe in sharing.

[stupendoustrashmagazine]

A 10-pp. selection of poems

Personage The terrace offers a point. From this point a view. It's only a stop-off; it assumes the motion requisite for temporary stays will continue. The speculative friction required to stop those passing through would require planned extinction; would require war against generations of persistence across biome, suffering & misery magnified it remains threatened always. Building requires digging. Digging creates hollows to be filled. A move past botanicals—it doesn’t exist. A pulse in the web. Walk toward beyond the view: journey’s luck to close in on production. Pace picks up, dusk’s dis- appearing light invites one in: welcome.   Prelude Tonight the act of naming fell through the floor. We speak permeable solids inflected by light. Skull’s grid moves units indistinctly: windshield & palette cross paths, hatch an Ovidian shift, difixiones to devotio; the faux-gorithm teases pantheon from closet, traces flotilla’s down, hot air balloons, celebrating you or prairie fair. You’ll learn to kill that hunger for thunderhead drift. I follow shapes of your speech, attend to your syntax, taste your configuration; to keep up I sketch stick figure, code hypertext script cascading in style, the result of which confirms, again: we’re lost. Plot is a plait’d plat, flatland destination & another assemblage? I want aura to invite aural meiosis, aurora splitting into rural roads, for the bassoon quartet to be forgiven for plastic bag reeds on my direction, for aria to, moody, move into a different mode & travel out through spring’s open window; I want the racket splenetic melancholy, for dynamic accompaniment fit for unfashionable passion, the like. That state of exilium you described as a quantum between. Always pain hover triangulated. Frame Matisse with me, guilty stokes both— say the magnolia blooms shall remain & not at the expense of any other but they do not. Creek diverted, river dead: suck’d dry wax & cone though still dragonflies are purple, abdomen metallic sets of curvature & husk. Nearby: field of lightning. We walk through fjords of light forking down, resisting electrocution, naturally. The taste of our nakedness waking in early in your bed, black walnut leaves catching first October light. If I leave the house or library I sit on benches in Walmart or go to the Coralville mall alone, growing frosting in my chest & English ivy in my sinuses, scribble notes with my fork-tongue alone. Walk with me this once, again, into notional forest, ash-grey landscape dotted in umber, newborn beetles radiating, cobalt blue.   Skykomish in Summer In Goldbar Washington boys crossed river with driftwood staves feet slick-step between slime & rock, underbelly of serpentine but liquefied, algal nets stretch’d between toes, Like scales without edge—stiffened Cold after crossing they crawl’d up & into caverns allowing in fractions of sun but they felt cradled in a way shielded, intimacies there before they dove into round pools spun by spit current’s swirls, the bank of the cove gritty enough for a grip as they’d climb out out of sorts, alive they’d look at the congregation from which they just emerged tangle of nets, sunken conflagrations their bodies against the wake pressed a force there, quiet, endless, sound moving through medium beckoning, shape taking a form inky jar, turbine spat out from the bottom of an oil well.   Grass Cuts Nyanza Street. South Tacoma—we’re on A hill & approach it, tall grass, foreclosure. Blackberry brambles thick on the lawnslope purple, thorns & stickers, irritable touch. Boss climbs roofs with too steep a pitch; Hauls mowers from mud when I mire it Good in a ditch. His daughter today works with us, we weedwhack waist-high grass, rake clippings & tufts long enough to be hay in neat quadrants. They steam mornings we make it out as early as seven. A canopy borders the two-acre lot. I stare – emptying’s substance against nothingness of total inattention’s default setting. Metal asphalt shingles, roof’s pitch steep Low ground valley & everywhere: unhinged Botany thrives. Ivy plaits helices Around five-feet in diameter firs, in follow some twenty feet up when Jamie grabs a pitchfork. See something. It skitters through raked mounds, Goes through tunnels punctured By tines or cleat-roller aerating the lawn She shanks its body up against weed- blocker & brick. A metallic pling rings fades, she scoops it somewhere— this brought up her enjoyment killing, dressing, & cooking fowl. We move more grass I looking for insects, think of meat saws yawning day & night do they Day & night, fumbling—sound like chain saws or Colorado cattle feedlots, cottonwoods standing by during a drought, the sugar factory’s honey-butter burnt hair & soccer cleats left for week in a car. Mulch, juncos, midmorning sun on, sun off, Rake, return, pile, killing rabbits once we snapped their necks wrong, twice partial Breaks, botching it, both shaking we Shared an acute horror in our optics. Then we crushed their skulls with a hammer, But that’s when we lived near the volcano, when the halcyon sensation when standing at the bottom of Nisqually glacier, the sheaves of receding rose-grey gravel in aggregate felt like meteoroid field sent to grave resting place, armatures of old growth First & hemlocks in steep fractals jagged landings in glaciated river so thick with silt it looked an ash-blue sleeve. We take HUSKY 55-gal. trash bags of grass to the organic waste dump. We smell like gasoline & two-cylinder oil & grease. When I get home my house mama says Pew-whee! You smell like Marty; you smell like something that kills.   Shards What was it that came out the water in a sled a Wayward gesture young-&-stuffed Mess to common rendition Duchamp’s Pearl Neckless? In his version The sledgehammer fell square to carcass/shard/caress. You wanted/saved like anyone else wanted, A sequence of diadems, diamondic scales on A yellow python’s back. Be-figure, a mole Amongst slag pits, a slog truce from igneous slab. Bats tunnel boroughs, funnel rigmarole We keep one ray or dot of spun molybdenum— Torque at the end of the…—that glint relieves Grog, luster, a clutch lets cable go its single, slackening line. True fundament! come to the party— From up there, from below? Come beat through this bog’s Excrement, creakily swung skew joints, fallen centurions, Carve away gluttony,—an economic model Levels the field of every thistle’s purple demarcation. Remains disappear. Binary caskets Glisten polyurethane on oak grab it… If - you – get – to – the – place To – get – you – the – records: Prefabricated dirt tastes discard bottles, Skittling crevice, crick or face, collections Binding fractures. That which goes unseen. Make & model, blue castes. Signature mummies. Huffing. That kinetic thrill Pushing hammers through Masonite, Bulls snorting horns at a flag The very requiem of the horse’s eye A black so dark it blued the muscle in deafening Postures of grey fog: a way: body: yes, a shard, Blight-bit, a descending distend, steep bends— A weather system approaches Centripetally, a large unformed cat, To distillate—nothing—to pray to the grommet, One ventricle, alas—poor valve, the idea Of the river. The river. Is. Itself. Course vessel in a Losing resonance a tributary vacillation tip-toed beyond A materiality that is, is not, any old trick.   