the pigeon rant

To me, it would suck to be a pigeon. I’ll tell you why. Being a pigeon is
one profession that prides itself in normalcy, obesity, and a survival of
the fittest approach to life. If the next man gets to that piece of bread
before you do, you’re ass out w/ no bread until you find another, and if you
slowgas it to that crumb you’ll be ass out again.

There is no help ‘yo brothaman out’ to get something to eat. The worst is
that everyone looks alike, wears the same clothes, the same shoes, etc… To
be different is to be cursed and everyone else will let you know about it.
And it’s usually that different pigeon that will gain the most and grow to
be somebody special because they’ve led a life of being different, being
picked on and surviving despite all the obstacles they might have crossed.

I had this realization when I saw my man, the white and brown spotted
pigeon, on my way to work. He was flying around scavengering for food w/out
any homies. (Is ‘scavengering’ even a word?) He was missing toes on one of
his feet which caused to have this sorta gangsta leanish walk, feathers were
all ruffled and shit, and he had one of his eyes all jacked up probably from
being pecked at from the rest of the crew. It’s a doggie dog world if
you’re a pigeon. To be different is to bring everyone around you that tries
to be different down to your level.

The worst would be hanging out with an entire community which prides itself
on shitting wherever you want. Could you imagine if everyone just dropped
their pants and shit all over the place all the time, and it was a societal
norm? I might have to move to the roof of a McDonalds or some slippery shit
where there wouldn’t be a whole bunch of folks.

I must admit, I hate pigeons. To me they’re like flying rats. I’ve been
trying to kick one for about the past 4 years. I’ve only succeeded once
though. Just when you think you’ve snuck up on one, he flies just beyond
the reach of your foot. Those lil’ Carl Lewis mother fuckers make you think
you’re going to get them though.

Now that I think of it, I think I work with a bunch of pigeons. As soon as
a brotha tries to push up and be that nail that breaks through on some
different shit, there everyone is, surrounding me with hammers in their
hands, fighting to be the first one to beat ya down. Too many people are
content with collecting that paycheck, collecting whatever crumbs are thrown
to them, but not the spotted pigeon. He’s doing his own thing, stepping out
on his own terms. There will be days when it would be in his advantage to
have the support of the group to find a few crumbs here and there, but one
day he’ll find a thrown out burrito. When he does, he’ll have it all to
himself. He won’t have to share it with any of his grey suit wearing
comrades.

Come to think of it, those spots I saw, just might be a little leftover hot
sauce.

Here’s to the spotted ones.

May you live to see the dawn.

-c

CD of the moment: Digable Planets - "Blowout Comb"