Category Archives: The Evidentialism Files

Supporting My Neighborhood Murder


I have an amazing backyard. It’s not landscaped, exactly.

It’s lived in. Alive. Birds flit through the air like punctuation marks. A hooting owl resides in the next door pine tree. Once, a chicken— a chicken—hopped over the back fence like a neighbor who’d had enough of her own yard.

Another time, I heard coyotes. Not in the distance. Close enough to lock in the dogs. It’s that kind of place. Not wild, not tame—somewhere in between.

But what’s taken hold of me lately are the crows.

They’ve lived here longer than I have. I know that much. You can hear them early in the morning, like they’re opening up shop.

They don’t sing like songbirds. They debate. They discuss. And then they squawk orders. I’ve always liked their rough-edged cleverness, their unapologetic presence.

And I’ve read the studies—how crows can recognize human faces, how they remember kindness, and cruelty. That stuck with me. It meant you could have a relationship with them, if you respected their intelligence. If you listened.

So I bought peanuts. Ones in the shell, the kind they have to work at. I wanted to give them something worth their time.

At first, I wasn’t sure they noticed. I’d leave them out in the morning, under the patio overhang, and go back inside. Nothing.

Then one day, I heard it—the clatter of claws on the tin roof above the patio. Metal on metal. Curious tapping. Then silence. Then the crunch of a shell being cracked.

The crows had come.

I didn’t see them at first. But I could hear them. Not just eating, but talking about it. One would land, grab a peanut, lift off. Another would follow.

They knew. They knew the source. And they’d taken the first step. Or maybe I had.

Today, when I stepped outside, one lingered on the roof. Watched me. Head tilted slightly. Measuring. Not alarmed. Just watching. Maybe wondering what I’d leave next.

It’s early, I know. But it feels like the beginning of something. Not a training. Not a taming. Something better. A friendship, if they’ll have it.

And if they will, I’ll be here. Same time, same place.

With peanuts.

Could I BE Any More Transparant?


💥 FactSlap: “Bomb-Ticking” Danionella cerebrum

💣 Sound like a bomb? You bet.

If you’re snorkeling over a school of these fingernail‑sized fish, you’d swear a time bomb was ticking underneath. That sharp, metallic click‑click‑click? It packs a punch. Some factslaps:

🎧 can you buy disulfiram over the counter Bite-sized bombshell

  • Length: just 10–13 mm—tiny enough to sit on a fingernail  
  • Brain: about 0.6 mm³—the smallest known vertebrate brain  

🔊 Boom in miniature

  • ~140 dB underwater—comparable to a gunshot, jackhammer, or jet takeoff  
  • That’s measured about a body‑length (~12 mm) away—scaled, it’s like a jumbo jet overhead  

🥁 Powered by internal drum kit

  • They have a specialized sonic muscle, drumming cartilage, and a reinforced rib that loads like a spring
  • Releases with over 2,000 g acceleration, slamming cartilage into the swim bladder—BOOM!  

🔁 Tick‑tock rhythm

  • Clicks come in bursts—either ~60 Hz or ~120 Hz—like rapid mechanical ticking (60–120 clicks per second)  
  • Only males have the reinforced rib-muscle combo—females silent  

🎭 Why such theatrics?

  • Likely courtship or territorial signaling: loudest males can drown out rivals  
  • Functions well in murky, shallow streams—helps them stand out  

🪶 Imagine this:

You’re gliding above a group of these transparent rice‑grain fish… suddenly, tick‑tick‑tick.

You’d think you dropped a bomb. But it’s just a tiny drummer with a fierce pulse—nature’s own timer going off underground.

Summer Shroud

Summer Shroud

Some call this season June—
though the name feels too bright
for such slate-skinned hours.

The trees stand still,
their leaves unsure
whether to shimmer or rest.

Birdsong comes thin,
as if the sky has pressed
its gray hand
over the mouths of things.

Light moves slowly,
pooling in odd corners,
unwilling to rise.

And beneath it—
on the grass, along the worn paths—
a quiet gloom settles in,
soft as lichen,
sure as the tide.

No complaint,
no cause—
only a way of being,
for now.

And when it lifts—
as all things do—
even the sparrows will seem
surprised by the sun.