There’s been so many geese this year. It’s been sort of unnerving.
We live just at the base of the foothills, here. Colorado’s about halfway between the winter and summer lands of the birds, so twice a year, we get hoards of them wafting through the area.
I’ve been told there’s actually two groups: there’s the Canadian geese who waft down from the north and stop by on lakes and in parks on their way south, and there’s a few flocks of geese who just stick around. Apparently, some enterprising park ranger decided that geese were an attraction, and had their wings clipped one year to keep them around.
I’m not sure I believe it, but I’ve never sat down and researched it.
I mean, the birds are okay. They’re pesky, and they shit everywhere, but they’re alright so long as you don’t piss them off. If you piss them off, get ready to run. Once, while walking with my boss, we heard what sounded like a car with a flat tire driving by, but it turned out to be a pissed-off goose flapping right at us. It was hard to spot head-on, so we didn’t realize until too late, and then we were sprinting for the office building.
So I leave them alone. I like them okay, there’s just too many of them. Each one is a promise of changing seasons, and the more of them that show up, the stronger the premonition of autumn.
Still, I had a dream last night that Hikaru Sulu, the new one, John Cho, fighting geese with that retractable sword of his.
Geese levels: merely unnerving.
Current geese levels: horizon to horizon and also turn up the music.
(I like geese in reasonable amounts. We just have unreasonable amounts of geese)
Geese are pretty savage. I’d imagine a reasonable amount would be two teaspoons, or less.
Promises: Worse Than Geese™
Good morning. Last night I dreamed that new!Sulu was slaying geese for me with his folding katana. It was most satisfying ^^
Geese levels: noise cancelling headphones. -.-
Husky’s gone; drowning out geese with Very Loud Chichester Psalms.
My mental health safe-word is now ‘geese’.
Keeping geese at bay through willful intent. >:T
Train horn echoing across snow woke the geese. Me, I’m clenching my toes because it’s good to be prepared.
Geese taste like bad cereal milk!
Your daily reminder that geese are terrifying hellbeasts that carry death on their wings n.n
Never attribute to malice that which can be easily explained by the horror of geese.
Current geese level: terrifying. Eldrich levels of geese. Honking loud enough to awaken the Old Ones.
A goose is dumb. A thousand geese darkening the horizon is a portent. Mindless honking, individually directionless, collectively unstoppable
A goose is tasty. Geese taste like horror. Acrid tang of ill omens froth
Remember that a goose may be tasty, but geese, darkening the horizon, bear the acrid tang of ill omens.
Geese are horrible beasts that bring the darkness on their wings, inevitable and unstoppable, terror from above. So, no.
Just a reminder that owls are OK
Owls are sort of like if geese got turned inside out and made less evil? Still portentous, still momentous, less terrifying.
But, like, seriously, think about owls, because if you don’t we’re totally hosed.
Everyone has a moment to think about owls. Everyone.
Clarinets are a lot like owls in that you’re thinking of them both now #hoot
I have 13 minutes to remind you to think about owls. Get on it.
Did you know that the Modern Whig Party’s animal is an owl? Good, now you’ve thought about owls.
Reviewing some recordings, and suddenly, a recording of thOUSANDS OF GEESE AND NOW I’M SHIVERING, FEELING THE CLOUD OVERWHELM ME, DEATH ON T
Current geese levels: excruciating terror. Expect pounding heart, tunnel vision, racing thoughts, black outs, blood pouring from ears.
Thin-layer geese chromatography.
Geese are a byproduct of laminar shear stress of two layers of phantasmagorical Newtonian fluids, which is why they’re often seen on a plane
Please spend some time thinking about owls today? Please, it’s for all of our sake.
Please, please think about owls. Our lives depend on it…
Do your part! Contribute to the eventual heat-death of the universe! And think of owls. Please. Too much is at stake.
Each honk a single blasphemous incantation against life itself. And the honking never ceases.
As the dove bears the olive branch so to the goose bears the wand that withers all it touches. A wand of nightshade, core of tainted silver.
The wand is of obscure origin. The goose surely stole it, as malice begets malice. Also they shit everywhere.
Geese, truly some weighty geas we bear. We know not the transgression, the origin. We know not the punishment, only the terror.
Have you thought about owls today? It’s vitally important that we all do our part. Keep us safe, keep us alive, think of owls.
Why are geese so portentous? Why do they cause anxiety? Did I take my meds this morning?
You guys took the wrong thing away from that post about geese. Geese are stupid. There is nothing wrong with geese. They taste okay.
The geese are a metaphor for get fucked.
