Melancholia

Summer drains steadily away, and I have taken to my cave. They say the hollows boom. (It is I, my pacing.) Let the hollows boom! Let those above-ground know-nothings speculate and blink. Let them feel uneasy at the thought of the dark heart under their feet. It is the diet of melancholy I feast on: peacocks and pigeons and all fenny fowl as ducks, geese, swans, herns, cranes, coots, didappers, waterhens, with teals, curs, sheldrakes, and peckled fowls. Burton says, "Though these be fair in feathers, pleasant in taste, and have a good outside (like hypocrites), white in plumes, their flesh is hard, black, unwholeseome, dangerous, melancholy meat." All the better for Halibut. Bring on the Hypocrites, and I will slit open their unwholesome bellies.

Summer Birdwatching

Halibut has returned from his travels. It's not easy folding one's person into a moderate-sized airplane neck pillow (black and furry, real 'rabbit'). Yet, to save airfare, it was worth it. In fact, since I don't do money, it was the only way. Place before yourself the horrid temptation, swatted away over the course of more than 9 hours each way, of sinking claws deliciously into the fat neck of the fare-paying human. 'Oooo, your pillow vibrates, darling!' That was a suppressed hiss, not a purr, Cretino.

So why did I do it? To see new sights, to smell new smells. To sample the blood of birds on a whole new continent. The earth is dying, my days grow fewer. So thought I, what the hell?

And do you know what I found? Life, fecundity, maniacal cheeping everywhere. Our avian tidbits are doing fine -- at least wherever I was stalking this past summer. Squealing arabesques of jackdaws in North Yorkshire, but in Uppsala too. They wheeled in vasty numbers, above the old university and the cathedral, seeking their evening roost, so many that their stink reached me on the ground. I rubbed my way round the runestones, hoping that one would fall my way. But they didn't even shit on me.

Lolgoon

moar funny pictures

Halibut succumbs to LOL

moar funny pictures">

Halibut's tastes are savory salty campy

You may think that Halibut is only interested in blood, bone, and the chewy bits between. But no. Halibut occasionally drops in on theology, poetry, and amusing songs. The spectacle of human fooling about and dabbling around divert him from his relentless round of bloodsport. The singer Max Raabe, for instance, is very much to his taste. (And, yes, I also know the version by that other human, Freddie Mercury.)




Also excellent is "Klonen kann sich lohnen". Tiere, Obst, und Bohnen -- und Personen!

(Aber Katzen nicht, natürlich.)

Halibut goes back to poetry

I wandered through the sitting room on the way to use the bog and overheard a dreary piece of human noise called the Inaguration Poem. Halibut, and quite a number of discerning humans, have commented on this (see above).