The Evolution of the Quantum State

-:-

Potters bake the molecules of earth together to reform as manmade rock. Any potter longs to deepen that connection with fire, and the energy of life.

Amateur making of ceramic ware has in the West almost universally been taken over by the electric kiln. It's a toaster, you switch it on. It controls the temperature. Exactly. The fire it gives is universal fire, ie. heat from it's 'elements'. But alas, the flame is gone. So is the smoke, and the crackle and roar. The electric kiln supplies heat,  but alas the love is gone.

But it need not be the case. For the electric kiln is an invitation to potters everywhere to deepen their understanding of fire, of energy, and where it comes from and how it's made. We must know that to get that kiln to heat up, a fire is burning somewhere, in boiler supplying steam to a giant turbine, which turns the generators powering our city, or a nuclear reactor, or even our own sun producing the rainfall that turns water pressure into electricity.

Fire must be sought out, in a civilization that is afraid of flame.

-:-

At the other side of the world,
where light is a different color,
the sound of a bell may be larger,
than a giant submarine
Don't doubt that beings watched as each of us died.

You fall without complaining
past the skirts of something new,
and leak a bit of it as love,
radiation to feed my soul.

-:-

Technology, mathematics, and science functions as reins of a slower moving coach, that of our social organizations, and the state.

We have seen how the digital revolution has inverted notions of privacy. Today the average person is happy to share personal photographs and data, with any person on the globe using Instagram.

We've noticed how the digital revolution has affected our system of elections, exposing them to electronic hacking from across the globe.

We've observed the digitization of money, and how the true value of trusted stores of wealth, the dollar, the pound and others, have endured runaway inflation, interest accrued digitally.

We know the wealthy retreat into fearful isolation, into the counting house of their personal computers, where they measure wealth in shares of companies, with a very abstract total in dollars. Yet the dollar, and the stock in corporations are all fictitious wealth, less real than trees or fresh air, or a drink of cold water when it is hot.

Despite these drawbacks, it is also clear there is no turning back, no readmission to a pre-digital world, despite our laments for a rosy hued era of manual typewriters, of quill pens and ink.

Each of these changes to our media, towards pen and paper after impressing information on clay tablets, has brought about a own corresponding stress and change to our systems of government, to our cherished philosophies, and art. In short change is just that, change, and it disrupts everything. The disruptions are difficult, but we long for progress.

The pre-digital age took us to the frontiers of space, it saw the birth of the most terrible weapons of mass destruction, and World Wars without precedent in which the death tolls were in the many tens of millions.

We've seen governments unable to comprehend protests of it's people. When fairly elected officials, such as Macron of France, is the object of ridicule and is promised to be overthrown by the very voters that put him in power months after he's taken office, despite a record faithful to the campaign platform that elected him.

I've spent my life interested in how new forms of thinking are ushered in by new technologies, and newfound knowledge of nature, and am going to propose in this essay that a series of radical, perhaps violent, perhaps not, revolutions are about to take place, because of one simple fact. The machinery of the state, of systems of rule in Western Democracies and former Socialist republics both, is broken, and beyond repair.

I hope with the observations made here to be able to offer an understanding of the forces facing modern man on the face of a very crowded, very polluted and seemingly overpopulated planet.

-:-

For quite some time I've felt that my attraction to ceramics, actually an attraction to clay itself, was due to something fundamental and physical, as if all the physical laws governing matter have conspired to make it impossible to invent beauty.

Or soul.

The soul of mankind may be independent of our bodies, and similarly, the beauty we perceive in the natural world, and sometimes in objects of our own design, may not actually be something we ourselves invent at all.

It may exist, not necessarily pre-made, not necessarily in a Platonic, other invisible world sense, but in the very plausible sense that if nothing cannot exist, then all existence and all existences must exist also, and with it all manifestations of soul, light and beauty included.

We and what we make are there as a natural expansion to our exponents of having soul. That which accompanies our material bodies through life must by virtue of that exponential power, create things which are beautiful and independent of matter themselves. Soul begets soul.

This postulate I wish to test against several aspects which usually accompany such accolades as beauty, perfection, and life. To do this we will need to perform a number of thought experiments

-:-

I'll have to sweep up the ashes
Can't you see?

Ribbons are on tour,
You see, mine his everyone's
There isn't a place where I could show you what's really happening?

