I heard that birds sing because they’re trying to attract mates. Well the bird outside my window must not be getting laid because he’s keeping me up all night, I can’t get a wink of shuteye. So I figured the faster this bird gets some cloaca, the faster I can get back to my regularly scheduled REM. The problem is–it’s ironic really–this fuckin bird has no game! A gamey son of a bitch with no game. I don’t really blame the other birds for turning their wing, if you could hear the nails-on-chalkboard kind of “singing” I’ve had to put up with from this hapless virgin then you’d understand the kind of hopelessness I’m dealing with here. I don’t even think the open mic night crowd could force out an insincere applause for this screechy flapper. What could I do? My options seemed to be either: let nature take it’s course and put up with night after night of endless croaking from this lonely little weasel, or think of some way to manually intervene. I was getting all worked up, about to go yell at this small, fragile creature of God’s blue Earth in a masculine gesture of regression, when a moment of clarity hit me. I suddenly remembered I’m a grown ass man. I sat back down and decided I was going to let nature take it’s course, whatever that means. And I mean, what does that even mean? For nature to “take its course” when you’re living in a small Juniper tree outside a garden-level apartment outside downtown? Why is he here in the city? Why is he living in a dry shitty Juniper bush outside my dry shitty apartment? Why is this birdbrain having such a hard time finding another birdbrain so he’ll (presumably) stop singing and being so annoying? And lastly, what if he’s just singing because he likes to?
I had a Betta fish once that blew a ton of bubbles, because they make bubble nests when they reach sexual maturity. Sadly, the frothy guy never did get to fill those bubbles with little half-replicas, but he kept blowing those bubbles regardless. And by God he had a great time doing it, long after the chances for him to get any reproductive action in that 5 gallon tank had passed. Anyways, all I’m trying to say is, maybe me and this little shrub have more in common than I assumed at first. After all, on closer inspection we share some of the same core problems: affording better housing, finding love, and working on our musical aspirations without fear of judgment.
I still can’t sleep, but it might be time to go back to the open mics.