Battle of the Birds

2049 6-24-10

Chirp chirp chirp chirp… CAW FUCKING CAW!!!

Snapped awake from the fog of death's kinder sister, my mind searches
for a grasp on time and soon finds it coming to grips with the 4:00am
mocking pixels playing across the screen. The mystical fog still
swimming amongst my brain's wrinkles and the mental energy needed to
come to grips with this reality send a series of dangerously combined
synapses into a fully fledged firing squad.

Whether by the Force or by sheer physical exertion, I find my katana
reassuring my palms that the world was still definable. Launching
myself off of my balcony, to hurtle towards the fine green fingers of
the foliage beneath me with my loyal Scooby-Doo boxers fluttering in
the moist morning air, however, was not part of the definition that I
had been trying to grasp, but the show must go on.

And the show landed me in the thick of Triad Grackles. A little slow,
my mind paused to ponder why these birds were smoking and wearing
smart suites. My hands never were good at pondering and since idle
hands are the Devil's play thing these righteous hands set to work.
Grackles generally get a bad rap, but this group was quite generous,
for they let me borrow all that was theirs. I borrowed their beaks,
their claws, their wings, and what they had for dinner the night
before. But it wasn't until I was back in the kitchens that I truly
appreciated their hospitality, for their newly laid eggs, and their
juicy hearts were the perfect way to start the day. As I sat enjoy
the meal, I reflected on what I had learned about myself this day:

Anything that wakes me up at 4 is expediently processed into the "I
wouldn't mind if you ceased to exist" category.

I would later paint Mr. Wong.