Al these questions, so futile,

-:-

Can Darwinian Mechanics account for the Complexity of Conscious LIfe?

Examine a virus . . . it’s fairly obvious how a virus grows and reproduces. Yes it mutates, but it’s a survival of the fittest situation, and thus viruses and bacteria (less so in my opinion) are perfect subjects for applying the principles of Darwinian evolution. Whole populations come into being do their simple one way ‘script’ of infecting or whatever and then die. But it’s a kind of xerox machine where the copy has a coat.

But a more complex machine than that will evolve many programs with steps, just as our cells and organs have many well learned programs that they run continuously that keep us alive.

How the hell science ever thought that the simplest bit of science applied to a virus could account for all the rest of life .  . . no way.

That is why the defense of Darwin in itself is sounding like a religion.

Complex organisms have achieved some amazing and breathtaking evolutions, that I don’t believe Darwinian mechanics, ie theory of natural selection, fully describes the evolutionary process.

The red flag to Darwin, is the exceptional evolutionary speeds of consciousness/costume/charisma . . . . and by that I mean consciousness is a paradigm that simply CANNOT be produced computationally by a one way kluge like the virus, that simply reproduces dies reproduces according to a one-way script without feedback loops.

I’m suggesting that according to POTTER MECHANICS our DNA represents the code for a truly complex biological computer that is calculating, yes calculating outcomes by changing our metabolisms, our conscious and cognitive abilities, as well as the composition of our gametes.

Another example: The incredible SPEED with which birds evolved feathers and very unique feather and behavioural displays that are intrinsically linked, suggesting in some way that behavior has some mechanism by which it effects our offspring’s genome.

We just assume that our gametes reflect in a Medelian sort of fashion, our DNA. But who has counted the genes in our sperm, not just one, but millions to see if the percentages are the same as they would be with a virus. I don’t believe they are, and I think the only way our bodies could computationally ‘favor’ a mutation on one area rather than another is by some trick of protein folding, and that that process, viewed from the perspective of the entire organism, is a computer.

There have to be other computational functions performed by our DNA other than the protein production and reproduction mechanisms of classical genetics. Our DNA is funtioning as a computer, and all that junk . . . . is code.

See the virus represents a one way machine. It is a bot making more bots. But even in the virus there has to be some bio-feedback mechanisms at play. They just have to be discovered.

I’m saying that if we admitt our DNA to be a computer of sorts, if we accpt a data model of biological life, then that model has to admitt that complexities of a very high order are at least going to be many magnitudes more complicated than the most advanced computers.

Yet to be more complicated, to respond to the environment, to environmental change particularly quickly enough to sustain the high cost of a brain and a conscious mind, that to do that our organisms need an ability to change themselves far more quickly than Darwinian Mechanics would predict.

In short I’m saying that evolution is too simplistic, and too mechanistic to be able to evolve a species at the rates we see. Billions of years to get photosynthesis and then all this in just microseconds, off a mechanism that relies entirely  on such simplistic mechanisms as those proposed by Darwin.

Yes they are there but our bodies have to have a way of recieving data from the environment and making changes to the genenome, or essentially speeding up the process in the same way that a breeder speeds up the acquisition of certain traits.

Yet more complex organisms have the opportunity that only complex organisms have, and that is to run a kind fo full feedback loop between the environment and mechanisms of reproduction.

 . . .  but there have to be some ‘tricks’ of protein folding that essentially use the ‘data’ in our genome run a script. This is logical, because that’s what happens when proteins are made. The script I’m talking about is something much more fundemental and is exploiting the computational protential of all our DNA to essentially ‘stack the odds’ when it comes to gamete creation. I’m not sure how this is happenening, but something like it has to be happening. In other words our DNA is a form of computer, more advanced than we’ve credited it to date, that using the body as a host machine. I don’t need to be proven wrong, because if this is not in the news in the next few years I am wrong, because definititionally for my idea to work there’d have to be bio-feedback from the environment to the computational potential in our DNA. I’m not saying genes because we haven’t mapped genes everywhare on our DNA. And nor have we taken into account what happens when proteins and DNA folds, unexpectedly.

