For a week I was felled by the virus from hell; my throat still has a fungus-mushroom-swollen tonsil balloon on its left which protests if I choose to speak too much. After the initial seven days of ginger tea guzzling and sleeping too much it seemed to go away, so I experienced the over-joy of post disease; life was lively, every song I heard was 382920x better, and I was grinning at strangers...more than usual. But no, like zombie it rose from the dead to attack my PURE JOY. I relapsed, and since that I’ve been living in a state of constant a) sleepiness b) hunger or c) sleepy+hungry with a side of bitch. INSERT MORE JOY HERE.
While the battle for ultimate supremacy between good and evil raged on inside me the crows gathered for their yearly murder- every December hundreds of them meet up, generally in the hour or two before twilight, and sit in trees, swoop about in large groups and make lots of crow noise. In a two block radius of my house I’m sure that there were at least 1000 crows, certainly more, for about two weeks.
I’ve been enamored with crows for rather a long time; when I was little I loved the movie Were Back, a cartoon about dinosaurs bringing joy to kids in a battle between a quirky scientist inventor (happiness/good) and a spooky circus purveyor (fear/evil) with John Goodman as the voice of the protagonist (t-rex) (and I love him for an unrelated reason, chiefly because he is awesome, part of which comes from his working with David Byrne in several videos. To be honest any time I see a crow I think of John Goodman. Which makes me think of the Talking Heads). Ramble. Well, Mr. Fear has a murder of crows at his service and post (film) climax his crows bust him up good. Witness, at 6:24!
While I’m at it have some of this too.
To the point: two weeks later I am still disappointed that instead of being outside with my camera everyday at twilight for two weeks taking millions of pictures of crows I was inside staring out the window, coughing, blowing my nose, and being in pain from swallowing. Boo.
