Tuesday, 6 September 2016

Coincidentally beyond coincidence
by the sheer fact of multiplicity.

One for sorrow,
Two for mirth,
Three for a funeral
And four for birth

Magpies line up in the hope of meaningful significance, their message yet ever extended into meaninglessness.

Four and forty birth birds mirthed of the earth. In the tree the sorrow, up the sky we scale. When the sky was hollow we all began to howl: Now was not this a pretty fowl to sing us through the day?



Only when the magpie population attains the critical mass of becoming lumpen - a large entity onto which significant projection may be secured - then will the flock be transformed from the accidental and to the meaningful.
It will be single.
It will be singular noticed. A cursing sponge to sop up all our unease.
This is the point at which a determined eradication programme begins.







No comments:

Post a Comment