IIf a simple automobile can have a status report printed out at the dealer, then from an organism as complicated as a human being you would expect something more than just assembly line evolutionary methods.

f you had a car, that was as complex and incredible as say a human being . . . it would certainly be able to run a status report on itself at any time. This is logical. No organism of such complexity can emerge without information flow back from the enviornment. Yes we have it in ‘Mommy I feel sick’ and those sort of system notices. But what happens to our gamete production when we actually get sick. And what happens when we exhert ourselves in long distance running. Wouldn’t it be absolutely logical for the gamete production logic to get a message that ‘whatever you’ve got in the metabolism improvement category time to run that one now!” and this doesn’t just speed sugar uptake, but rather it changes, albeit slightly the gamete composition. It is not random and Medelian.

That’s my theory. . . . . and all I have to suggest it is the incredibly rapid evolutionary progress of complex organisms. How is it that humans evolved much more quickly than the reptiles . . . . in an extinction event it’s the survivors of those that can change the characteristics of their offspring that have the best chance of passing on yes I’ll say it . . . . genes and much more than genes.

My Little Gull Raven

"I had a Little Gull named Raven, I flew to call her Myna,
She made sounds like a Crow, although she was pretty as a White Rump-ed Shama.
Knot a Sapsucker, or a Flycatcher, or the Least bit a-Do-Witcher,
She was just a Rhea Cutia, a purty little Redhead-ed Tanager.
An Orange-breasted Sunbird, a Summer Tanager she was.
“Raven you should be in Skua!” . . . and she said, “A Course-er!”, so she does.

I did a Stint in University, and flew first bird Courier.
I'm a Horned Coot with a Baldpate, a Babbler and a Worrier.
Knot an Apostlebird, though I went to Godwit school,
Never made Dikkop Bishopbird, I thought Cardinal was way too Koel.
I ended up as a Friarbird, Jacana Turnstone Fody.
I met a Flutist Wren, and she Towee how to be Noddy!
I wrote some Harpy Music, though I’m not a Nightingale,
I was a Happy Song Wren, when I Smew this little Gull.

One Nightjar I was at a Rusty Fronted Barwing, 

Swallowin’ Wild Turkey and Kokako’s,

Wren I Seedeater a little Starling. who had such Corvus Mangoes!

I Sora’ later at another Barwing, . . . She must have Turnstoned twenty

Oh Raven you’re Toucan, . . a Kiskadee would help you plenty!

“Caw Caw! . . . Wild Turkey and Kokako’s!”

I been a-Skimmer for just Swan Winchat, so I Eider up.
“Oh Raven, a Kiskadee would make me wealthy!
Oh Raven you’re thin, not fat!
“A Chick-a-Dee would keep me healthy!
You’re a Reedling I'm Hoopoe-ing to Chat!

“Not a Secretarybird, nor a Roadrunner, For sure you Sibia Manakin!”
You're a Yungas Mannakin!, have a fine Firecrest on your tail!
“For such a Cutia Buteo, you’re skinnier than a Rail!
“A kinder man would tether you, an' Wagtail you a Hutton Vireo!
All for a Greater Roadrunner, Yur a Graceful Pitta for Rea-l!”

“True, I'm Rail purty, tis true I was a Cutia,
"I was the Yougas Mannakin, when I was a just a Tanager.
"But then I got too Greeby, and my Manager threw me out,
"I’m not the Least Bittern, I’m not the least Bittern doubt.”

We tried to squawk, but Raven’s Bewick had a Hoarse Accentor . .
“My Scarlet-Straited Ant-Thrush is Sora, is Mannakin me Weka!
“I Garganey’d Wild Turkey, but it didn’t make me well,
“Now I’m trying Kokako’s, to see if brings down the swell.
“I need a Black Capped Phoebe, something to make it better.”
“Open your Magpie wide!”, I said an' I Sora Pica Nuttalli inside her!
“Your Thrush-like Shiffornis has gotten red and Sora!
“A Remizidae, I have some Serin, a Currasow in my Caracara!”

Now I ain’t got no Caracara, I have a Minivet and a Scoter,
No reason to Guan too fara. . . They carry me when I go to Skua.
I Hawfinch took a Waldrapp Swan, for a Divers around the Park
So that day on a Whimbrel, I asked Raven out for a Lark.

We Redstarted up my Scoter, and made the Eider roar.
But just then the Eider quit, the Block busted a Nutcracker.
“Turdus!” Sora Rook bad Luck, the Scoter’s engine gone!
There’s no Currasaw. . . it’s outta Oilbird______!

