BUGS BUNNY VERSUS THE PIGEONS
Dramatic monologue (Dave Bluefield)
Ok, come on in. Thank you for responding to my distress call.
Let's hook this thing up and pray that it works.
You know for the first 6 months I had no problem at all with the pigeons at my apartment here at the beach. Apparently the fake owls on the roof above and balcony below were keeping them away. But then they found me.Then they targeted my balcony. Everyday. Every 10 minutes. Shit shit shit and more shit.
First I called the apartment manager and he came right over with a fake owl of my own. I filled it with sand so it wouldn't fall over the balcony, and waited. One hour. Two hours. Nothing, No pigeons.Then suddenly, these same two pesky flying rats had returned to my balcony with renewed vigor. Every 10 minutes. Landing right next to my new owl. How adorable. Like long lost friends.
Next I would try a rubber band gun. The plan was to sneak up on those noisy disease carriers and blast them off the ledge. But before I would buy either the expensive Smith & Wesson or Star Trek versions online, I would try regular rubber bands first. Snap. Missed. Snap again. Missed again. Snap right into my wrist. Ouch. Those pesky birds were much too quick for the lousy shot I apparently was- I needed something with a wider range.Water.
So, option two in my Bugs Bunny versus the Pigeon Nemesis cartoon was I would drench them with a water tommy-gun.
First, I tested it by throwing water from a glass, but they out ran it every single time and never felt a drop. With a blaster from ToysR Us I realized I could cause some collateral damage on poor unsuspecting folks walking peacefully below me, so, still believing the owl's repellant powers would magically return, I would wait one
more day before getting the top of the line AK47. Then I saw it.
As I waded through the fresh pigeon shit to look around, there it was- tucked neatly and quietly in the corner, in an area partially covered by a lawn chair, a nest with a baby pigeons egg resting on top. Can you believe it?….those two pigeons were a couple of love birds making a baby-shitter at my house. Now what?
I quickly tossed the nest over the side and watched the twigs fly all apart, the egg breaking open to feed a horde of hungry Seagulls. I felt guilty for all of 3 seconds. Then I waited again. Day one. Day two. Day three. Some hope. And, then, on day 4, like nothing at all was amiss, the pigeons returned. Shit shit and shit.
And another nest! And another egg. This time in the other corner. And another hurling of both nest and egg to the ground below, this time yelling "Get the fuck off my balcony" .The people in the parking lot below me were thinking
that I was going crazy and they were right.
The tenant downstairs gave me some pigeon deterring spikes, that did not work. Another tenant downstairs had solved the problem with netting, but that would be too costly. I want to be able to look out over my balcony not be trapped inside it. Fuck those birds for ruining my life.
So I channelled my inner Bugs Bunny and ratcheted things up.I would leave the screen-door ajar and have a broom waiting for me on the balcony. Then I would ever so quietly grab the broom and sneak up on the unsuspecting turd droppers like Babe Ruth and Bambino them off into space. But all I did was whiff. And whiff again while the venders in the parking lot below laughed heartily at my pathetic attempts to hit a moving target. And now, with the screen-door open, those tiny-brained bastards actually flew into my apartment to shit some more, only this time on my couch!
Stop laughing. This is serious. I only told you this so you can see how desperately I need this high-pitched noise-emitter deterrent to work. You say it's been on this whole time? Well, so far so good. Oh, do you hear that?
It's those new next door neighbors of mine. Yelling. Shouting. Screaming."Get your pigeon-shitting asses the fuck off of my balcony!"
Far out. Thank you noise-emitter. Hey I wonder if those neighbor kids would be interested in a good deal on a hardly used fake owl.
Wait. A few days later the noise-emitter had been knocked over the top of the balcony wall only to splatter on the pavement below.
Now what? I friend of mine told me about a pigeon solution that worked for his buddy in Florida. Fishing line ! Extended acrossabout 2-3 inches apart would surely work. I went to a store and got the line and hooks to attach it and lo and behold I had a barrier.
I say on the couch looking out and sure enough a pigeon approached only to hold up and be repelled by the force field-it worked. I could hear the "screeeeech" of pigeon brakes. But not so fast- the next day I saw the same old pigeon shit on the ground with several remnants of pigeon feathers left behind on the fishing line...yes they flew through the openings sacrificing feathers to get to my side and shit in peace.
