Birdgang
Some fun for a Friday, for once. It's been long enough, no? A little useless fun is good to mix in with the useful unfun stuff from time to time, let the colors bleed into one another, let the tastes mingle, let it all mix as you swallow in a gulp. Glp. Mmm. Fun! Delicious and delectable, nibble a little and smile.
A google search of the word shows that there is space for me to fill! Yes, "Bird Gang" is most commonly associated with a slim sliver of the cocaine-rap-music market and a group of guys who have carved out a nice niche for themselves. The Diplomats, or DipSet as they say, reference this mythical bird gang in a number of songs, and from what I gather it all has to do with that opalescent white powder that they "push". Yes, "Bird" has been a common slang term for cocaine for a long time and while it sort of seems to make sense, the analogy is also a bit elusive. Birds fly high, they can be erratic, their hearts beat at something like 14,000 times per minute, and if you've ever seen a bird's little beak working on a nut or grub it looks not unlike the moving mouth of a person intoxicated on the drug. On the other hand, symbolically speaking, Birds are pretty cute little animals that are often loved by children as much as they are loved by the elderly and this plain fact shrouds them in a nice afghan made of innocence. Cam'ron, Jim Jones, Freaky Zeke, even J.R. Writer - these are hardened thugs, as they mention many times over in each of their songs, and they traffic kilos of cocaine while committing other felonies on a daily basis. This kind of contrasting symbolism is pretty much all we have left these days in the world of fiction, it is poignant irony and worthy of deeper investigation and literary analysis. The rest is all memoir and historical non-fiction, it seems.
There are real life birds that are criminals though! They commit acts of vandalism, acts of thievery, and acts of violence! They transcend the boundaries of species, snubbing the entire hierarchy of the animal kingdom, and are focusing on the human race alone. It is wonderful! We people are their victims.
There is a bird, a gull, over in some far off continent who's become a thief. For thousands of years, before we built our cities, streets, and convenience stores, this bird and all of his feathered relatives had free reign and no laws to obstruct them from taking as they please from their mother nature. Hunger meant a short flight in any direction, and ample choices awaited. Eventually, though, the first tree fell. Here is Gully, a modern day gull. He has not ever learned the history of his species, but it lives inside of him and he can feel it as real as he feels the wind on his back. Happily, he mimics our vices. Gladly, he walks on two feet. Hilariously, he steals potato chips. Yes, Gully is a thief! But, really, what is the criminal action being committed here? By definition, only humans can be criminals and since Gully is of the aviary persuasion he's above our reproach. Even better is that his action, to us, is "stealing" (taking another's property without due payment) yet to his kind, his own community of other gulls, he is simply doing his job and feeding his body's ache and hunger. If the town were undeveloped and left as mother made it, Gully would just be performing his natural duty and he'd have his own food to find - but alas, we've placed concrete and structure where there was dirt and tree, and his environment is nonexistent and he's forced to humanize. Think of Gully like a mirror: and gaze into it to find a bit of a blemish on the character of man. Criminal bird, a member of the Bird Gang. We toast you and your petty offenses, wherever they may be. We ruined your food, it is only fair that you steal ours.
As far as the bird vandals go, they are the most active in the Bird Gang. Simply by way of us getting in their way, we have turned them into criminals. We place a statue, a monument, a fitting tribute to some human action, and for the birds - well, all they see is a toilet. Defecation piles high on the heads of some stoned soldiers, bird shit even on the sleeve of a general cast in brass, poor Rodin - the only sculptor worth a damn - is defiled daily despite his high art. Most birds shit and piss at the same time, and it is never ever solid enough to wipe cleanly from an actual person's garment thus leaving them with a thoroughly ruined day. The statues, at least, stand still and accept their humiliation without a whisper. Who is in who's way, though? I blame myself, and the greater accomplishments of humanity that have gotten us where we are today, whenever I am shat upon by an avian friend. I do this because, well, if we hadn't evolved so heavily and taken so deeply, we'd be living in a more harmonic way with the other creatures - and while this may not be a result of my specific actions as a person, I'm compelled to apologize anyhow. Yes, I say all this with a tongue placed firmly in my cheek - but, well, you know, even when joking I am as serious as cancer. Vandalism, though, all relates to property and ownership and when seen through this skewed scope, it takes on a different but just as kaleidoscopic color.
Lastly, we come to a more recent case that has gotten some small town publicity. The small town happens to be San Francisco, and it's Financial District. There is a black bird who has made his home atop the portico'ed door of a fancy marble-faced big business building. The inhabitants, much like birds in their own cramped nests, push papers and bark into phones all day long churning out commerce and consumerism. When they do leave their unnaturally lit offices, they keep their heads down, walk fast, and speak through cell phones without noticing that stray cloud above, shaped a bit like a pillow with a dagger poking out just so - down a corridor of other huge buildings that block the views left and right, the only view left is upward, cloudward, skyward, yet the business men and women walk with their heads distinctly downward. Thank goodness for the blackbird!
Thank goodness for this blackbird. During the rush hour that is Lunchtime, the sidewalks are filled with humans with their heads down, talking into their mobile devices, unaware that they are even walking on the earth, ignoring their surroundings, not savoring a second of time let alone a sunny view that the mother has provided for us all (unfettered bird and unfeathered person). His entire job for the Bird Gang is that of spontaneous violence. He is uncompromising, undiscriminating, any victim is a good victim and this bird is precise. Down he dives, pecking at the baldspot on a man's head and a moment later swooping down again to deliver another series of blows. The man looks up, curses the bird, and dashes down the street to his martini meeting. The woman in the pencil skirt and power-blazer, complete with tennis shoes because the heels are for the office; she is the next victim! The blackbird intrudes on the lives of many and without remorse or selectivity, his blind violence leaving a trail of frowning victims and clapping spectators. And what is the mirror of the blackbird, what reflection of ourselves can we seek in his blank eyes? They are scary eyes, indeed. As I see it, it is a heavy burden that the blackbird places on its shoulders (do birds have shoulders?) His task is that of forcing observation upon us. While most of his victims seem to respond with as much, or more venom - they are only responding to the mirror. The shaken fist at the bird? It is directed inward, of course, almost as if to say "Gah! You are right, Blackbird, I know. I have been awful and ignorant, and I have spent years heaped upon years walking on this same street to lunch every single day and haven't even noticed that cloud up there up there, or any others for that matter, or even the way the light reflects and bounces between the buildings that line this street like huge marble and glass walls. Yes, Bird, I am angry. I have been an unobservant participant of nature, I have not enmeshed myself in the tangled vines of life, I have not wiped the dirt into my pores as opposed to cleaning it from them, I am a bad person of this world. I hate myself." They, though, being people, can't express this at all and thus turn and simply shake a stupid fist at a blackbird. He's a harbinger, a real life sign and symbol, and all day long (between 9 and 5) he forces the people to face their neglect. His successive pecks delivered to the crown of their collective heads can be viewed as a nice reminder to look up, or at least watch where you are walking - shed the cocoon!
And, to wet the appetite: coming soon will be a profile on a rare specimen and fellow member of the Bird Gang... the Bower Bird! Yes, he is a special one and deserves the individual spotlight for his efforts in the combinational pursuit of purposeful thieving and illegal building - this guy is known for stealing things and constructing houses on land that does not belong to him. Not only a squatter, but a totally DIY architect!
