September 15, 2009

Our parrot Elliott vomited today. He does this periodically as it is a symptom of his chronic illness. It is an arresting sight, to say the least. I am not revolted by the function, but feel empathetic when someone is experiencing this act; it is humiliating to say the least, and my compassion swells when I see it occurring. Well, apart from one time when I was on the Portland transit system, Tri-Met. The bus line that went by my former household on Division Street was the Number 4. For some reason in their compromised opiated minds, the heroin addicts would get on the bus, thinking for some reason it went to the Belmont Street methadone clinic. How they ever thought this is beyond my comprehension, as the numbers or streets are not similar. But, there they would be, slumped over in their bus seats, all strung out and pasty, like little E.T.s from that lovely movie by Stevie Spielberg.

On one ride from the downtown area to my home, there were a couple on board the Number 4 that exhibited such a physiognomy, and were muttering gibberish most of the ride. When they finally figured out by 39th Ave that they were on the wrong bus, they began to agitate, albeit at strung out speed, which is surreally slow. Then one of them vomited, but the vomitus came out equally slow; I suspect that peristalsis is also compromised by opiate abuse, which is quite phenomenal as the function is involuntary. And the vomitus; it looked just as white and pasty as them - how does that work?