(no subject)
i repeat stories.
in a biology class in college, the professor, a matter-of-fact older guy who spoke well and entertainingly about the subject in a dark room perfect for sleeping, once told us that mother birds, if you get within a certain distance of their nests, would act injured and hobble in circles feigning injury. if you stepped within the distance, the hobble feint, if you step out, it stops. they can't control it. apparently ad nauseum tho i'm sure certainly at some point they'd stop?
i think that immediately became a theory of life for me. and it holds ever true now. tensions flare in the household because we are all children raging against the lack of control. my dad wants to act as if everything is fine. mom doesn't have cancer, he didn't have multiple seizures and is legally blind. he can go out and hike for hours and his legs are strong and what's a drink or two and maybe sneak off for a cigarette everyday, who knows.
my brother can't control his never-ending rage. so he's trying to control little bits of what he feels he can wield some sort of rage threat at. it's hilariously sad almost. he does the same puffed chest, gorilla stance he's done since we were junior high school kids. raging at me for some perceived offense he'll create and i'm also too tired now to just let it go. and so we yell and scream in front of our mom who's just extra stressed by it all.
seeing her hobbling feign birds she's stuck with, that if she leaves, will just hobble and feint in their tiny circles ad nauseum til our bodies become tiny hobble feint skeletons that crumble in the backyard.
not immersing myself more fully in the meaningless juvenile worlds i create temporarily really does leave a space for the other sounds to come in. i remember everything about space being silent and no one can hear you scream in a vacuum but i also think that vacuums are violently loud and terrifying because otherwise why would my dog be so afraid. he must know something we do not. you can tell in his wise cloudy eyes.
i guess better to wallow in the childish bad stories than hear nothing but the deafening white noise outside the portal.
and now all i see are all the bird stories i've known here for 20 yrs. the legless ones in holding patterns that can't land. the hobble feinters w/ no control over their lives. birds w/ arms were meant to be kinda absurd and useless but i think they were the safest of all bc they were on solid ground at least. were they vulnerable prey? was that supposed to be the lesson?
in a biology class in college, the professor, a matter-of-fact older guy who spoke well and entertainingly about the subject in a dark room perfect for sleeping, once told us that mother birds, if you get within a certain distance of their nests, would act injured and hobble in circles feigning injury. if you stepped within the distance, the hobble feint, if you step out, it stops. they can't control it. apparently ad nauseum tho i'm sure certainly at some point they'd stop?
i think that immediately became a theory of life for me. and it holds ever true now. tensions flare in the household because we are all children raging against the lack of control. my dad wants to act as if everything is fine. mom doesn't have cancer, he didn't have multiple seizures and is legally blind. he can go out and hike for hours and his legs are strong and what's a drink or two and maybe sneak off for a cigarette everyday, who knows.
my brother can't control his never-ending rage. so he's trying to control little bits of what he feels he can wield some sort of rage threat at. it's hilariously sad almost. he does the same puffed chest, gorilla stance he's done since we were junior high school kids. raging at me for some perceived offense he'll create and i'm also too tired now to just let it go. and so we yell and scream in front of our mom who's just extra stressed by it all.
seeing her hobbling feign birds she's stuck with, that if she leaves, will just hobble and feint in their tiny circles ad nauseum til our bodies become tiny hobble feint skeletons that crumble in the backyard.
not immersing myself more fully in the meaningless juvenile worlds i create temporarily really does leave a space for the other sounds to come in. i remember everything about space being silent and no one can hear you scream in a vacuum but i also think that vacuums are violently loud and terrifying because otherwise why would my dog be so afraid. he must know something we do not. you can tell in his wise cloudy eyes.
i guess better to wallow in the childish bad stories than hear nothing but the deafening white noise outside the portal.
and now all i see are all the bird stories i've known here for 20 yrs. the legless ones in holding patterns that can't land. the hobble feinters w/ no control over their lives. birds w/ arms were meant to be kinda absurd and useless but i think they were the safest of all bc they were on solid ground at least. were they vulnerable prey? was that supposed to be the lesson?