“I’m not afraid of geese anymore because I can step on them now, I’m big enough.” swoon
Can I just have the comfort of prayer or the ecstasy of signs without the bleak paranoia over geese? #meme
Weird watching myself go phases of different types of withdrawal. Each bit feels different. 1/
Been sober long enough that alcohol is more an abstract thing and withdrawal effects basically gone. 2/
Fluoxetine withdrawal is still dogging me a little, but it’s really mild. Brain zaps, vertigo, and insomnia, but not debilitating 3/
Olanzapine seems to come in two phases, and the ridiculous physical effects are basically done afaict, buuuuut 4/
The mental effects are starting to kick my ass. Visual disturbances, idëation, OCD anxieties, crying jags, and intense waves of paranoia 5/
I’m having the hardest time with the last bit. Sliding back into weird geese/owl territory, but now about my own words and actions 6/
I’m terrified of spilling that on others, and when I do it’s The Worst™, and I have a lot lately, and I just would like to get past that. 7/
I thought I might be going somewhere with this, but I guess not. Just bear with me, I guess :P 8⁄8
Real talk. I’m mostly joking today, but it’s -so easy- and -so comforting- to fall back into the ritual thinking of earlier in life.
Compulsions driving ritual thoughts. It’s like scratching an itch, or a really big stretch.
wall-mounted scrolling Geese-ticker.. “BE ADVISED; GEESE FORECAST LUDICROUS. REMAIN INDOORS.” /sirens
Anxiety needs a theme song! A theme song made entirely of geese.
There’s a certain type of magical, ritualistic thinking that comes with the (near-)psychosis of withdrawal. The kind that comes on you like a compulsion, or like your gag reflex being triggered, and makes you feel like your skin no longer fits.
For me, it’s frequently about birds. For a long while, it was geese. A goose is dumb. A thousand geese darkening the horizon is a portent. Mindless honking, individually directionless, collectively unstoppable. A goose is tasty. Geese taste like horror. Acrid tang of ill omens. Or so it felt at the time.
Then it was owls. It was my duty to think about owls, to encourage others to think about owls. In and of themselves, owls are alright, kind of a take-it-or-leave-it bird, but one must think about them, because the consequences of not thinking about them are beyond imagining. Or so it felt at the time.
And for a bit, it was incantations. “Get fucked,” I’d tell the clouds. I’d tell my thoughts to get fucked, I’d tell sleep to get fucked, I’d tell the tic to get fucked. I had to. I couldn’t not. Or so it felt at the time.
Birds and incantations, it turns out, are common in magical thinking and intrusive thoughts, as well as grids, parallel lines, and food. The comic is a prime example of that. There are aspects of OCD, sure, but it’s beyond just the obsessions and the compulsions, it’s the way that that is expressed in ritual and dire need, the fact that one cannot bear the consequences of NOT performing the ritual. There’s nothing wrong with ritual or magical thinking, nor even birds, incantations, grids, or food. The problem lies in when those are forced on you by your hindbrain until you’re sick.
A friend calls it ‘bruise vision’, and while I can’t explain why, that’s 100% accurate.
I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt, and perhaps it says, “Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.”
— Lewis Carroll
I’ve mentioned ritual before, but I think that’s tied into the larger feeing of portentousness. Ritual is one way to sate that sense of intense meaning surrounding an act or an object.
A goose is dumb. A thousand geese darkening the horizon is a portent. Mindless honking, individually directionless, collectively unstoppable— Makyo (@drab_makyo) February 12, 2014
Any little thing can carry meaning for one person far outweighing what it might mean to others. Something about flocks of geese terrifies me. It’s not a logical fear, it’s a sense of foreboding. It’s not the geese themselves, it’s the concept of geese, the lack of any ritual to solve the problem of geese.
A goose is tasty. Geese taste like horror. Acrid tang of ill omens froth— Makyo (@drab_makyo) February 12, 2014
It’s dumb. Geese are dumb. There’s no reason I should feel any sort of emotion at all surrounding geese, but I do.
Why are geese so portentous? Why do they cause anxiety? Did I take my meds this morning?— Makyo (@drab_makyo) February 12, 2014
Ritual is like that. There is some level of meaning that’s inexpressible except if you can find a way to come at it from the side. Use words like ‘portent’. Describe it as an odor, a sense, a mystery. Ritual and sensation are wily and wary critters that want nothing less than to be identified, pointed out, made plain. You’re supposed to just go along with the ritual and accept the portentous as fact.
“Do you hear the snow against the window-panes, Kitty? How nice and soft it sounds! Just as if some one was kissing the window all over outside. I wonder if the snow LOVES the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, ‘Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.’ And when they wake up in the summer, Kitty, they dress themselves all in green, and dance about – whenever the wind blows – oh, that’s very pretty!” cried Alice, dropping the ball of worsted to clap her hands. “And I do so WISH it was true! I’m sure the woods look sleepy in the autumn, when the leaves are getting brown.”
Lewis Carroll in Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There (1871)