Friday, March 11, 2011


Very early this morning, a little grey bird arrived at her spring, summer, and fall home after a truly sustained trip. The friends and family birds of the little grey bird had become boring and annoying to her, as, for four consecutive days, they had done nothing together but fly, sleep, eat berries, and chit-chat. All of the grey birds cascaded down from the drippy cloud-layer when they realized their destination. Spiraling, the little grey bird floated and set down upon one of the branches belonging to the tree next to the school, which grew tasty berries.

Several sleepy-eyed people walked like ants upon a path towards the doors of the school. The little grey bird was happy to see the people of the school again. Sometimes, and usually when the tasty berries had become just berries, the little grey bird would sing a song for the people of the school. If the people of the school liked the song, they would drop crumbs of bread, French fries, or sour-patch kids upon the ground for the little grey bird to eat. Although the little grey bird was not hungry and had not yet grown tired of the tasty berries grown by the tree upon which she was perched, she decided to sing a song for the sleepy-eyed people of the school. How could she not? She was so excited to be back!

The little grey bird began to chirp her song. “Hey! Hey! Hey!” she sang. The little grey bird did not know of words besides ‘Hey’. She sounded ‘Hey!’ many times in seven or eight harmonious pitches.

As she sang, a notably sleepy-eyed boy slowly approached the tree. He saw the grey of the little grey bird in contrast with the kind of blue only a morning sky can be. The notably sleepy-eyed boy halted his walk, and contemplated what sort of reason, motivation, or intention a little grey bird might have to open and close her beak. He could not understand. He did not understand, because he could not hear the song of the little grey bird.

The little grey bird and the notably sleepy-eyed boy were immersed in air. The two bathed in unseen spinning molecules. Either one could only know of air in three ways: from the teachings of a parent, from a book, or from the presence of the smell created by airplane, bus, and car exhalations without proportional grass, lily-pad, and tree exhalations. Still, whether or not either the little grey bird or the notably sleepy-eyed boy was aware of the air, it certainly surrounded them.

All of these unseen spinning molecules are like ping-pong balls. They are buoyant and hollow. If one’s body so much as burps, trembles, or vibrates, all of the air in contact with a body will be moved accordingly. A bird’s song is especially suited for bumping unseen spinning molecules in such a way that it inspires people to drop crumbs.

The notably sleepy-eyed boy gazed upon the still opening and closing beak of the little grey bird. He contemplated furiously. Why would a bird be opening and closing their beak without also singing a song? Granted, without the mediation of a miracle, the notably sleepy-eyed boy would not come to realize that the reason he could not hear the bird’s song was because of the manner in which his head bumped air.

Within the head of the notably sleepy-eyed boy were four overhead projectors he had attained from his elementary school. As the bird sang, the four dusty, but functional overhead projectors within his head pitched, and cast out four different varieties of blue light.

The light of the first overhead projector propelled the blue of a ripe blueberry in sun.

The light of the second overhead projector launched the blue of a maturing potato spud, grown in cold.

The light of the third overhead projector concocted the sort of blue (really, more of an indigo-violet) seen as stains on the shorts and t-shirt of a kid who has rolled around in elderberries.

The light of the fourth overhead projector shot a beam of the blue of the sky, seen through a nimbostratus layer of cloud.

When the boy with notably sleepy eyes had halted to contemplate the opening and closing of the little bird’s beak, the lights leaving the overhead projectors from within his mind arranged themselves, intersected, and formed a cube of sorts. The cube assembled by the lights caged the little grey bird.

The notably sleepy-eyed boy stood, the little grey bird sang, the movements and understandings of unseen spinning molecules – air – were affected by both. But to reach the ears of the notably sleepy-eyed boy, the little grey bird’s song first had to ford the boundaries of the light. The light dismantled and broke the song of the little grey bird as the chirps roamed through its frame.

As the little grey bird’s song exited the square of light, eighteen hands emerged and stretched out from the midst of the darkness created by the contrast of the light of the overhead projectors within the mind of the notably sleepy-eyed boy. They edited the original order of the little grey bird’s song. If before deconstruction, the song was a subtle and uninterrupted flow of water from a sink’s faucet – beautiful in its simplicity – the eighteen hands had turned it into a noisy collection of shed dog hair, belly-button lint, dead skin flakes, and concrete dust – beautiful because of its existence.

One hand remained in the darkness. Before the smashed, broken, and now glued together song of the little grey bird entered the ears of the notably sleepy-eyed boy, this hermit hand sprayed down the transparencies atop each projector. Frantically, the hand drew a Kleenex out of a box, and erased the figures, images, and words previously written upon each of the four transparencies.

The hand quivered anxiously as he searched through the notably sleepy-eyed boy’s memories. The hand needed to remember before the song reached his ears. The hand remembered. The hand stopped shaking. The hand grabbed the nearest Vis-à-Vis transparency marker and quickly scribbled down what had been remembered. The work of the four lights and of the eighteen hands would have been exhausted in vain if the hermit hand had not remembered the correct fashion to interpret, translate, and express the little grey bird’s song.

The hermit hand had finished the rendition in time. Simultaneously, the glued-together song of the little grey bird entered the ears of the notably sleepy-eyed boy, and the mended lyrics entered the eyes of the mind of the notably sleepy-eyed boy.

The notably sleepy-eyed boy heard! Although, he did not hear “Hey! Hey! Hey!” Instead, his ears and eyes were flooded by and submerged in the labors of his mind’s hands and overhead projectors. He blinked and felt as though his contemplation was complete, that his wonder had been quenched. He began to bob his head to the glued-together song of the bird. This old and familiar tune, which may be beloved to many of you, looped over and over:

“Two trailer park girls go round the outside,

Round the outside, round the outside.

Two trailer park girls go round the outside,

Round the outside, round the outside…

Guess who’s back (back, back)?

Back again (gain, gain)?

Shady’s back (back, back).

Tell a friend (end, end).

Guess who’s back, guess who’s back

Guess who’s back, guess who’s back

Guess who’s back, guess who’s back

Guess who’s back…

I’ve created a monster…”

1 comment: