Well, fuck. Time once again to thin the herd. Though I don’t consider myself particularly foulmouthed in person, my journals are sprinkled liberally with salty language. As with anyone, some of my ideas have a stench about them. The good stuff has already been gleaned & polished. It’s the scat that’s left. I wish that shit to only see the light of flames.  

In 15th century Italy a monk encouraged people to pile luxury items in the street & set them ablaze. Some centuries later Tom Wolfe wrote a book using that monk’s phrase for his title. Then there was a movie based on it (which I didn’t see) that was panned by critics. Not because I didn’t see it, but I like to think my disinterest played a part. Today many items contain plastics. A bonfire of such would create toxic smoke. Kind of like online discourse. Are we truly a social species? Perhaps we are merely a profane species.  

The bonfire is cathartic, if not environmentally friendly. I usually don’t set it myself; just find a convenient one & toss in the dross. After the painful process of reading the subpar ramblings, it’s incredibly freeing to make them disappear. Mwahaha–I never penned those hideous words!

Many journal entries are tiny, unrelated events that I hamhandedly try to piece together without proper segue. They come across as non sequitur: 

There’s a phenomenon on windy days at the shore. Sea birds get stuck, gliding in space, going nowhere. Like they’ve been glued to that one spot in the sky. I wonder if it’s fun for them to be flying in place? The air, water, & trees moving all around, & they’re so still. I imagine it’d be like plucking oneself out of time for some moments. Kinda trippy. Like they’re defying physics itself. I like defying stuff.

Apparently it’s not enough to be defiant in words & deeds, though. I’ve been defiant all along & our society still sucks. I’ve also been deviant, but that’s beside the point. The Powers That Be have been frustratingly unruffled by my defiance.

Profanity & defiance often go together. Profanity isn’t the jargon of defiance per se, but the defiant employs profanity best. Online gobshites might think they’re being defiant when they troll someone, but they’re just cheapening profanity. I like my profanity to have some substance. Theirs is empty, like confused zombies who’ve eaten their own brains.   

I’m definitely a bird geek. Though writing that, I recall the early definition for the  word ‘geek’ & now feel a bit squeamish. [Circus freak, bit the heads off chickens, for those who have never read Katherine Dunn’s Geek Love.] I would only (metaphorically) bite the heads off people who’re being purposely obtuse. On second thought, there’s too many of those heads. 

Though defiantly not a birder (I’ve never met binoculars that didn’t vex me), I’m grateful for their contributions nonetheless. They participate in the annual bird count, a whole community of citizens who are concerned with the absence of many species. Funny how this backlash against science actually negates the observations of those outside the ‘elitist liberal scientific academia.’ I have my own contentions with science, & it has absolutely nothing to do with loopy crap I’ve read online.

Some tedious historical details: Descartes (he of the “I think, therefore I am” mindset) & his crony Rationalists viewed nonhuman life lacking. ‘Animals are machines, plants don’t feel anything, humans are superior in all ways, etc.’ They’ve had their run fucking up the planet. The scientific method does allow for further study to amend previous thought, but that moves at a snail’s pace. Due in part to the stupid Rationalists lingering philosophy.

The Romantics backlash against the Rationalists speaks to me more deeply, with an overall respect & love for all of Nature. The first American environmental movement (the ecology-minded hippie tree-huggers of the 1830s-60s) had its foundation in the Romantics. One of Emerson’s & Thoreau’s great influences was the Romantic philosopher/poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge. His most famous narrative poem, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, was a favorite of the Transcendentalists.

Descartes & his Rationalist buddies were filthy with their own superiority. I’m sick to death of superiority. It’s the domain of the pathologically insecure. Of which we’re still reaping the marvelous rewards of racism, classism, sexism, species-ism, etc. Not all cultures adopted this Rationalist bullshit. The ones who didn’t were branded ‘savages’.

I was in the yard when a large dark shape loomed above. I assumed an eagle, surveying the chickens. Accompanied by an unusual call, a bird voice I didn’t recognize. Plastered to the sky in the breeze of a clear day, my jaw dropped on something I never could’ve hoped to see. Gliding in place about 80 ft above was a massive bird, with a wingspan that rivaled a bald eagle’s. Coloring light, the body more streamlined, & the wings had the distinctive boomerang shape of sea birds. As it caught another air current & veered off, I ran to listen to audio of that particular call (courtesy of Google, since I still haven’t downloaded the Merlin app). I had an inkling.

Holy fuck! An endangered species that spends its entire life over the open ocean, only breeds on remote Pacific islands. I checked to see if any sightings of albatrosses had been recorded in my area. Sure enough, once in 1994, & again in 2012. Though they are rarely seen so far inland, I live close enough to the Sound that apparently they can wander by– very infrequently.

Ancient seafarers considered the albatross a sign of good fortune, favorable winds, & imminent land. It was taboo to harm one. That’s why the killing of the albatross in Coleridge’s poem brought disaster. This was my good fortune. I’m not an ocean-going individual. It’s nigh-to-impossible I would just happen to be in the yard when one would fly past. The odds are mind-boggling!  

Blessed with a rare experience. I’m no birder, didn’t pay to view this, didn’t book a cruise, didn’t hire a guide to track a rare species. Supposedly ‘fortune favors the brave.’ I think fortune favors the observant in their own backyard. To linger on the grass momentarily, curious enough to glance skyward, & be struck with how compelling a singular sight can be. Some might think me a simpleton to be so stoked by this. I feel sorry for those people. I saw a fucking albatross overhead! I’m rich beyond belief!

When the basis for this piece is consigned to flame, no one will know the disjointed blathering it took to get to here. Those other 4,000 words winnowed out do not add up to Kafka’s posthumously published works, FFS. Frankly, he wanted those destroyed, but his agent wouldn’t carry out Franz’s final wishes. If you’re reading this, consider yourself damned fortunate. My reject musings go up in smoke. You’re welcome!