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Interests: Librarianship, DDC, Darkness, Irony, Evil, Melancholia, Black Bile, Victoriana, Latin, Vaudeville, Haberdashery, Self-depreciation, Abjection, Intertextuality, Sublimity, The Sacred and Profane (mostly profane), Finches, Art, Art History, Writing, Atavism, Entropy, Ennui, Sociopaths, undead, Zombies, Grammar, Trash, Black Metal, Goth, Philosophy, Creativity, Dark Paganism, History, Indulgence, Literature, H.P. Lovecraft, Music, Mythology, Cccult, Pentagrams, Catholic, Edgar Allen Poe, Poetry, Psychology, Parapsychology, Religion, Satan, crystals, Satanic Bibles, Satanic Witches, Ghosts, Satanic Mechanic, Caspar David Friedrich, The Church of Satan, The Satanic Bible, Cryptozoology, Chupacabra, Wicca
Expertise: Darkness and The Dewey Decimal System
Industry: Frustrated, Inc.
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|Honestly, the last thing I remember is hatching that confounded Devilgotchi.|
|I got an iPod and I hate to be "that guy" but it has seriously revolutionized my life. Now, instead of blatantly ignoring people, I just wear my iPod whenever possible and I honestly don't hear what anyone is saying to me. |
A highly recommend accessory for anyone who is dead inside like I am.
|Any Young Adult librarian who has not added this book to his or her library's collection should take the following recommended course of action:|
Or at least quit your job and stop embarrassing yourself...
|Contrary to the ASSumptions of the masses, I did not meet Podacus at PetsMart; I met him in a grove at dusk. Podacus was at a tender age when everything in the world is bright and shiny and love is quite literally carried on every breeze. I, on the other hand was jaded as ever and practicing my talent.|
Yeah so ... Podacus was doped up on pheromones and horny as hell and I was the current state bird-call champion. Maybe it was unavoidable that we would meet.
It's true though -- for whatever reason I am gifted with the ability to call pretty much any bird. I don't even practice really. Now, contests aren't really my style but Death is and these contests always lead to commissions from hunting parties. Rich old men with a taste for blood would pay me to call birds within range. The birds appear and are shot out of the air, taxidermied faster than you can say "creepy hobby" and the idolatry begins. It' all rather romantic really...
Back to the grove. I was there calling mallards when I heard a funny chirp off in the distance. (Will says this is "projecting", but to me it sounded desperate and alone.) I knew it was some sort of finch but I wasn't exactly sure what type. I did my best to mimic it and before long, there was Podacus. (I later learned he was a Purple Finch.) He was obviously young -- clumsy flying, underdeveloped plumage, annoying. You remember those awkward teen years, right?
We chatted a bit. Podacus was very charming and displayed for me while simultaneously picking at his toes and vent. The courtship continued though it became even more questionable. Frankly, Podacus wasn't a very good caller. Some days he brought me seeds and others he would just shit on me.
We met like this for a few weeks and finally it was decided that he should just move in. I know some birds mate for life, but in this case it may have just been ennui or the approaching winter that prompted Podacus' interest in cohabitation. Either way, I think we suit each other ... if for no other reason than at least because black and purple go nicely together.
|Podacus had a serious night fright last evening -- I have no idea what scared him so but I hope it was a ghost -- living in this old drafty house should have at least one perk. Anyway, he was thrashing something fierce and flying into the walls of his cage so badly it is a miracle he broke just a few feathers. The little guy will be looking a little ragged for a month or so.|
I will be picking seeds and feathers out of my bed for days.