bird in the compost bin

sup birders,

in class we’ve been using this creative writing technique called “worm in the compost bin” where you take a chunk of text and go down through it and pull out words to make a poem.

bird worm

my favorite bird is the secretary bird, so I’m going to burrow through a chunk of text all about em and find some worms.

distantly unlike most
over looking
spend on them

wow, this kind of blows chunks/sucks tail feathers/tastes like worms. you win some, you lose some. this worm has escaped me.

ya bird binch,

Jocelyn

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brace your ear holes

hello birders,

I lost my voice, which naturally means that I have tried out all kinds of screeches and caws and chirps. and it turns out, I sound so good that I called a hawk over during my swim at Whatcom Falls today. listen to my hellacious, ear piercing bird calls for yourself! (edit: I’m tryna figure out how to insert my voice memos, be patient with me pls)

ya bird binch,

Jocelyn

twitter: birdsrightsactivist

hello birders,

it’s been a while because I’m a bird brain who likes to bask in the sun and fluff my feathers. to get you reaquainted with the bird world, I invite you to take a look at my favorite twitter account, birdsrightsactivist @ProBirdRights !!! you will grow affectionate toward bread, croissants, and corn. check out my personal highlight reel from this lil bird’s twitter below

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ya bird binch,

Jocelyn

birds are obscene fuckers

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sup birders,

so, I’m taking this really weird but great class called The Art of Compost (or more officially, Multi-Genre Creative Writing) and our hw for the evening is to listen to bird calls and translate them into “human.”

EXCEPT ALL I CAN HEAR ARE OBSCENITIES. THESE BINCHES HAVE THE DIRTIEST BEAKS.

listen to the calls here and find the birds I have translated below !

1. white-throated sparrow (the tamest of the bunch)

please please you may / please please release / hear hear me

2. American crow

fuck u dum prick / why u even here / fuck u get out now

3. blue jay

bleat for fun / or none

4. northern cardinal

*catcalls* / fuck you fuck you fuck you

5. common raven

twat twat twat / twat twat / twat twat twat

I think this says a lot more about me than the birds tbh…like srsly, what do you hear? are there this many obscenities when you listen?

ya bird binch,

Jocelyn

default gifts — what’s yours?

hey birders (can I call you bird brains?),

ok but really, bird brain is a term of endearment.

anywho, today I went thrifting with my GMa Julie and my aunt Esther — both of whom are total thrift nuts and could spend hours looking at knitting books and mags. during our excursion to Portland’s grimy bins and a nice (?) Goodwill, I was presented with many-a-bird-themed items. my aunt posed the idea that I will forever receive bird gifts, even in ten years when I’m totally over birds (it pains me to say this).

my grandpa will always get crossword puzzles, my brother will forever receive rubix cubes, and my dad will  always have more socks and undershirts than anyone else (because what else do you get a middle aged man who doesn’t like to read or sport?).

and so I’d like to pose the question to you too, bird brains — what is your default gift? is it the origami books you liked when you were 12 but haven’t touched in 5 years? or is it the film cameras you wanted to like but never really wanted to learn how to use and now you have 7 of them but you don’t know how tf to load film? do tell! I hope you have a strange clutter of weird gifts scattered about your room as well!

ya bird binch,

Jocelyn

Snowball vs. ex-boyfriend

hello birders,

recently, a chat window popped up on Facebook from an ex thing of mine who I hadn’t talked to in a few months. curious and a lil weirded out, I clicked on the notification.

“Here’s a cool dancing bird. Thought you might like to see”

Snowball jived in front of me as I reread the message and then read it again. “cool dancing bird like to see here’s a cool bird thought you might like” flashed in my brain loop. the words were neon signs and my eyes just couldn’t seem to adjust. is this who I am now? am I a crazy bird lady? is this how he’s going to remember me? I pondered these questions momentarily, but Snowball’s flailing limbs got the best of me and I found myself bobbing up and down. I caught a glimpse of my hair that actually really fuckin closely resembles Snowball’s hair-do in my vanity mirror.

I dance like a bird. this is who I am. I think I’m cool widdit. and I think Snowball is too.

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ya bird binch,

Jocelyn

ps – who the frick names their bird Snowball???

birbs…who gives a hoot?

so…birds. what about them? where do I begin to explain the compelling, attractive nature of these creatures? can I?

it all started with a mug. nestled behind a slew of mugs emblazoned with company names that probably bit the dust just after they were screened onto identical ceramic fistfuls,  sat an off white mug with a delicate lip and a ring-necked pheasant painted on both sides. by hand. not by a machine. 25¢ seemed more than fair, and I paid at the counter.

this mug travelled with me everywhere. the handle broke off so I superglued it back on. the glaze chipped, so I drink from the other side. now it sits in my cupboard next to two other bird mugs that don’t quite measure up, but come damn near close.

I often ask myself if I actually like birds, the animal, or birds, the ornament. I haven’t quite been able to reach a consensus, but for now, I will continue to add to my collection of bird themed objects. my room is chock-full of them. here’s a gallery featuring images of the birds scattered round my room !!!

ya bird binch,

Jocelyn