the bird on fire

The Bird is the Word: Sophisticated Schoolyard Shenanigans

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Hate/Love

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By Jackson Dean

Hate doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints;

It takes, and it takes, and it takes.

Hate is not patient. Hate is not kind.

Hate steals, a thief that hides in plain sight.

Hate is a never-vacant motel that will always find room for you.

Hate is sadness, tearing at your very soul to make you weak.

Hate is not just a feeling. It is the never-ending pit that you think is inescapable.

Hate is a dark tunnel that attempts to block out all light.

Hate is feeling you are trapped inside a blank void, inside literal nothingness, and being unable to break free.

Hate is that voice that tells you you are not worthy and that you are just a useless “thing” taking up space.

Hate is deafening in its attempt to take Love away…

But Love is louder.

Love doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints,

It takes, and it takes, and it takes.

But, Love is patient; Love is kind.

Love gives.

Love’s home has plenty of room and never charges for entry.

Love is happiness, lifting you up even at your most low.

Love is so much more than a feeling.

Love is the blinding light inside of any dark tunnel.

Love is being found, even when the dark is crashing through.

Love is there for you.

When you crumble, Love is there.

When you fall, Love is there.

When you feel like nothing, Love is there.

No matter what, Love is there for you,

Always.

*Inspired by Jackson’s undying love for Hamilton.

Editor: Claire Jenkins

 

Murder Mystery: New Letters Received

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Case 4501 Update  

Submitted by Officers Shelby Armor and Claire Jenkins

Additional evidence has surfaced in Case 4501–The Demise of Ben Snyder. A written note, with what appears to be a cough-drop wrapper on it, was found in Detective Armor’s office, and a small typed note was found in Captain Kadel’s living room.

 

Photo 1: Contents of letter left in Capt. Kadel’s living room. Unidentified text font. 

*Transcript of Letter: “don’t trust the janitor. she’s concealing something. she knows more than she is revealing.”

 

 

Photos 2 + 3: Message left in Detective Armor’s office. Same handwriting as first letter found in Capt. Kadel’s squad car weeks ago. Take note of cough-drop wrapper and threatening tone. 

*Transcript of Letter: “I have a question. Do you trust each other? Plan your next steps very carefully . . . . See you soon. I’ll be waiting.”

*Transcript of Letter, page 2: “A gain always comes with a loss. I hope his death was worth the information! I can’t wait to see how you all handle this in court.” (Referencing the demise of informant Jackson Dean)

 

Photos 4 + 5: Detective Jenkins examines handwritten letter. 

Reviewed by Superintendent Patencio and Agent on Special Assignment Vazquez

The Road Less Traveled

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By Peter Kadel

Last month, I went to the Schoepe Scout Reservation at Lost Valley to work as a volunteer for one of the off-season events. The entire weekend was packed with activities and shenanigans that made my time up there enjoyable. The event itself was not the only fun part; the journey there was also a part of the adventure. This is not because I don’t like the camp, but because to reach the camp I drive up a series of windy mountain roads that culminate in a ten-mile dirt road–a dirt road that is legend among the Boy Scouts of Southern California and parts of Arizona.

“The Road,” as we call it, is a bumpy, windy, washed-out, pot-hole-covered, ten-mile gauntlet that acts as the only public land entrance to the camp. The only other entrances to the camp are by helicopter or through an Indian Reservation. The road has quite the reputation with those who frequently drive to the camp. While the faint of heart may dread the long drive to Lost Valley, I cherish it. I would rather drive down a ten-mile dirt road through a stunning wilderness landscape that makes me feel at peace than drive for one mile on I-10 or any busy freeway in America.

Windy roads are more fun to drive once you have the hang of driving them. The rougher terrain and the sharper turns on windy dirt roads are much more engaging than straight busy highways. You can’t use cruise control or go on mental autopilot. The looser terrain also allows for sliding or drifting, which can be really fun as long as you are careful. The thrill of a fast turn of a dirt road is quite the adrenaline rush when you do it right. And, aside from the obvious fun, a windy dirt road signifies a separation from hustle-and-bustle cities and the trappings of society that in the end don’t really matter.

On my drive home, I actually had to stop driving for a good five minutes so I could just take in the beautiful vista before me, breathe in the clear air, exist for a minute in this paradise with a sky so blue that it took my breath away. The spiritual benefits cannot be replicated on busy highways. If that doesn’t convince you of the benefits of off-road driving, then consider this: when I’m on a major highway, I see people exchanging insults and honking at each other. In the backwoods, I barely see a soul. And, when I do, they’re kind-hearted people with a respect for nature and for those around them. The experiences found off the beaten track and in the heart of nature are something that everybody needs and most don’t get enough of. So go; find them.

Editor: Shelby Armor

A Post on Post Malone

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By Freelance Music Critic & Guest Blogger Holden Hartle

In recent weeks, I have come to a shocking conclusion; Post Malone is one of the greatest artists of our generation. Now I realize how I’ve already offended people and this is only the second sentence, but I have my reasons. Hear me out.

First of all, he has an amazing backstory. In an interview with Noisey, he explains that school wasn’t really his thing. So, on very short notice and with no money, he moved to Los Angeles with a friend on a promise that he would eventually pay him back. Post was huge into gaming. One day, he went to a friend’s house who told him to check out this new game. The game was Guitar Hero 2. This started Post’s ambition towards pursuing music as an actual career.

