A Murmuration of Starlings

In 1890 a quirky fellow named Eugene Schieffelin, the President of the American Acclimazation Society, a madcap organization bent on introducing new species of critters into areas where they shouldn't be, released 60 common starlings (Sturnus vulgaris) into New York City's Central Park. Although there is no substantiated verification of his motives for this release, the charming legend passed along is that Schieffelin was intent on introducing to the U.S. every bird species that was mentioned in the works of William Shakespeare.

The Starling entered the Bard's world in his play, Henry IV, Part 1 where Hotspur, intent on driving King Henry nuts, thinks employing a starling to speak nothing but "Mortimer", a fellow who Henry refused to spring from prison, might do the trick. "Nay, I'll have a Starling shall be taught to speak nothing but 'Mortimer,'" Hotspur conjures. And that's it, the short entrance and exit of the starling in the works of Shakespeare. But, that whisper of a mention was enough for Schieffelin. Off the pesky little buggers went from England into America's wild blue yonder and they've never turned back. In fact, I'm certain that Shieffelin would be surprised at how these native European birds thrived in England's former colony, having grown to a population today of nearly 150 million in North America.

Now, Starlings aren't all that remarkable in size, demeanor or sound:  eight inches long, glossy metallic black with occasional white speckles, a gift for mimicry and collective noise but not much of a crooner. They are rather gregarious birds and love to roost collectively in large groups, which is cause for concern if you happen to be near a roosting zone. But, there is something rather remarkable and magical about these non-native interlopers; when danger calls they fly in a formation of sorts known as a murmuration, which defies imagination. To watch them in flight as a collective pulse, upwards of thousands of members in balletic and undulating clouds is breathtaking.While their murmurations seem to defy ornithologists full understanding, the best guess is that each individual bird responds to the seven closest neighbors in formation and adjusts flight accordingly. There is no leader of the pack or "head starling". This unique way of communication, referred to as "scale-free correlation" allows each individual starling to communicate to those around it, adjusting to changes in their behavioral state, such as a predatory threat. One bird affects and is affected by that of all the other members of the group, no matter the size. The result is a shape shifting cloud of exquisite dimensions. Truly a wonder of the natural world.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iRNqhi2ka9k

Stopping On The Way To The Slaughterhouse

Hershey Kiss was on his way,
Devout in stance
Trusting eyes comforted by the others
Sure that he was headed somewhere
But not there, surely not there.
After all, he had a flair,
Although the others weren't aware
They were mighty,
Powerful yet powerless
To where they were heading,
Loin to loin, barely able to move
Aching legs spent, ready for a rest,
Now pleasing no one.
Hershey Kiss never knew that life of the others
He was of them but different.
They left him alone.
The truck stopped, a ruckus on the road
An arm waving furiously from a car window.
They were all slightly interested.
A woman, a voice he liked. Soothing.
He was nervous, after all.
All of them were. Muscles taut
Shining to a glisten under a cicada sun.
He was too short to see them talking. But, he heard them.
The tailgate opened, a great creaking that frightened him.
The others didn't seem to mind. They were eating.
The man pulled the rope around his neck
Hershey Kiss flinched, a searing twist toward the tailgate
His steps down the ramp tentative,
Frightened to leave, unkindness kept him moving,
Away from the others, toward her.
For she was there, the gentle voice.
She took off the rope and he followed her.

Time to Go - A Rap by DJ TazzieDog

No power. Does it matter? Fuck, yeah, the trickle down gloom permeates your existence, their insistence that power is theirs alone dooms your water boy, say girl, stature, capturing the best years of your life, strife with condescension lapping up their pasteurized rapture, their ascension to capture the brass ring. Well, it’s time for inclusion, break into the boardroom. No keys? Fuck the “please” the “Yes sir”

Oh the pratter, the power broker chatter that dispenses what does and what doesn’t matter, shallow souls 

dilettante toads croaking out loads of ribbeting snippets of self-serving prose. It’s time to go. It’s way past time to go.