“It’s a Beautiful Jay” Raven said, “Let’s Wren a Caracara!”
So we Wrentit ourselves a Merlin, and Redstarted it to the Park.
Raven was actin’ Prinia, Coquette-a as I drove our Wrentit Merlin
Then took a Noddy Tern, and lied to in Tern to Raven,
“Our poor Merlin’s out of Petrel.”

I brought a special Botteri, in the Kestrel, for just such an Auk
It’s not a drink if you think a Stork, I thought she might Goshawk.

Auk-ward as Raven is, she’s got a lot of Gull
“Wheat-ear!” She cries as she Dippers her Nightjar.
A Robin’ Bustard, a Ruff Babbler in the Act !
She’s Florican gas for our Wrentit car,
Duckin’ Jackdaw in a Canvasback . . . . . “Caw Caw!”

"Duckin' a Jackdaw in a Canvasback . . . Caw Caw!"

I Coot not say no to Raven
I Lyrebirded to you here in this Dusky Lark
I lied to have you Raven . . .
Right here in Bushtit Park.

The Monal came out, and the Skylark got Bathawk,
“That’s Koel”, cawed Raven, then she threw back the Goshawk.
“Let’s make a Leantoo,” Raven said, “I’ll rip your Canvasback
I'll make it up into a Pootoo, against the Caracara bumper."
“And then I’ll invite you to my Bowerbird, and you can show me your Thunder Pumper!”

Raven became a Firewood-gatherer, I became a Leaf-Tosser,
I Sora I Woodhunter and when we had enough leaves I’d Gleaner!

The place was kina Treepie, the sun Flicker-ed then Blackstart.
I thought to Coot my Oxpecker, and Shag Raven then in that Lark.
Or maybe she Takehe up the Ani . . . like so many birds that Turdus
Wood she be a Trembler? Sora a Screamer? Raven my Bowerbirdus.

Woodcock or Snowcock, my Monarch was really Puffin!
My Cock-seemed-made-of-Rock, it needed her Turkey to give Smew stuffin’.
I started fumblin with her Spotted Redshank,
Then she took out one Brown Booby muffin.
And then I knew I was Griffon to Robin a Common Shag!
I Smew then I had Common a Shag, to Griffon-to my Puffin!

When I Spider-hunter ware-y
“I’m not in a Thrush at all”
She said, and took my Barbet Wood Peewee.

“That’s not for playin’” I told my dear young Raven,
“Not for a Pygmy Goose like you,
“That’ll pleasure an Oldsquaw Muttonbird!
“But will Hurt a Hummingbird like you.”

“Caw Caw” . . “Will hurt a hummingbird like you.”

“I ain’t no Rusty Breasted Nunlet, I’m a Ruddy Turnstone twenty!
Pygmy Ibon your Cactus Wren, I’ll give your Puffin Groundpecker plenty!
I ain’t no Virginia Cherrybird. You got a Trogon there?”
"Honeyguide your Rusty Flowerpiercer, into in my Fruithunter Fairey!"

“Caw, Caw! Into her Fruithunter Fairey!”

A Gannet and a Gannet, my Thunder Pumper banged her Butter Ball.
She called me a Stake Driver, and Wren called me a Man-of-War!
I was Screamer “Raven!”, my Gull’s a Paradise Crow!
I Rollered her in leaves, we Tumblered in the Ouzel so.

My Puffinus Assimilis, is makin' her Ani Sora . . .
I’ll give her Peewee Stuffin’, and she’ll be beggin me for Moa!

“Guillemot, you are e-Chough for some good Broadbill,
I Coot Falconet” said Raven who for the first time called me Bill.

She’s past being a Fregata minor, or a Twite Tanager
She’ll not be a Tattler, ‘Gwan then, take your Fill.
'And then when she’s had e-Chough you can Saddle-her Broadbill.’

She Wagtailed her Bendire, and Craned Thrasher in the Air
She jammed my Beak into her fender, and then ripped the clothes off my Scimitair.
We stripped off all our Stitchbirds, till we were naked in the filty Muck
And I then I took her Velvet Swift, to sit upon my Woody Duck.

“Caw Caw! Upon my Woody Duck!”

