Philosophy 0.0000101
First off, sorry. There's still no pictures. Bear (or bare, whichever) with me on this. I promise my holiday snaps include one of my brother walking on water and pretending to be Jesus.
I am a bad girl, and self-flagellation shall be forthcoming.
Secondly, my condolances go to Acci. Fred was a wonderful little guy, and the best millipede I ever knew.
Now. Here's a thought. Treasure it, because they don't come along very often.
When I headed back to work yesterday morning, there was no sign of any Dead Pigeon activity (you know what I mean) under the BDP. It looked like there had been nary a one in all of the time I was away. The pavements were coated in poo and little feathers, but there were no signs of actual fights, gouging, maiming, or death. Curious, hmmm?
By the time I was walking home, there was a Squished Dead Pigeon in the road, three white feathers upstretched in a morbid flag of surrender.
Now, you know that thing about observing, and the act of observing changing the observee (obviously, I'm paraphrasing here)? Is it only my act of observation that causes their deaths?
I'm sure I could put something about Schrodinger's Cat in here somewhere, but I'm happy even if I get to use the word paradoxical. Which I just did. Although it isn't. Well, the cat may be, but I'm pretty sure the Pigeons aren't.
Ow. My head.
Oh, and purchases at the art gallery shop yesterday consisted of postcards, which I shall scan for you when I am at home, a book of reprints of vintage Halloween images, and a very beautiful sketchbook, which I am afraid to draw in just in case I ruin it.
Woo! Rambling!
posted by Hieronymous Anonymous @ 4:02 pm
12 comments
12 Comments:
Why do birds fall down from the sky
Every time you walk by?
Just like me
They long to be
Close to you.
:) So glad you're home, sweetcheeks. I missed you guys. :)
Now, you know that thing about observing, and the act of observing changing the observee (obviously, I'm paraphrasing here)? Is it only my act of observation that causes their deaths?
Well well, the Copenhagen interpretation of Niels Bohr. You are a clever girl indeed!
*blush*
Noni and Chary, you're too sweet.
Well, this time.
And LaMa, there's more to me than a pretty blog, y'know.
And LaMa, there's more to me than a pretty blog, y'know.
I know honey, I know....
There's also big boots.
Boots. I need a pair.
There is another possibility with the dead pigeons. Rather than you causing them, maybe they're causing you! Think about that. While there were dead pigeons in town, you were in town. When there were no dead pigeons, you were gone.
So here's my theory: the pigeon population there has gradually developed into an organized society. Along with such traditional tribal activities as warring with neighbours (e.g.: the seagulls) and having social gatherings, they have created a new religion. By sacrificing the occasional pigeon, they have summoned the Great Spirit, Hieronymus! They grew decadent and careless of their rites, though, and neglected to perform the proper rituals and sacrifices for a while, and so were summoned to England by a rival pigeon cult. Finding themselves suddenly bereft of their guardian spirit, the Bridge of Dead Pigeons cult renewed their rites. Obviously they have the true form of the religion, while the English pigeons are some sort of heretics, because you were drawn back to the Scottish pigeons.
My other theory is that while you're sleeping you transform into a werepigeon and terrorize the local birdies, leaving their dismembered corpses under the bridge as gruesome trophies of your rampaging and pillaging. You haven't noticed any stray feathers in your bedsheets, have you?
Interesting theory, Acci...It does seem as though Dead Pigeons are required for the existence of Hieronymus, and Hieronymus needs to be present for the existence of DP...how else would we get our BDP fix though?
How else? Well. . .find a bridge, scatter some birdseed, and hide in ambush nearby with some croquet mallets? It just wouldn't be the same, though, without Hieronymus' front-line reporting and the mysterious M's vivid viscera photographs.
Fascinating theories, Acci.
I'm relatively sure I'm not a werepigeon, although it makes for a decent explanation as to why my hair is so tangled first thing in the morning.
I do love the other explanation, though. Hmmmm, I wonder if they have a temple or shrine.
Temple? Shrine? PIGEONS??? Actually pigeons are quite intelligent sometimes. I saw one baffle a cat simply by walking a few steps out of the way.
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