Birds Aren't Real, part two
So, the guy who started the Birds Aren’t Real movement (Peter McIndoe) had a few moments in the media recently.
The first is the very nice write-up in the NY Times I linked to in the above sentence, in which he articulates the real message behind the conspiracy theory. “Dealing in the world of misinformation for the past few years, we’ve been really conscious of the line we walk,” he said. “The idea is meant to be so preposterous, but we make sure nothing we’re saying is too realistic. That’s a consideration with coming out of character.”
The article also refers to their activity as “cosplaying conspiracy theories,” a phrase I quite like.
Sadly, in a recent television, when he was asked about his movement, before he could explain he took a big gulp of coffee, and then promptly threw up.
“I’m so nervous,” he said.
The puking was so theatrical and larger than life I suspect it was intentional. When he resumed the interview, he said the coffee was poisoned, a “direct hitjob by the deep state media….I was wondering why the mainstream media swamp was giving us this opportunity to share the feathered gospel with the masses, and now I think I know why. My coffee was poisoned.
"I suspect this was a direct hitjob by the deep state media. Our movement was getting too big and powerful, so they tried to execute the spokesman live on the television news. Me. In front of nations. We are currently testing the coffee liquid for poison or lethal containments. I suspect we will find proof of fowl play."
The horrible punning of “fowl play” kinda confims this is a bid for more publicity. Hey, it worked. Though I’m a little bummed he isn’t explaining what appear to be his true motivations anymore. He’s hungry for his next 15 minutes of fame.
All this is the long way of telling you I’m pretty sure I have Covid.
I’ve not been tested. My wife, also sick, got tested, but we have no results back yet (today, hopefully). She was hit hard, but is doing well now. I spent the entire three day weekend in bed, puking pretty hard (unlike our good friend Mr. McIndoe, mine was not performative) for the first 24 hours, then trying to regain my strength and appetite.
As a result, I’ve had that weird sense of unreality than tends to drift over me when I’m sick and spending most of my time in bed. Nothing seems real. Birds or life or anything, really. I mostly blame the fog of illness, of course. But that’s not all that is going on. I’m living in a liminal space between what my world is now and what it will become. Emerging from the holiday vortex into the real world, I’m passing through the transition between two terribly troubled years, 2021 and 2022. I’m selling my old house as I settle into this new one with my wife. I’m in transition between being a single Dad with kids in the house to a married Dad with kids out and on their own, an employed guy to a retired guy, a faithful employee to full-time writer.
Northing seems real, but I like to think I have a larger tolerance than most for ambiguity and unreality. I spend most of my day writing within a fictional world, and since retirement I encounter fewer breaks from that fictional world. I wake up, read and answer messages, check headlines, but by the time I’m out of bed and brushing my teeth I can picture exactly where I am on the page, and what the next several paragraphs are going to be about. I generally dabble in unreality for the next several hours.
So, birds are probably real, even if our protagonist Mr. McIndoe chickened out at the last second and refused to reveal his true motivations. My life is probably real too, even if it doesn’t feel that way right now. I’ll continue to sit on this couch and type out the paragraphs that have been stacking up in my head since I awoke. I’ll look at my wife, across the room, in the kitchen. The distance between us is hazy and indistinct. That’s the Covid talking, as it messes with my perception. No matter. Mess away, Covid. She’s real. I’m real. Birds are real.
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In writing news, I made an excellent sale last month I STILL can’t talk about yet. Soon hopefully. I’m reading tomorrow during Amy Armstrong’s excellent Stories Live! series. And I’m pretty sure I made an unexpected sale just last night. So, the writing year is starting out well.
I’ll start up links to new stories in next month’s newsletter.
Peace.
