nablopomo

nablopomo

I dreamed last night of birds, and have been desperately trying to avoid the draw of symbolism ever since, knowing full well that the contents, while under pressure, are nevertheless rooted in actual events of the past week variety. I am trying to say that I am a hero, but only when others are not around. A desperately wasted talent, unless you have wings. I saw a streak of white pass very close to my head and sure enough, I was unable to draw the origin of this species from my limited library of feathered friendlies. Underneath the juniper I saw a budgerigar, very tiny and pale.

I reached for it, and it flew directly into the glass frame of the door that keeps my office safely ensconced from the world without, handy in times of inclement weather, and clement alike. A second time into the glass, and the falsely named parakeet was in a bad way. It hobbled inside when the door, automatically enabled for the physically impaired, but used mostly by able-bodied folks with packages, mostly soy lattes and the like, who use the soles of their shoes to strike the red button in the heart of its cherry center. Whoosh, says the door, and the tiny bird crawls behind a magazine stand. Shape, the July Issue, if you must know.

Eventually, I am able to wrest the griffin-like creature from its laminate lair, and the result is a very happy co-worker, who named the happily tamed beast after the Korean word for Hope.

NOW WITH CLIFFS NOTES
Last week, I caught a parakeet on my way to work.

MEANING
In this post, the author uses symbolism and linear devices such as shrubs, glass and mystical creatures to convey feelings of helplessness with others. The parable of the glass, in particular, points to the protagonist’s past failings in trying to assist those closest to him, kept from the task by an unseen element (the ‘glass’). The scene with the handicapped button is the author’s way of saying, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, just use your hand to open the goddamned door.”