Monday, March 17, 2014


It woke me during the night. But I am far more able to tolerate the problem now than years ago, and it never truly irritated me. It is actually something that I find pleasant as well as amusing. Persistent at the time, yet sporadic.

I have no clue what the bird is, but as it remains invisible, I shall probably never know. The range of vocalizations can be quite enormous, and there have been nights that it seemed, judging by the rapidity, shrillness, and variety of its calls, to be quite staggeringly insane.

Perhaps it is a mocking bird.

Perhaps it is stoned on pyracantha berries.

Both of these two perhapses are quite speculative.

Several years ago the noisy little bugger kept up its racket from around ten in the evening till five thirty or six in the morning, several working days in succession. It is very likely that nobody on our block got a good night's sleep that week.
"Chirp chirp chirp, tweeky tweeky tweeky, eeeeeeeeeeeee! "

Mocking birds live several years, even up to two decades in captivity. If this is the same mockingbird as then, we have a sadist nearby who must relish interrupting the repose of two or three hundred people. Which is likely, yes, because the night-time noises can often be quite staggering, but caging a mockingbird to torment the neighborhood for one or two weeks during breeding season is far too creative for most late night brutalists.
Even when it is time to mate.
Perverse, too.

It also does it during the day, without sounding shagged out at all. It has an almost daemonic endurance, and may keep it up for another thirty or forty hours. Don't know. It's supernaturally cheerful. As if possessed.

Again: I don't known if it is actually a mocking bird, whether it gorged on pyracantha berries, or in fact whether any of this is related to the mocking bird sexual cycle. For all I know, it's an angry thrush, pissed at one of the local tenants, and determined to exact a toll on the offending human.
What and who ever the case, it is a regular cheeky little b@$tard.

"Warble warble warble, twitter, wee-oo, wee-oo, ookie!"

It's happily making noise as I write.

Has been vocal all night.

Last week too.


I can sleep through the noise now -- heck, I could sleep through an artillery barrage at this point, having tolerated any amount of absurd disturbances while living in North Beach and points further tropical -- but I wonder how the newer arrivals in this neighborhood are taking it. Do dot com yuppies actually come from places where nature calls? Or were they carefully nurtured in sterile environments that lacked an animalistic element?

Judging by they're own behaviours, probably the latter.

They animalize so very badly themselves.

Drunk by nine, comatose by one.

Oblivious 24 seven.


I like the conceptualization, whichever way it swings. On one wing, a randy featherball establishing his territory and attracting a suitable mate, so that rambunctious procreation may take place over successive nights and a new generation of vocal heroes and heroines shall arise, OR a furious small bird thinking "give me some of that pizza, drunken twenty-something e-human, or I will find out where you live and keep you up all night by hanging around outside your bedroom window and insulting you while it is dark and you are helpless".
The bird is a champion, however the facts.
I'm leaving some pizza out tonight.
As a greasy encouragement.
Rewarding wildness.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:

All correspondence will be kept in confidence.

No comments:

Search This Blog


Research six years ago established that more Mississippi natives are drunk, horny, and yearn for Kim Kardasian, just before midnight. Presum...