Deeply Thinking Seagulls: Part 5

A Valentine's Edition of Deeply Thinking Seagulls. Thanks to complete stranger Mark Hancock for inspiring me to continue this pointless endeavor.

Valentine’s Day approaches again – that foolish human invention that profits by exploiting another absurd invention: “true love.” Mankind is like a never-ending human centipede – ingesting with its mouth the soiled and diluted outpourings of its own anus. And happy to do it, yes sir! Pathetic.

Still, I suppose this is as sufficient a time as any for some yearly reflection – on intimacy; on companionship; and yes, yes, okay – on romance. My dear god*, even one as cynical as I at times wants for that familiar stirring of desire’s strange brew…Hang on – is that a DEAD WORM CARCASS?!? No. Sorry, false alarm…

On romance then. My question is as follows: does any truth lie within that trite phrase scrawled by a dying human in a film who's title I've forgotten? Is "happiness only real when shared?"

No…no. NO. I REJECT THE PREMISE that I – Thelonius Stonewall Proust III – that I am not enough for myself. I do not need. The word need itself begs for something – a weakening of the proverbial heartstrings. It is the song of the siren of death. The death of the soul. Okay, that IS a dead worm carcass. I better go snatch it up before the tide comes in. L’sigh. It’s just as well. A small bite always makes me feel better. Or I should say…it always makes me feel. Perhaps afterwards I’ll go nosh on a sea star.

I am so alone.

*Though an atheist, I don’t deny myself the figure of speech

Deeply Thinking Seagulls: Part 4

Thanks to Kristin Speranza for the photo! Happy Thanksgiving, three people who read my blog!




"I'm thankful that the arbitrary needle on the wheel of Man's will landed on 'turkey' instead of 'seagull' when he was planning an annual genocide. Thanks a lot, Man. You fucking hypocrite."

Deeply Thinking Seagulls: Part 3

Once in a while,* I get caught in this cyclical pattern of existential pondering. It vacillates between - at worst - bemusement at the foolish joke us seagulls know as "life," and - at best - a deep reverence for the sensations of interconnectedness that wash over me like so many droplets of the vast ocean I call my home.** And between these inexorable trail ends that mark the path of consciousness for all higher beings, I fill in the gaps with the actions I suppose are expected of me. And I'm becoming increasingly aware that therein lies the evidence supporting a more dismal perspective. To wit: I fly. I eat. I poop. I fly. I eat. I poop. I FLY. I EAT. I POOP. I FLY!!! I EAT!!! I POOP!!!!!

Sometimes I want to kill myself.


*I refer (of course) to a seagull 'while,' not a human 'while,' which is (quite unjustly) five times (or more!) longer on average.
**It's possible I am the only creature to be comforted by his home in such an active manner! ;)

Deeply Thinking Seagulls: Part 2

Enjoy this installment of Deeply Thinking Seagulls from iamledgin guest blogger Justin Shanes...

"How do I say this without sounding self-loathing? Without the other gulls dismissing me as fretful or, worse yet: haughty! But watching these humans, I can’t help but register a feeling of… envy. Pitching and bobbing among the undulating waves… kicking up fat chunks of sand as they frolick along the shore… sharing a kiss above plush striped towels. They all seem so positively happy. And what of me? This is my home. I live and breathe this beach. Why do I not derive the same pleasure from the plangent crash of the waves at low tide? Why do I not giggle at the burrowing crabs?

Don’t get me wrong. I still revel in the sight of a torn garbage bag, the loosed contents offering up delicious morsels of mayo-gobbed tuna fish. Nor am I too proud to enjoy the perfect deployment of fecal matter atop a baby’s head or the bridge of a chattering debutante’s nose. But such moments are the exception. The rule, I’m afraid, is a gray and secular monotony.

Perhaps the answer is simple: you’re jaded, Cecile. Yet there are seagulls here twice – nay, three times – as old as I am, and from them I hear no complaints. So, then, maybe a simpler answer: you’re flawed. Not the universe, not this existence. You. Cecile. Damaged goods. The one that flew over the cuckoo’s nest.

No! I shall not accept that. That’s what society wants me to think. That seagulls are good for ransacking toppled pails and cacophonic squawking and nothing else. Is it hubris to aspire to something more than that? Oh, the cruel irony, that humans view these wings as symbols of freedom. My wings are shackles! That they are adorned with feathers makes it none the less so.

I’ll probably do nothing. Shake off these dark thoughts and live to nosedive for errant bread crust another day. That’s the sad part. That even after admitting this there is no catharsis. This confession has meant nothing. A little girl with sunburned shoulders is spilling Fritos out of an oversized bag. I supposed I should go jockey for a bite…."

Deeply Thinking Seagulls: Part 1

"What is this impenetrable mystery we call 'ocean?'...What secrets does it hide?...I could really go for stale bread crust right now...Is there a God?"

Thoughts to Get You Through Your Shitty Day

A THOUGHT ON RACISM

Always remember that 'bigot' is just an 'idi' away from 'big idiot.' What's an 'idi'? I don't know, ask a Jew or an Asian. They're pretty smart.

A THOUGHT ON THE GREAT BEYOND

I always thought the coolest explanation of our existence would be if we're just some tiny organism in a much bigger organism's universe - like the way we are to ants. But if you were to explain to an ant what goes on up here, I'll bet the ant would be like "Oh." So maybe we shouldn't spend so much time wondering what's out there. It's probably super boring.

A THOUGHT ON POOPING YOUR PANTS
Here's what to do if you farted and think you might have pooped your pants. Step 1: check to see if you pooped your pants. Step 2: if yes, wash hands; if no, probably wash hands. Now you know.

I am a super deep thinker.

I am Ledgin.