Then I threw her Velvet Asity down, and I ripped off Raven’s skirt,
I was no Gentoo-man, as I Spurfowl-ed her in the dirt. Caw Caw"

I Craveri’d to up her Ani, I knew this was a Ruff Shag
Give me a Rosy-Finch . . . Don’t stop unless you’re a Fag!
"Kittiwake Kittiwake," I cried and she said, “Guan! Guan!”
I was a Happy Wren my Trogon, jumped out of her gapin Hoatzin yawn!

Out my Flycatcher, leapt a Fairy Quill,
My Hornbill, spilled to her Bushtit dark and Hairy.
“Moa Moa” she cried. She never Quetzal,
Raven was singin’ like a Nightingale merry!

“You’re a Loverbird! It must be your Eurasian Hobby!”
“Your Drongo’s longer than a Currawong.
No wonder you’re so afully Noddy!”

And it was that moment that I Lyrebirded to Raven,
Lyre-ed right there in that Park
. I told Raven I Lovebird-ed her.
All for her Bushtit Bushlark.

I swore Molothrus Ater, I Sora so Fulvetta,
A Gannet her a Divers bunch of lies,
A whole crop of Dotterel I Shoveler’d her
. . . just so I could get Broadbill.

“Dat’s Koel” she said, I hoped she was not a Tattler
"White-don't-Eye do Forktail, It won't make me strain Wryneck!"
Oh she’ll Crane and Crow , and then Swallow
When she takes my Flowerpecker.
She Duck-ed tho when she Dove,
Though I hoped she’d be a deeper Diver!

A Gannet and a Gannet her Sapsucker Godwit
I really thought she Woodswallow . . . . .
But just then my Bananaquit.

[A Frigatebird may make Fantail,
And all above eat Fieldfare
A Flameback Finch’s may Dickcissel,
Ozel leaps out of one’s Flycatcher!

I Taiwan-ed on a Barwing, and checked in with a credit card down,
I Wrentit me a Bowerbird, at a five-star Hoaz’in town.
Raven liked the Bellbird, he gave her his Gold Kea,
I had to keep a White-eye, on the Waders that stayed so near!

We bought some Silken Satinbird, from a Weaverbird in the city,
She was Hairbird Cactus Wren, and Bee-Eating Veery Nody!
Raven dropped her Stitchbirds, for the Phillipine Tailorbird to show it’,
And flaunted her Penduline Tits there, and Hairy Pipipi as he sewed it!

You should have seen the Dollarbirds fly, for Longspurs, at a fancy Shoebill shop.
Then I bought a Fur-tive Flycatcher, and a Plushcap to Godwit it on top,
We gambled Dollarbirds at Galahs, and danced out at elegant Storks,
Raven was drinking Cisticola’s, we were feeding out with Kites and Forks.

I wore my Crow Silktails, Raven wore her Feather bust,
We pranced at the Museum of Mudhen Art, a Horned Coot with a Tanager in Rust.
I took her to the Flickers . . . the Black and White Trillers she liked best.
She wriggled and got all excited . . . even when she saw the Goldcrest
We started watching Bruce Leiothrix, and other martial Larks,

Raven was a Replendent Quetzal, I hummed a Versicolored Emerald tune,
We ate Blue Capped Cordon-Bleu, an’ slept at Gentoo Hoat'z’in town.
I Rooked her to a Jewelbird, and bought her a Ruby Topaz.
Then late one night, she gave me such a flight,
When she Ducked outa sight in her Bath!
She liked Kakapos and Corn Crakes, lying a'Loon in bed,
Her Gull-et was an Openbill, inside of Raven’s Kitiwate Red!

“Takahe of this!” I said. I thought to light a Reefer.
Raven was my girlfriend now, by now I thought she was Akepa!
We’re just two Grebes smokin’ weed, I thought we might go a-Lapwing
I’d give her a Dunlin for a ring, and thought we might Teal the Knot,
But when she started Barwing, then I Smew she was a Leafbird fond of Pot.

“Caw Caw! . . . She’s a Leafbird fond of Pot”

Raven needed Minla, so I Loon-ed Raven Murre Monia,
Sure e-Chough I got the Merganser, I said that's not funny!"
It’s a Pitta, It’s a Shama and Murre,
My Gull Raven’s a Siskin Greenleaf addict for sure!