Spilling the Flour Began not thrush’s stamp, nor cardinal blue whistle but The sour flack going out, the waist line spilt. Emptying cylinders combed in sheet metal corrugate, Fill another vision, the conveyor belt muscle Persuasion. Sometimes a harvest sits like pheasants Before buckshot, freeze-frame, promise cannon— What will be. Corn stalks chopped at maggot root twist Wind crowing a parade, sans confetti, sans soleil. Platoon the distant mist, forgetting it’s metal multiplied In numbers not quantity. Not fog. That’s fire But the wound continuum in ears splits hair mimics a mime Brown cerumen flax spreads flat lays down in- To a line. Elements bind fetch needle & borrow thread Stitch from denim you see the voices hear. Spiders don’t mean to. Bats garner a wick of light Against normalcy of shadow. When is not Important. Con memory commemorate ingrown toe- Nail sunk into rib-line fleshed out for sake Of sake of being. Forsaken lake: equivalent to constrictor Vine, not theorem. Carpet moves imagined Equestrians run between alder beetles the abandoned Horses heaving in the meadow along the orange Vector. The chemilume incision furcates the dark shells Guarding liquefied innards, the many legs.   The Awful Cutlery Traveling by Greyhound between Dominguez- Escalante and Grand Mesa National forest, We’re full enough In the filled up four-wheel lurch on blacktop I-70 elegantly swung across Secluded Rocky Mountain scrag. “This shit’s too country” a woman remarks. You see what she means. The rosaries Of apricot, peach, cherry, and plum disintegrate Vineyard to vineyard to bottle To California, mid-stride Maybe she means. Maybe Damian The off-shore welder tells me about hanging above The water, rigged up, slung out, strapped in, Gluing thousand-degree metal to solid stack Rigs, working twelves till three months pass So he can go—“I go everywhere”—to complicate Home—“Love Alabama but I need to see it all The whole shit.” Dusk is a disk with a predictable arc. I’m here twenty years, this red land. From bottom canyon ditch combs Of bygone eon drag across mesa, leaving scar, Evidence of water, wind, shaggy coats left To bear, bear themselves, on other creatures Pitching, tent-by-tent, a story, a new story, old. The mother tells you, you & me, of Rocky Mountain Flats, the Climax Uranium Mill, A fire beginning with a crack, croaking a Groan to a glow, plutonium then, dizzied in dust, Vapored amoeba flung across the whole Front Range. Cows were the first to show up Without usual parts: eye, ear or triple-tongue. Do I believe anything I say anymore? Set that head against Plexiglas. Feel the chill— A lavender fork makes an albino tarantula Of sky, yet there’s a merge, the speech Corks off. Into each direction, asymmetry Between passengers a music nonetheless, The hiddenness behind tall sediment walls Now, this cutlery mass Stalking hungry movers, clawing at the dirt To reveal the intact pores of a distant femur.   Safe/Way Courtesy Clerk In the aisles of nondescription halogen baleen Sifts shop-cart rift-racket & geriatric dances. Old/new toothpick paradigm cues a mist/turn: Old is to new as young is to old, meaning Painting the urn in synthesizer blue still undoes. The unheard chambers are sweeter. Polyethylene is a mon-on- monomer ladder of Chain-stacks, bindings, writes the blurb We’re all in this together. Savings save you From it, from it you’ll be saved the lapse: Western tanager memorizes its own memory Launched in citrus beneath the varied canopy. Really: in this Safeway a woman chutes Hundreds of one-liters into the re/cycle Machine. She leans on cart rail, no wheel. Her child helps he laughed he threw them into The bin, the coins emerged. Someone said Music moves from a fix-point fence post, studded Down into ground. He’s right—what is there to do But do, bag up a customer’s purple cabbage Dreams stuff them sweet potato mush- Room into room, sacked. They’d blister From oxygen’s lack they’d try to make it, try To survive. Wouldn’t it be courteous To curtsy before bags bulge as balloons stuffed With vision? Even in tulip & rose section I Hand out the foxtail elixir, all the loot; were they Bodies turned down, turned into what now, soup? The day is butternut squash but wouldn’t A lizard do today let’s get all the gutter newts Recalling now how Scooby returned From a long drive he threw an iguana On the chopping block on the counter top In the apartment he was making soup He sawed off its head. What was inside The eyes? Nothing much. Eye cones con, resemble The black glass of a tick’s back. You’ll try To reach in & what — find out who looks back Tell yourself that’s you looking back. A gaze. Scooby ran cool water over the head, on it. Its jaw opened and closed again & again. “This is good soup that’s what happens After the head’s cut off.” What would the body Do after, what voice would reclaim itself, Would reconvene re — gather protest against scores Settled, dust made fall silk, unnoticed? What takes when taken back, how’ll things Exactly as they are be exactly as they’d been? What music shapes the marina, the guitar Rustling out a poison ivy arpeggio to become The place and the things of things as they are? How do you bargain or take the lead For the dreaded duet? The mouth opens cilia Tongue juts out pink premonition the sky boom Nitro’s paisley maize radished in the Word-Ward. Blue pollen doesn’t exist but when the man Who looks one-hundred buys the dyed-blue orchid & says “it’s for my” I cut him off & ask but He just laughs & says “it’s just a flower it’s just An empty bag” & walks out, away, toward Automatic sensor doors, glass partitions that open Like megafauna with a belly full of a world on fire.