Then he came out with “White Iverson.” After years and years of waiting, he finally released it. And boy did it blow up. He released the song on his Soundcloud account and soon afterwards the song went four times platinum and reached number fourteen on the US Billboard Hot 100.

“White Iverson” brings me to my second point, his beats. “White Iverson” features a typical hip hop drum beat, but a beautiful piano in the background. Now I have never really liked R & B, but Post Malone is changing my mind. “White Iverson” just speaks to me in a way that no other song has in the past couple years.

My final point is his personality. Post definitely has a style, and it’s not necessarily orthodox. He has admitted to wearing tuxedos everyday to school in his childhood. He has also admitted to wearing penny loafers and jeans that would go up to his belly button. All of these allude to the fact that he doesn’t care about what anyone thinks. He is his own person and that’s all that matters. I think we can all learn something from Post in that aspect.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Editor: Claire Jenkins

Snyder Case Update: Witness Interview #0125

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Concerning the murder of junior Ben Snyder, we have identified a witness account from a janitor on the site at the time of the murder. Detective Jenkins, one of our best, met with this witness for a brief interview.

 

 

Interview with PVS Nighttime Janitor, 27 September 2017

 

If you have information regarding Case #4501, leave it in the Comment Section! Work with your fellow students to see who did the dastardly deed to Ben.

 

Information verified by Prosecutor Charles Schnell

 

Anxiety

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By Renée Vazquez A.

I can’t breath

when I feel you creep inside.

You make it hurt.

You make me shudder.

Inside, and out.

You make me cry,

first on the inside

and then you spill over.

You push my fears,

my worries,

pressing them into my heart–

you press them into my throat–

you make them fill my entire me–

you are them.

And you’ve consumed me.

And you make me guilty

for serving you;

as you slowly replace me,

time after time.

Editor: AJ Patencio

Listen

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By Peter Kadel

 

The trees sigh

The mountains howl

The rivers roar

The plains rumble as thousands of hooves stamp and pound across them

The desert deafens you with utter silence

And the sky accepts this noise and waits for it to disappear

Listen

The songbirds twitter and titter

Their wings beat as they whistle and tweet

The hawk lets out a piercing cry with the same lovely twang as an old guitar

The placid lake prefers silence wishing to listen to the lyrical beauty the frogs have to offer

And the fish are the glorious percussion as they leap through the glassy surface and then slap back down like a lazy drummer

Listen

The bow of a ship scrapes and scratches against gravely beaches

Metal tools clatter and clang as foolish explorers build monuments to materialism

Black powder ignites and lethal projectiles fly forward snuffing out our most precious treasure–life

The aggressors’ voices drown out the screams of Mother Nature and her children

Listen

Her anguished cries subside to gentle sobs as coal iron and timber are extracted and used to fuel the machine

Cities like arteries are linked by roads like veins bringing the stolen life to those undeserving of it

Gears and engines turn and grind a roar and devour the freshness of the world

We feed on the flesh and blood of earth and we smile as her blood drips from our faces.

Listen

Look someone cares

They speak out and carry signs wishing for change

They are defenders guardians warriors citizens of the natural world

They care and they aren’t afraid to tell the world

They hold marches

They practice conservation in everyday life

A generation has found their voice

Listen

But no one does

The bastards still drown us out with screeching machinery

Our peaceful resistance grinds to a halt as they grind the forest into dust and strip the world bare

They tell us we are wrong

They have the audacity to call us conspiracy theorists

I can’t bear to listen

So I won’t

It’s my turn to make some noise

It’s their turn to listen

And they don’t have a choice

My voice is my weapon and my wit is sharp

My battle cry will shake what little trees are left

I will roar like a hurricane

I will bellow like the machines you cherish

And I will drown them out and destroy them as they destroy the world

I will do it happily

You’d better listen

 

Editor: Makena Behnke

The Ultimate Therapy

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By Charles Schnell

 

When you write down

Your thoughts and your feelings,

Truthfully,

You materialize it.

Your thoughts and feelings

Are a physical substance,

Made by ink on paper.

Your brain recognizes them

As real, and

Not all in your head.

That’s why

Writing

Is the ultimate form of

Therapy.

No one controls your

Thoughts and feelings

But you in your writings,

Just like how

I am writing this poem

And sharing my thoughts and feelings with you

Now.

Editor: Peter Kadel

Note to Self

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The Bird on Fire welcomes and promotes feature writing, news stories, graphics, satire, and, especially in Makena’s case, creative writing.

Note 1  4/20/17

by Blogger Poet Makena Behnke

All my life i’ve been a normal, average, girl who sat next to you. i’m sick of being normal, because normal means being forgotten. Do you remember the girl in middle school with the dark hair who followed the popular one around? No. Why? Because she’s a People. A People is someone who doesn’t listen to themselves, someone who is forcing themselves through one door and trying to fit in the stupid, boring mold. There are too many People in the world; we each need to be a Person. To be a Person we need to be fearless. For example, i don’t know half the stuff i’m writing right now, but i was talking with a Person, and she explained that you just need to be you to be a Person. Right now, i am me which means i am a Person. Mind you it is 1:48 am, and I could read this tomorrow and say what the heck was i thinking, but i could wake up and have written an eye-opening piece. Unpredictability is the miracle of life without the placenta. No one can tell what will happen tomorrow. Who would have thought that today I would be crying over a two-sentence chat that told me I’m me for a reason. I think we all need someone to help guide us through life and hold our hand.

–2:13 am