Thank You Note To Hillary Clinton

Dear Hillary- i miss you already. I didn't realize what a steady presence you were in my life until you disappeared. I was excited to know you were out taking a hike with your dogs recently, the first spotting since our ugly election and thought how refreshing it must have been to have that hike reported as just a hike, rather than a final walk before your brain tumor takes you out, or hmm, those hiking shoes are hiding a severe pronation problem due to debilitating scoliosis, or you were secretly meeting in the woods with a Goldman Sachs official to pick up a cache of money stashed away in the hollow of a dead tree. It was just a walk and I wish I were the woman who, by good fortune, came across your path. I would have said "thank you" for these years of dedication and hard work for the causes you believe in. Most people don't take the time to get personally involved in the causes that stir their hearts. You are one of the rare ones who has dedicated your life to working for the "others"; the working class, women, children, families, those who have no voice. You have been their champion and are certainly mine. I'm sure you are worried about the direction our country is about to take, as i and the majority of our citizens who voted for you are. So, please, even though it is understandable if you wanted to leave the country and tell the media and the politicians and the pundits and the entire republican party to "fuck off" , please don't. We still need you. We are scared and angry and need your steadiness and experience to guide us through this shitfest we are about to enter. Perhaps being outside of the political circle will allow you to have greater clout, free from the unbridled scrutiny into every aspect of your life. I don't know where the vitriol toward you comes from but you must have been hitting buttons and sending off red flags, making those who should be uneasy, uneasy. Something about your strength and female moxie, no doubt. The non-scandals you were put through and the unfounded nonsense that was used as a distraction to keep the country focused on trivia rather than substance, were weathered by you in a dignified and grittingly graceful way. Now, we are in quite a pickel and must reap what we sowed. I, for one, want you to know that I had nothing to do with this travesty of an election other than defending you, arguing for you and voting for you. And while i did get a bit caught up in the first woman president narrative i supported you because of your values, leadership, experience, talent and intelligence. The woman thing was just a bonus. I feel a tremendous sense of loss that you won't be our 45th president and instead we will be stuck in a reality nightmare with a two-bit charlatan and his entourage of characters right out of Mad Magazine. We really don't deserve you but we need you. Please don't be a stranger, be our firebrand.
With all the admiration i can muster through the tears, i am respectfully yours, Laurel.  p.s.  In order to cope with the election results and to help quell the anger by morphing it into activism i have started a group at my workplace called, Coffee with Hillary. I work at the University of California, San Diego and know many co-workers and students who are experiencing depressed states of mind similar to mine. So, the idea is to meet every two months to have a political therapy session, share ideas on how to combat the nasty things coming down the pike and activate. I use your name as our inspiration. I hope the concept will catch on at other campuses and that it's OK with you.

Marjorie, Summer of '16

The will to live is gripping
White knuckled so,
Round after round after round
Another blow
Why me, why has this happened?
Yet on she goes,
I.V. drip of confusion
Nothing she chose
Save, for the intervention
Too scared to close
Her life, her breath, her everything
So on it grows
The will, the life-gripping will,
Only she knows.

Drumpf Unhinged - A Rap by DJ TazzieDog

Drumpf morphed into Trump
A sump pump of toxic waste
Saving face, cloaking disgrace
Hate dumped into the space
Of the white, angry males
Who hail hearty from the lies
Of this cynical swine
His ballyhooed brand of
Business acumen
Just a flim flam scam
Devised to master them
With his cheshire grin
And simplistic spin
He riles the unrulies
Unhinged fools he's foolin'
With his "Make America Great"
Hate mottoed on caps
The saps bow down to his
Fuckface antics, the fanatics
Hear his vitriol call of
"Build the wall, Build the wall"
Bait and switch for the dispossessed
The underbellied festering
Mess of bigotry who follow his plea

All the while his tongue 'n cheek
Lays claim to headlines
Which is all he seeks
Parsimonious pageantry a new low
In this election a go-go
Freak show

Honoring Rachel Carson - A Rap by DJ TazzieDog

She set the scene for a silent spring
No singing, no trilling
No tweeting nor milling
About the bath
No splash nor preening
The "Fable for Tomorrow"
Cut all dreams from dreaming
Her perspicuous bite
Of prose mightily right
Frightened the toxin purveyors
Intent on disarming the bitch
Whose science turned snitch
And narc'd on the bastards
Disaster ensued for the Dupont brood
As their pesticides rained from the skies
Imbued with a blanket of lies
Complaints would arise from a public
Apprised of the demise of their
American pastoral
And she was on it, was Rachel C
Before Congress she whipped the ass of DDT
Like white on rice
She sacrificed a quiet life
Free from the strife of hard hitting
All hands on deck dickheads
Researching the fuck
Through their eco-sucking muck
Dichloro, Diphenyl, Trichloroethane
An evil axis defiling the terrain
With a greed filled game
She was hip to the sleaze
Breezed through chats with JFK
Pointing out the science and the facts
The need to act without delay
She laid it on the line
Did Rachel C.
And the EPA is her legacy.