Less Pigeons Inside Now

Less pigeons inside now that this genius netting has been installed. The down side is the affect it has on my view. The netting has no apparent depth, and so pains my eyes to look at for more than a few seconds. Now the birds have to use the doors like everybody else, which they seem to have no problem with. Back at Memorial Stadium in Berzerkeley they had a pellet gun issuance program going for awhile, until a wounded bird dragged it's blood-soaked feathered self to a empathic looking female worker. Wild life by any other name. They did used to drive us crazy in our SF flat, cooing non-stop outside the bathroom window. I'd just go out and bang on the pipe they were living in and then play loud music, my solution to so many problems. It worked in Panama didn't it? Maybe I should take our president's place; hey, I'm almost of age. After this it'll mostly be stuff I'm too old to do, with the notable exception of cashing out my 401k. Now you know for shore that I am a dreamer lost in the briny mist, clutching a water damaged and coverless King Lear paperback, missing pages stuffed in random forgotten pockets. My mom used to recite long passages of Shakespeare from memory, which I enjoyed because it showcased her anglo-intellectual side, standard knowledge for folks of a certain age, class, and geography. Tristen & I would read long passages up in her Barrington room; fun for a few hours. Wonder if she still has those dusty tomes with the parchment paper. Those inky old rectangles of sacrificial trees could fuel a magic compost heap yet. The Rottie, The Warlock, and the Compost Heap - go ahead and wade on in Aztlan.