"Caw Caw! . . . A Greenleaf addict for sure!"

“Forktail the Munia, I Linnet ya little Northern Flicker!
“Yur a Bleedin’-heart, You got no Lark! You’re a lousty Tit-Babbler
“Wheres the Minla I Linnet Tinamou?
That Gull Raven of Myna is Wrentit Juncoo!

Caw Caw!” . . . Gull of Myna is a Wrentit Juncoo!”

You’re a Little Grassbird Raven . . and Grassquit you’ll do for sure!
But what are these Needletales? Don’t Lyrebird to me any Murre!
“Don’t Grebe me no Bullfinch, else I Loon you a Blackeye!
What are these Stubtails?, These Needle Tails? You're a Liarbird for sure!"

I Linnet her ten Francolins, and by day’s end “Shortwing!” Harp-eye.
“The Monal’s all Niltava! I don't have Ani Manee Towee!“
Oh she’ll Pratincoll, Crane and Crow
And then she'll Welcome Swallow.

But then I learned my Gull Raven’ll,
Would Jabiru me in the Knots for sure.

“Caw Caw!” . . . “Jabiru in the Knots for sure!”

Then I caught her Bulbul Teal-in’, Silver Kites 'n Forks ‘n Tern
Wag-in-Tail, Cockoo, an’ actin’ all Imperial Dove and Bittern.

“I’m so Sora, I’ve been Greebe-y, I’ve been Veery Noddy.”
“Guan Shrike a Tanager you Gentoo Man!"
You a makin’ me Siskin, it Smews how Shrike u Skimmer.”
This I'll Egret forever, an' knocked her on the Florican.
“Don’t Toucan, Let me go, l promise I’ll Grassquit”
“Don’t go, don’t go just yet”, I’m Mocking her Penquin.

“You’re a Malle-Fowl, I ain’t done wid Piculet.”
“No Hoatzin, I’ll throw you Owlet on ur Nightjar!”
“I’m makin a Scops-Owl, Swallowin’ Murre and Murre
No Monal left in this Moorhen? To the Hammercop u must go to Murre!”

“Caw! Caw! To the Hammercop u must go to Murre!"

Godwit I’ll Coot catch her Bobwhite,
From Heron I’ll not Thrush about it.
Gannet, Even when I take her to a Triller “Drongo”
And when she Shrikes and lies out . . .
Then I’ll Fly out and Catcher! . . . . . “Caw Caw!”

“Yuhina Out?”, In some ways Hammerkop.
I really hate to Harrier-her,
Eider Roller in return, She been a Robin and a 'Teal-in
I ought to have her Condor, or have her made Dikkop
Raven’s a Dollarbird, she’ll Gyre a story Weaver
It’s all Fish Owl, Oh she’ll Crane and Crow,
and then Swallow, all nice and sobby.

“Caw Caw! She’s been Loon-y for a Hobby!"

“Caw Caw!” . . . “ She’s been Loon-y for a Hobby.

We went back to Bushtit Park,
And Raven and I took again to Shag’n.
My One-Eyed Wryneck came 'a poking up
And Eider Ruff Shag-ed my darling Raven.

"And Turdus Grayi?"

One day my Dove was Diving along the Audobon
We weren’t even speeding, just Lazuli Bunting along,
I was lying in Raven’s lap, and tickling her Orioles,
It was fun counting her Titties, and looking for her one or two Moles.

“Kittlizt Plover, I’ve got to go Pipipi!”
“Murre Pipipi Raven? You’re the Pewee of Mississippi!”
Caca Guan fall out, along with Turdus Grayi
Upupidae in the Minivet!" Just then I heard a Honker!
"Crash, our Caracara had Kill-d-a-Deer!
My precious Minivet, my Red Lory couldn’t steer!
The wheels were Warblered, Wren we were looking for a Towhee truck
That was the moment I’d come to fear, as my Raven had run Sora luck.

A Crested Copperbird came over,
"Plover," he says, "Plover!
I’m Givin’ you the Collar’d Dove,” he says,
"Osprey-ed you breakin the Law!"

"I'll hear you sing Canary!”
“Ain’t Dunlin nothin’” Raven cried.
"Fulvetta confession," he said.
"I want a Fulmar Avadavat," she cried.

