Thus Spoke the One-Eyed Bird
On Nietzsche's Zarathustra and Pursuing Chaos over Numbness
This past fall I spent three weeks farm-sitting watching a few horses, some dogs, and a one-eyed cockatoo. On the first day, that one-eyed cockatoo, named Cracker, squawked and screamed—sometimes in rapid-fire rhythm like a car siren and other times suddenly, randomly, singularly like an overexcited sorority girl. Being quite sensitive to sounds and coming off months of other strange adventures I wondered if, yes, this is how I was going to slip into madness. Will this be my Jack Torrance winter? Will this farmhouse be my Overlook?
