Temporary ornithology

Saturday, 27 June, Year 12 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu

A bird up there birds me stay, and sways my tide of ink another way : instead of our usual preoccupations we shall indulge in some temporary ornithology!


What, you thought I was perhaps kidding around ? Ja, ja, so you taught.

But I am not perhaps kidding around, ja ?



The perfectly flat vane bird has nevertheless managed quite an impressive collection of (similarly flat) tinpile.

The great advantage of very flat tin is that you can arrange the various shreds of it into an appearance of volume. The earth seems large for being just a surface, why couldn't this principle be applied by a perfectly thin bird, you think ? Piling shavings upon shavings, each weighing next to nothing and as insubstantial as any bidimensional objects in a threedimensional space ever are, nevertheless a superficial impression of volume -- and even ponderance -- can be induced!

Just so with everything else, it is the fate of worms to inhabit the hollows among pretended roundness and other such pretense to permanence.


The hues of where I live very readily overwhelm the hues of what my camera can capture, and so it does the only possible thing : reduces them to bands of hues, and presents those. It's a summary of hue, if you so... hue hue hue.


Just in case you were worried, yes, I am fine. My needs are being thoroughly seen to, not merely as described, but throughout. In a world bereft of independent human beings, alone with my and mine I enjoy the best possible life one could ever possibly squeeze out of the old discarded lemon.

I do remember, sometimes warmly, I do on occasion reminesce even about the times before the idiots unearthed the Traim Decenii De Impliniri Marete machine for the yet anotherth n-th time, those enchanted ages of yore universally dusted in the gilt sands of time past. "Bucurestii interbelici" or something like that, it used to be called, during the previous installment of "worldwide" & "universal" pantsuitism. I'm not sure what it'll be called now, I'm not even convinced it need be called anything ; I do not perceive value left in the perennial viermi neadormiti, even residualii I mean residually.

But, however thoroughly despicable not to mention irretrievable fucked you sad lot might be, I... I for one I'm fine.


What I do with my time while being fine appears to be a modern rendition of ye olde Francisci : I watch the birds come by. They come to strut, they come to trill, hellbent to impress. What can you do...


Oh right, right, there's also boats. Boats float, away from land. Let's send Hannah to fetch the keys.


Waterfalls and tropical vegetation, shorelines and waves and crabs and... then it's done.

The ponies run, the girls are young, the odds are there to beat. You win a while, and then... it's done.

Your little winning streak, my little winning streak, whatever. It's time for the ministrations. Yet again, and then... it's time to sleep.


  1. You know, I sometimes try to guess what among the immense pile of time shavings any new one I'm currently writing is going to reference. It never gets anywhere, this process, the links form almost always on the second pass, upon re-read.

    Do you re-read what you wrote ? Why ? It's a serious question, it deserves a serious answer -- why do you re-read what you wrote ? Is it to see what included therein might make your mother object ? Are you a sort of Samuel Clemens, writing each night and then sheepishly presenting the products of nightly fever to the morning eye of your wife, for adequate censorship according to a strange role reversal, no longer you the arbiter of the monstrous, indecibly monstrous fruit of her dubious, at best dubious midpore -- but she, somehow, counter-naturally and against all nature, she the arbiter of the strange fruits of your mind ? Do you live like that, a man captive in a dedicated woman's mission for a man alone ? Night and day, day and night, it's been done for people who drink too much you know ?

    Well... what can I say. You're beyond contempt and below any possible discussion, of course ; whereas I... I re-read to find the references, to link the relevant other places. Ramine-asa. []

Category: La pas prin lume
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8 Responses

  1. "Confined to sex, we pressed against the limits of the sea" auzi. Hai ca esti grande, maestre.

  2. Mircea Popescu`s avatar
    Mircea Popescu 
    Saturday, 27 June 2020

    Nuca eu doar cintam&dansam.

  3. Scarlet undertuft defo wins the personality award, though I'm also partial to long distance parrot's perseverant stare into the storm.

    You live your life as if it's real....

  4. Mircea Popescu`s avatar
    Mircea Popescu 
    Monday, 29 June 2020

    I suppose in subsidiary that bird #5 shows precisely why Impressionism is a quaint last-century preoccupation, a thing for children like chess or optoastronomy but otherwise completely unworthy of serious attention today : the micro-eye does it just as well, as an artefact of fringe & marginality.

  5. Painting in general and impressionism in particular aren't replaceable by photography inasmuch as the value was (almost) never correctness, but self-description; that your pictures are accompanied by text makes them able to compete, but alone, the pictures (unposed, unprocessed, etc) cannot communicate much about you.

  6. Mircea Popescu`s avatar
    Mircea Popescu 
    Monday, 29 June 2020

    Why should they communicate anything about me, what am I, a "journalist" from wash-popo ? "The morning was brisk and I had just had my third cup of burnt sienna when there was a knock on the door. It must be Sienna, the model, I thought, and lo it was. She was 5"7 and 125 lbs, her tits so and so and back and forth" ?!

    Let it communicate about the subject, according to the implicit limits of representative possibility, which is precisely what the camera does do and the painter tries to do.

  7. Somehow I remain a lot more interested in Dali, the man, and Dali, the mind, than Dali's stilt-legged elephants, because of Dali's stilt-legged elephants you know?

    The bird is intrinsically interesting, and the camera's capabilities, too. But I'm looking at to the degree I am because it's yours, because something of you exists, somewhere in there, and I am keen to seek it. Maybe that makes me perverse, but hopefully not quite Siennese.

  8. Mircea Popescu`s avatar
    Mircea Popescu 
    Monday, 29 June 2020

    This may very well be your problem ; I don't know I'm interested in Dali's undershorts or used flannels. An elephant that can count to ten is not a remarkable mathematician, and Dali's laundry is not remarkable laundry thereby.

    The bird may be intrinsically interesting, but that's not what the image displays. The camera is certainly intrinsically interesting, and here's why : because when pushed to its limits, it delivers integral and complete a whole current of art. Much like computers deliver whole centuries of piled rational effort in just a few seconds, this camera produced all the impressionism there's ever gonna be any call for, in consideration of a click and a fraction of a watt.

    You may be looking at it because I published it ; but the camera nevertheless made it (also because I pointed it, sure). I was as surprised by the result as anyone, yet it's there as it is, by itself.

    Nobody's conceivably ever going to sit down and figure out by hand the 5000th decimal of pi anymore -- yet if they did, it'd be about them, and their idiosyncratic internals. It wouldn't be interesting to anyone else, not ever again, and so it is here : impressionism may still be an activity for the one hellbent on wasting paints and pigments ; but as far as impressionisms' output is concerned, the going rate's ten square feet to the quarter cent.

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