DoingKermit said:
Hahah, yeah I remember seeing this some time back. Amazing the diversity of what's out there and how they go about their lives.
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For Intezam (bird thread)
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Hahah, yeah I remember seeing this some time back. Amazing the diversity of what's out there and how they go about their lives.
Godsmacker
Rising Star
:d 
Intezam said:knock knock
Amazing,thank you.
You say you dream of bird talk?
Well, that's not too far off for this beautiful Corvus..[YOUTUBE]
Godsmacker
Rising Star
[YOUTUBE]
Intezam said:Tatt said:
(goood boooooooyeeeeeeee!!!!!!!)
Just watched that video you linked.
That's pretty awesome. Funny how over time we gather more and more information on how intelligent these birds actually are. The whole 'watching your eyes' and 'paying attention to where you're looking' is fascinating.
That part where they're using tools :shock: like, regardless of 'theory of mind' 'or just ingrained inherent patterning' ..they're still doing it regardless [using tools] and the fact that they do and do it extremely effectively [and making their own tools also!] is pretty astounding.
downwardsfromzero
Boundary condition
Lowering the bar a little...
[YOUTUBE]
[YOUTUBE]
downwardsfromzero
Boundary condition
Come on, have the decency 
[YOUTUBE]
Felnik said:
[YOUTUBE]
someblackguy
Rising Star
Birdie hop (he do). He hop along...
[YOUTUBE]
First time I heard this I was peaking. Dissociated from the world, my body, reality, awash in a flood of subconscious material, lost but still somewhow "losing it" when I heard a voice sing-songing in broken stream of consciousness, this madcap e e cummings icaro: broken and fragile nonsense carrying on and nonetheless: "he hop along..."
"Who the hell is this?" I was appalled. Somehow I was able to make words. I'm me... that's me talking.
I'm hearing this. This is from a real recording...? Jesus, someone is singing this? I found myself laughing; really laughing. What I was hearing was so strange (and so familiar) that it brought me back from the schizophrenic nether reaches like being woken up from a nightmare about malevolent bells to the salvation of a real-life fire alarm. Out of dissolution, awoken by an oddness beyond my oddness and now laughing in jags—did James Joyce write nursery rhymes, who would set them to music? Pieces of the consensus world came back: the fact of music, albums, being on drugs, what is typical and atypical human behavior, each one only raising more and more hard facts to address the situation, genres, the singer-songwriter 70s, transcendentalism, free-verse, the effects of LSD... nothing would contextualize the novelty away until I—as there was enough to call "I" by then—concluded this was truly, objectively strange. Who would sing this, and most of all who would record this? How did this happen?
The question was not just how did someone think of this song (as unlikely as that is to begin with, we'll get back to that later), rather how in the world did this stuff make it down on paper... then record?... Honestly did someone lose their everloving mind then inexplicably pause to take song notes before continuing about their psychotic break, quick delusion before meeting with your agent and EMI execs for Koreanopian fusion and renegotiating appearances fees? What I was hearing was not the kind of crazy you could turn on and off like that or take a break from. This was a formal thought disorder, not a walking tour of St. Peters'; you can't just take a gelato break to look for the secret passages to DaVinci's growroom, or practice your Latin with some cute Jesuit, then meet back up with the tour group under the apotheosis of Christ. Nah, that's permanent: "I see the flies..." He did.
Seriously how am I hearing this? It was so crazy beautiful raw ridiculous and... private like twin languages or babytalk. It was like something that perhaps we shouldn't be listening to, something privileged like patient notes of a psychologist, a found sketchbook or someone's journal; this was private information. This wasn't just crazy; this was vulnerable and profane, superhuman and helpless. This was great.
My mate: "This is Syd Barret."
And that was even funnier. I laughed (something incomprehensible in the depersonalized shellshock I had been feeling just before). I laughed, because it was funny. I lost my breath, this was just too much. I had forgotten how things could be so funny, downright hilarious: "...aloney bird upon the window..." the crazy diamond intoned.
"This..." by now I could hardly speak,"this is Sid Barrett?"
I'd been a Pink Floyd fan for years; the first album I ever bought as a kid was Dark Side but this... My mate joined in laughing not only from the medicine of the song but my own sudden recovery from existential "situation mode" into gleeful hysterics. The voice of someone straddling madness and genius had guided me back to myself from myself, and I was grateful for the laugh. Still am.
Syd Barret: "...he 'hee.'"
sbg: wtf lololollolollolol:lol:
[YOUTUBE]
"Who the hell is this?" I was appalled. Somehow I was able to make words. I'm me... that's me talking.
I'm hearing this. This is from a real recording...? Jesus, someone is singing this? I found myself laughing; really laughing. What I was hearing was so strange (and so familiar) that it brought me back from the schizophrenic nether reaches like being woken up from a nightmare about malevolent bells to the salvation of a real-life fire alarm. Out of dissolution, awoken by an oddness beyond my oddness and now laughing in jags—did James Joyce write nursery rhymes, who would set them to music? Pieces of the consensus world came back: the fact of music, albums, being on drugs, what is typical and atypical human behavior, each one only raising more and more hard facts to address the situation, genres, the singer-songwriter 70s, transcendentalism, free-verse, the effects of LSD... nothing would contextualize the novelty away until I—as there was enough to call "I" by then—concluded this was truly, objectively strange. Who would sing this, and most of all who would record this? How did this happen?
