IN WHICH A PIGEON ALSO SEES VISIONS; CRASHES HARE’S “SCENE”.
“Pigeon can teach us how to find our way back to the security of home. It can help you remember and find the love of home that was lost. If a Pigeon totem comes to you, ask yourself if you have forgotten your foundation, your heritage. Return to your home, your foundation, and draw upon the loving energies surrounding them. In times of strife, huddle together with your family and draw upon its strength. Pigeon reminds us of the possibility of a loving and safe home.”
As I explained to a dear friend, much to his amusement – tipping my cap to the statue of the smiling prince who looks over the city – the pidgeon is the people’s bird. Comfortable in its humbleness, it does not want for much, but perhaps a slice of bread to be tossed in his direction…with love and grace, if you can muster it. I met a pigeon once. At my father’s request, I removed my feet from off the table and when in search of my fortune in the capital. The pigeon was perched on top of a discarded apple; pecking and pecking at it while all the while rolling around, trying to find the brakes. I watched for a moment as the pigeon skillfully circumventilated pedestrians and bicycles, before colliding with a rubbish bin.
I went to ask if he was hurt. “Just a few scratches!” he said
“Oh that’s okay then” I replied with relief!
“HA!” he exclaimed, arrogantly “Of course it’s not. How exactly do you scratch a feather! Can you believe this guy?!? Listen, fleshboy, gimme some bread and get out your annoying nose-beak out of my face”
I was quite taken aback. There was a large group of identically-besuited lawyers with bowler hats wanting to get into the office behind me, and they weren’t going to wait around. I eventually managed to clear the grunting mass of ties, and found myselfable to talk to the pigeon once again, without the need to shout.
“I haven’t got any bread”, I explained.
“AWHAT?” he shouted, boorishly. “No bread! This is a crying shame my friend. I use the term loosely – I hate your face – but listen to me, kid, you gotta get yourself some bread…”
“I’m going in search of my fortune”, I said.
“And so you should boy…a boy like you, all pale faced and English-looking, fresh out of mothers nest, dreams yet to be broken, heart yet to go sour…I pity you, I really do, but theres nothing I can do to help…”
“Acctually I didn’t…”
“This is a journey you must make alone. It will be a magnificent danger, frought with adventure! and opportunities for sin! untold pleasure! Japanese schoolgirls! But mind how you go. For mice will nibble at your lips, bats will suck out your eyes! Bats or leeches! It hardly matters! the pain is equal in both cases!”
“OH OKAY THEN! I WILL ASSIST YOU!”
The pigeon then instructed me to close my eyes and, behind closed eyes, to close my eyes again. He explained that, believe it or not, there is a patron Saint of Television, who saw visions projected on the ceiling above her. It was Clare who taught the pigeon, by means of a quirky, achingly postmodern vision-within-a-vision thing, to viddy the old Mind-TV himself. Now, said the pigeon, I’ve attached some pictures.
I began to feel nautuos, yet strangely aroused. My heart grew slower, and my tonsils stopped. Things became brighter, more animated and talkative. Then it felt as if my brain was downloading. Although I had never experienced such a ‘direct download’ before, I knew what it was instantly. And because pigeons are generally quite harmless – even those who slip in and out of bad New-Yawk-or-something accents – I had no reason to be afraid.
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“Oh my.” I said, unconvincingly. “That was a very pretty vision, indeed. But what does it mean?”
“What am I some kinda mystic potsy? getouttahere! whatsamatterwityou?getmea CAWFEE!”
“Toodelo. Mind how you go.”
“You really are a strange bird”
“Yea, anddon’tyoozefogetit asshole!…goodfurnothing punk! getouttahere!”