God help me. I moved. I come around every once in a while and see that the new tenant has taken down the fishing line- the fool.The cartoon continues only I get to see it from the perspective of a viewer instead of the participant...whoopee.
by David Bluefield
I must say I almost quit and snuck back to my room as the nearly 2000 people from around the world were moving briskly in the Maui nite sky towards The Firewalk , the grand finale of the week long empowerment seminar.
Over and over I repeated it. My assigned Buddy was doing his job of lifting me up and reminding me to keep saying it again. Over and over the phrase "cool moss", perhaps 7 thousand times since early this morning, when we began preparing for the barefoot 50' walk across hot burning coals.
The morning started easy enough at 9 am-this after a week's worth of world-famous speakers touting their expertise on overcoming fears and being the best you can be. But today I realized the entire week was to prepare all 2000 of us mentally for the 5-second fear-facing event.
So, what is this "cool" "moss"? To me, it was tricking the brain to imagine the cool wonderfully soothing feeling of squishing moss on the bottom of the feet
that would repel the reality of searing heat
and perhaps this would be enough of a buffer to prevent severe burning.
I get it, the classic case of mind over matter and the power of positive yearning.
But would it? There had to more. There was.
You invented very own personal Ninja warrior that would appear at the instant of great peril and would deflect any adversary. Mine came right out of a Bruce Lee movie and I felt invincible as I imagined myself as a Ninja master preparing for the battle of feet versus flame. Then, we selected our buddies from among our own team of 50. Mine was Haas from Austria- he spoke very broken English and during the week leading up to the "walk" our team had several activities and Haas and I became quick friends and he always made me laugh with the way he would turn a phrase completely on it's head.
The buddies were supposed to pump each other up and say things like "you can do it" . Haas would sound positively Swartzeneggerian with "you con doowit"
Really, are you kidding?
Is this a leap of faith I need to make
to realize it is ok to take
a risk despite the potentially disastrous consequences? Some people did burn their feet you know. Would I be one of them? Could I even go through with this?
So, I seriously considered
dropping back and out of sight
in the black Hawaiian night
with the blazing bonfire and the wild conga drums creating a building frenzy of mad desire.
Surely I would not be missed. Cool moss cool moss.
But then there I was next in line and before I could even think to bolt there I went speeding up… cool moss cool moss cool moss cool moss….very fast, very straight, head up, no stopping, no tripping ...cool moss cool moss!!!!!!
I did it ! !!!!!!!!!!!!!
and so did Haas and it was so empowering
and everybody felt fantastic
and we all went to bed that night feeling quite triumphant.
Until the next day, our last day our final meal
with our new fantastic friends our teammates from around the world talking about the Firewalk, proudly displaying our new big 6" 'round red button saying in big bold black letters "I did it" and we all did it -how good it felt and then Haas asked an innocent question:
…."Vat is dis kullmahs?"
apparently not understanding "cool" or "moss"
or the critical connection between the two - not one bit.
and yet -he "did it" too.
Maybe it was his Ninja warrior that got him through
A PLANT THAT GETS YOU BY
by David Bluefield
-a letter from the Hemp Collective
To the Special Guardian's Committee
Department of Change and Reform
The Secretary of Malarky and Martinis
and the guise of keeping freedom warm
We piss moan hope and pray
for the means with which to cope each day
for ways to use our collective voice
to pick and choose and make a real choice
NOT options untold for
agendas are sold
with messages blurred
window or aisle
single double file
satellite or cable
chicken or fish
just cards on the table
grant us this wish
to guard the guardians
guided by the word
of BUD from the earth
shaken but never stirred
BACK FROM THE DREAD TRAPEZE BOY
Character poem - Back from the Dread (D.Bluefield)
Amidst the crowded clutter
amongst the flea-market crowd
I spied him hiding in a corner
calling me clear and loud
-A paper-mache clown boy
holding the ropes of a trapeze
with a gaze of purest joy
like he was swinging in a breeze
-Billowed color-spreckled shirt
puffy pants of periwinkle blue
with vest and little orange hat
on his wavy blonde hairdoo
You'ill be coming home with me
where I'll be taking you
to my balcony that overlooks the sea
you're gonna love the view
-The glorious mighty Pacific
each nite a sunset to behold
swingin' side to side you'll be terrific
total freedom to unfold
sand-blowing, tiles-rattling heavy winds
would turn you upside down
hanging by just one tasseled foot
what a trick my puppet clown
-I would've put you upright in place
but to the hordes of tourists below
Such amazing balance and grace
was like the climax to your show
the winds persisted blowing
too strong for paper mache
and the bottom of your billowed pants
ripped nearly completely away
leaving only paper pieces of your butt up on the seat
it's time come back inside it's time for us to meet
The grin still on your face
you're shoulders in a shrug
arms up and out without the ropes in place
you are offering me a hug
my universe gone to seed
sprouting flea market dude
sent to give me what I need
a positive attitude.
