Tag Archives: avian mysteries

Hello! Since 2014 I have “written” and “published” two books. They are the first two volumes from a series called SMALL BIRDSONGS, hardcovers both industrial and vaguely elegant in design. They are sturdy and pleasant and look different, bless me, than the sort of books you’d find in bookstores. They are small-run signed-and-numbered affairs, you understand.


Both books contain many unorthodox and vaguely artful bird photographs. Both books contain many prose-poetries written by a “character” who is obsessed by these things:

1) problems and solutions

2) the birds of one’s birthplace

3) other people and how to live among them



4) the hopeful idea that in this life, little things mean a lot

5) brains and hearts and how they compare to stone and water

6) obsessions and compulsions and how these potential problems can be reexamined and reconstructed so as to help instead of hinder



7) dreaming while asleep and awake

8) the sweet science of repetition and routine

8) love (yes, love!) in its many bonkers forms

9) purpose, possibility, piety, and perspective!



If any of the sweet beans or polished mulchers wish to get hold of these birdbooks, please do let me know. Scant copies remain and I am eager to get them into hands both agreeable and appropriate. Thank you always; love only!


In pursuit of education by the waterside, etc.

Some of the good local whimbrels, in May. It’s no grand skyline here in T.O., but hoo boy, those whimbrels don’t worry about architectural aesthetics so probably neither should I!


Yes yes, we see mallards everywhere and by now I’ll bet they bore you worse than geese or pigeons, but if you saw one today for the first time, you would be astonished by that marvelous greentop, you’d be singing devotional duck songs all the way home!


And finally, an early migrant from early Springtime! The most common of warblers, yes yes, but if you’ve given up on the common birds then you’ve given up on life and love and education and you might as well get yourself a spoon and bucket of worms and tell yourself “This is the only dinner I deserve”. Please remember every day: the common birds have the most to teach us, as long as we let ourselves learn from them!



One of the good local woodpeckers, seen in a sweetpocket of greens and winter twiggery

I am snitching in my shitboots, greencoat, and rucksack. Children point their fingers at the featherbrained shlemiel as he lumps along the waterways!

When I was twenty-three I wrote a very short “children’s story” about a terminally ill manchild named “Birdo the Hockey Ox” who wore a “stained and fetid hockey jersey with a maple leaf right where his enormous belly was which sometimes he patted.” He spent all his remaining time in the kitchen with his frazzled mother, ate nothing but “onion cookies” which were her specialty, and made circles around “his screaming white cat,” only to collapse on the floor from addled exhaustion.
Hubba hubba!
Anyhow, here is a very late yellowlegs and some rocks and a branch, happily seen in one of Toronto’s gloomier duckponds