[hakesbros]

Albuquerque, Nm New Homes For Sale & New Development In Albuquerque, Nm

Nestled in a location that delivers both magnificence and comfort, Fleet Estates offers easy accessibility to buying, restaurants, parks, and employment alternatives. This luxurious new home group is unique for its gorgeous mountain vistas, with many homesites offering picturesque views of the Sandia Mountains. At Twilight Homes, we give home patrons the opportunity to create a home that matches their family, their type, and their budget by providing numerous ground plan choices together new home builders in albuquerque with a wide range of upgraded amenity selections. Innovative design meets quality building in this family-sized Hakes Brothers home, that includes 4 bedrooms, 2 baths, and a 2-car storage. Comprehensive property improvement providers, together with competitive evaluation, website choice, design recommendations, and building oversight. The hottest shopping malls in Albuquerque are the Coronado Center in Quigley Park and the Cottonwood Mall on the west bank of the Rio Grande.

To study more about home values in Albuquerque, Stacker analyzed knowledge from realtor.com in early May of 2021 to compile a listing of the costliest homes for sale in the metro. Properties listed as single household home, apartment, and townhouse were considered. After all, the Albuquerque Realtor® that you simply hire to represent you would be the make-or-break factor homes for sale in albuquerque new mexico that determines whether you get an amazing deal or lose out on one. Learn More about our Albuquerque listing brokers and our Albuquerque buyer’s brokers. The actual property agent performs such a major function in your transaction and could additionally be the most important decision you make when buying or selling your own home.

The Lottery will remain open via Sunday, April 19, 2020. You will obtain a affirmation e-mail from stating your name is now on a NEW listing for these fascinated within the Luxury Collection homes solely. Due to such excitement for new homes in Mirador, we will be randomly deciding on prospective home patrons via a interest list format. Please submit your name through new homes for sale albuquerque our interactive e mail type on our Mirador Website. The info is for customers' personal, non-commercial use and may not be used for any objective other than identifying properties which shoppers could also be excited about purchasing. New homes also save you cash and are more reasonably priced in the long run.

Ethan Grant, whose home was targeted last Monday, says he took the time while Heun was behind bars to succeed in out to Heun’s father who remains to be dwelling throughout the street. The state withdrew a motion to maintain Ryan Heun locked up, saying there are circumstances of release they assume would keep the public safe, new homes albuquerque having him transfer away from the neighborhood close to Juan Tabo and Spain. Assessor Damian Lara reminds us that enterprise owners in Bernalillo County are required to render business personal property reports to the Assessor’s Office every year. Feb. 27, 2023 Bernalillo County – The Bernalillo County Animal Care Services Center might be closed to the general public on Wednesday, March 1 for employee training.

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