BETTY BOOP LIVES ON
When I was just a lad of 9,
I heard a fable 'bout a King
who wished to give his 9 year old boy
A birthday gift only a King could bring.
The Lighting of potential
the Thunder of your voice
And just like 9 yr old little Davey
The freedom to choose your wonder
the distance of your choice
The both of us you see
just loved to hear loud noises.
The louder the better
like cascading stones
exploding your body
invading your bones
Every day throughout the Castle
were whistles, crashes, bangs and bursts
but no noise however loud
could quench the child's thirst.
And as each loud noise was never loud enough
The son grew sadder as his spirit spiraled
from glad to bad to worst
So dad the King had an idea so grand
the likes of which had never ever been done
As the Kingdom's clock tower shall strike at noon
on the 10th birthday of his son-
EVERYONE would combine to make
the loudest sound ever heard by anyone
the greatest birthday present of all time
had finally been found
All Pots, pans, horns and hammers
glass, metal, and all that clammers
was acquired in anticipation of the
big noise-making day.
But then people started talking.
Quietly. Conspiringly. Over backyard fences,
neighbor to neighbor a conversation not about
what noisemakers to get…
but about what noise-makers
not to bring at all!
"I don't see what difference it would make
if I didn't participate" or "Surely the sound would be
loud enough without me making any sound at all"
At the agreed upon 12:00 moment
on the King's son's 10th birthday,
NARY a sound was heard
except for the 12 lonely strikes
from the Kingdom's clock
and the tweet of a heart-sick bird
-The world's loudest sound
became the loudest thud.
How disappointed was I - little Davey
9 year old me so sad and blue
hoping to experience that vicarious thrill
of a big bang on my 10th birthday, too.
What would that sound be like I wondered?
How long would it last?
Would it be more like a boom
Would it be more like a crash?
I waited all this time, deep into my adulthood,
to find out - and it happened last Saturday,
t'was my vast miniature piano
collection I was preparing to display
At least 300 mostly music-boxes;
made of porcelain, glass, metal and wood,
and even tootsie-rolls standing where piano legs should
With piano players from frogs,
dogs cats and clowns
to N'Orleans jazz "cats",
and debutantes in flowing pink gowns
Dressed in blues, browns, purples and greens
all sorts of Renaissance figurines
And the personal favorite from all my groups
in her bright red sexy dresses were my
all my Betty Boops.
Acquired from catalogs, swap meets, and antique shops
from as far away as France,
These music boxes and their melodies
shared a special circumstance
From "Happy Birthday" to "Fur Elise",
- all recalling memories of my past for me.
All of them arranged by shape and kind
Looking resplendent and beautifully aligned
on 3 long shelves held up by two strips
firmly attached to the studs in the wallSurely
they could never fall
Or so I thought.
but last Saturday at 12:00
on somebody's 10th birthday,
I found out - they were not!
I entered my apartment, shut the door,
the vibrations made a chain- reaction
the likes of which I had never seen before.
Starting with the top shelf, and moving
began a ballet of destruction blow by blow by blow
As the right-side vertical pulled away from the wall,
the pianos dropped like Humpty-Dumpty's historic fall.
Cascading crashing down
into smithereens of porcelain and glass.
But I would fight off my frown
and let go of these possessions from my past.
And then the music-boxes began to play
and play and play
the world's most cacophonous sound.
all at once
going round and round and round
"from Frere Jacques" to ","Twinkle twinkle little star"
so many tunes to comprehend
"how I wonder what you are".
No Please don't ever end.
"Mary had a little lamb"
"fly me to the moon"
"the eensy weensy spider"
going and out of tune
auld lang syne
row row rowing my boat
gently down the stream
merrily merrily merrily merrily
to a zip a dee doo dah dream
Even "Take me out to the Ballgame",
- one long and loud last gasp from,
a piano made from miniature baseballs
and several packs of gum
"Jingle bells", "you are my sunshine"
"Moonlight Sonata" too
"Happy Birthday-dear Davey
Happy Birthday to you"