I offered him a Silverbill, but he had a Golden-eye,
Raven’s Spot-Breasted Oriole the Copperbird did Osprey.
"Fork-me-Over some-tail, an’ you won’t go to Jay-L!"
But Raven said "Goldfinch yurself, you Fulmar Horned Bustard!"
So with an Avadavat he claimed she was a Lyrebird, and into prison she was Buzzard.

I Wren an' got an Avocet, he sent papers with a Merganser,
I Babbled to an Avadavat, to a moustached Accentor,
Next thing you know I’m posting Quail,
Forktailing over more Moola!
All so this Quail can get my Gull, outta this Godwit Jay-L!

"Caw! Caw! . . . Outta this Godwit Jay-L!"

Raven’s let out on Parula,
Crake! It cost me Fody Francolins.
And what do you think she does?
Caw Caw! She throws a punch,
At my Broadbilled Treecreeper!

"No Parula," said the Ibis d’bill, it’s all my Bank Wood Swallow,
Sapayoa yur Bill, and I’ll take care of your Papyrus Canary!
“I’m not the Least Greeby! You could Least have some Graceful Pitta! . . . .”

I thought that Wood Ptarmigan,
Raven’s on the Lammer-geier . . .
Someday I really ought t’ Thrasher
While she’s Roadrunnin’ out there Robin‘ and Teal-in’ Murre.

Me I’ll not Shrike a Tanager
She’s Hoopoe’n I’ll Gnatcatcher I’m sure . . .
I really hate to Spurfowl her,
Shelduck everything I say . . .
I really ought to Chukkar Peafowl out,
For what Raven did to me that Day.

“Caw Caw” . . . “For what Raven did to me that Day.”

Then one Nightjar my Poorwill sang in heaven,
I opened up my Crow, and saw who'd rang was Raven.
She was Blackcap, wearing Macaw, and hair lookin all Curlew.
For a moment I Coot a’ Crossbilled her Violet-Ear,
An'felt my swelling Groundpecker.

But in a Moorhen, our love had Pootoo and Guan,
Raven pulled a Riflebird, I caught it and threw it down.
She pulled a Razorbill, but I caught her Rubythroat
I threw her on the Florican. “Common Ant Shrike a Tanager”, she Crow-ed,
“You Turdus assimilius!”
“Auk!” she cried, “You’ll get the Garot for this!”
“Don’t you Toucan! Godwit you’re gonna Gannet!”
“Sibia Care! You’re a Bustard”, she Crowed, she had to Flamingo.

“Caw Caw! . . . Crombec! Raven! Crombec! She had to Flamingo!""

“You’re a Bustard” she Crowed, We were gonna Marial Guan,
I’m Bay Wren a Child . . . Caw Caw! Suddenly I'm A Mute Swan,
What am I suddenly Heron? Could she be a Lyrebird? . . . .

“Is the Plaintive Cuckoo?” asked an Avocet with an Ara Militaris.
“Friarbird in Oilbird . . . She’s a Bataleur.”
“I Sea a Dove, but you say’s she’s a Bataleur,”
“Does she have a Lawyerbird? How does the defendant plead?”
“No Egrets, from Heron, No Bitterns at all. She’s a Fregata minor,
Sterna neglecta, and hence pleads Guillemot, and requests a Lesser Nothura.”

Raven pleaded Guilty and was Regulidae in chains.
An I’m not sure e-Chough I’ll ever see my little Gull Raven again.

Hwamei here? White-eye do it?
From Heron no Egrets.
I’ll not Grouse, or Rail at how Bird I am,
I’m not Moorhen, or even take a-Pelican,
Not the Least Bittern, I’ll take my Tern,
I thought I might Gnatcatcher.
What should I Dowitcher?
How I ought to Thrasher?
Oh Frigate! I’ll not Thrasher or Whipporwill!
But I know she’s not a Green Crombec
I’d Shoveler shit for a bit a Tit, so Owl ‘not flap about it!

She’s a Goose let loose, two Boobies with Tits an Orioles
She loves a Cock-at-tou, an’ a PeeWee’s Peafowl call
But I ain’t no Quail or a Limp-dic-kin Rail
So what ever Nuthatch, she a Least do one Ostrich,
An’ spend at Least Swan Stint in Jay-L .

“Caw Caw” . . . “An’ spend at Least Swan Stint in Jay-L !”

-:-