The question was not just how did someone think of this song (as unlikely as that is to begin with, we'll get back to that later), rather how in the world did this stuff make it down on paper... then record?... Honestly did someone lose their everloving mind then inexplicably pause to take song notes before continuing about their psychotic break, quick delusion before meeting with your agent and EMI execs for Koreanopian fusion and renegotiating appearances fees? What I was hearing was not the kind of crazy you could turn on and off like that or take a break from. This was a formal thought disorder, not a walking tour of St. Peters'; you can't just take a gelato break to look for the secret passages to DaVinci's growroom, or practice your Latin with some cute Jesuit, then meet back up with the tour group under the apotheosis of Christ. Nah, that's permanent: "I see the flies..." He did.
Seriously how am I hearing this? It was so crazy beautiful raw ridiculous and... private like twin languages or babytalk. It was like something that perhaps we shouldn't be listening to, something privileged like patient notes of a psychologist, a found sketchbook or someone's journal; this was private information. This wasn't just crazy; this was vulnerable and profane, superhuman and helpless. This was great.
My mate: "This is Syd Barret."
And that was even funnier. I laughed (something incomprehensible in the depersonalized shellshock I had been feeling just before). I laughed, because it was funny. I lost my breath, this was just too much. I had forgotten how things could be so funny, downright hilarious: "...aloney bird upon the window..." the crazy diamond intoned.
"This..." by now I could hardly speak,"this is Sid Barrett?"
I'd been a Pink Floyd fan for years; the first album I ever bought as a kid was Dark Side but this... My mate joined in laughing not only from the medicine of the song but my own sudden recovery from existential "situation mode" into gleeful hysterics. The voice of someone straddling madness and genius had guided me back to myself from myself, and I was grateful for the laugh. Still am.
Syd Barret: "...he 'hee.'"
sbg: wtf lololollolollolol:lol:
downwardsfromzero
Boundary condition
And thank you to someblackguy for rescuing the thread. Syd Barrett was the definition of fractured genius, and that was also a superb piece of writing, sbg!
Intezam
Rising Star
the original songs that inspired the wornd: (birndnesss)
PsyDuckmonkey
witch
Baby hooded crow... I just love these birds.
Where i am, they're everywhere. Same family of crow, i think.
Edit:
Can't upload pics from my phone (my bad) so google calocitta formosa if you want to see those beautiful birds.
Edit:
Can't upload pics from my phone (my bad) so google calocitta formosa if you want to see those beautiful birds.
Swayambhu
Rising Star
Funny- I was moved to post something here about birds.
Yesterday I saw a magpie and a collared dove fighting.
That's unusual enough, even more so as the dove would not have been nesting and thus not protecting its eggs or young, but also the symbolism was quite striking; The dove, symbol of love and peace, fighting a lone magpie. Magpies are seen as emissaries of Lucifer, and though they can also symbolise good things, in folk augury a lone magpie represents sorrow;
"One for sorrow…".
We always salute the magpie. You cannot escape their observation, and there's no point in trying, so I guess it's best to acknowledge them with politeness.
I thought this was a very rich metaphor for our times, the dove battling the magpie.
But then, the metaphor transformed into something richer still;
It appeared that a second magpie, perhaps a mate, was observing the fight, and when the scuffle was over, the two magpies flew away.
"Two for joy…".
Feeling himself victorious, the collared dove did a little "pouty dance" on his branch, puffed up, proud little shit.
The "pouty pigeon" is a metaphor for a man who makes himself ridiculous by his preening attempts to attract females.
I thought this a very fitting metaphor for the vapid esteem in which we hold romantic (i.e. sexual, fawning, needy) love as the premium sort of love, and how this version of love is sold to us so concertedly, and how this situation works actively to chase away the truer, enduring, harder love born of fortitude, knowledge, higher vision.
Also there is the fact that the collared dove is an introduced species, but I leave that out of the metaphor because such observations smack of identity politics these days, though it would lend it content & context.
Anyway, these thoughts were largely informed by a vision I had (while stoned) some years ago concerning the nature of love in the Christian context, how it was not what most people think it is.
Anyway, I wanted to chime in as a fellow bird-lover.
My wife tells me my animal totem is the seagull...
Yesterday I saw a magpie and a collared dove fighting.
That's unusual enough, even more so as the dove would not have been nesting and thus not protecting its eggs or young, but also the symbolism was quite striking; The dove, symbol of love and peace, fighting a lone magpie. Magpies are seen as emissaries of Lucifer, and though they can also symbolise good things, in folk augury a lone magpie represents sorrow;
"One for sorrow…".
We always salute the magpie. You cannot escape their observation, and there's no point in trying, so I guess it's best to acknowledge them with politeness.
I thought this was a very rich metaphor for our times, the dove battling the magpie.
But then, the metaphor transformed into something richer still;
It appeared that a second magpie, perhaps a mate, was observing the fight, and when the scuffle was over, the two magpies flew away.
"Two for joy…".
Feeling himself victorious, the collared dove did a little "pouty dance" on his branch, puffed up, proud little shit.
The "pouty pigeon" is a metaphor for a man who makes himself ridiculous by his preening attempts to attract females.
I thought this a very fitting metaphor for the vapid esteem in which we hold romantic (i.e. sexual, fawning, needy) love as the premium sort of love, and how this version of love is sold to us so concertedly, and how this situation works actively to chase away the truer, enduring, harder love born of fortitude, knowledge, higher vision.
Also there is the fact that the collared dove is an introduced species, but I leave that out of the metaphor because such observations smack of identity politics these days, though it would lend it content & context.
Anyway, these thoughts were largely informed by a vision I had (while stoned) some years ago concerning the nature of love in the Christian context, how it was not what most people think it is.
Anyway, I wanted to chime in as a fellow bird-lover.
My wife tells me my animal totem is the seagull...