Tag Archives: twitter

Here is a list of things to do in the snow.

Do I think about being a bear too much?

Often when I say things, I remind myself and others that I am a bear (so much so that if I do not remind myself and others I am a bear, some worry). It is something I cannot help; I am always thinking about how I am a bear. Sometimes I am trying to deeply consider my bearness and how it affects the world and how the world affects it. Other times I am just reminding myself of my bearness.

Either way, I am almost always thinking about being a bear.

Is that a bad thing?

I know it is not good to be obsessed with something, no matter what it is, but is it also not good to be constantly concerned with what or who you are and your place in the world? Normally, I would assume it is fine, but recently, while giving some more thought on my bearness and such, I thought about my thinking of being a bear might not necessarily be the same thing as me actually being a bear.

I am now beginning to worry that I am not being a bear nearly as much as I am thinking about being a bear. What does thinking about being a bear really do for me that being a bear cannot do? I can think all day about being a bear and eating a delicious grease stained napkin from a dumpster that the hypothetical me in my mind might find, but that does not mean I am going to get to eat that delicious grease stained napkin in real life. In fact, that grease stained napkin might not even be real. At least the hypothetical me in my mind is based off something I know is real (the real me), but that napkin? I made it up.

Making things up confuses this even more. I can think about being anything I want. I can think about being a tree or a squirrel or a cloud or a snake or a bird or two bears or a thousand bears. No matter what I think of, however, it does not change my actually being a bear in any way. Also, I do not get to be any of those things I listed. I am not a thousand bears or a snake or a tree. I am just a bear. One, single bear.

So should I think about being a bear less?

It seems impossible to completely stop thinking about being a bear (it is the thing with which I have the most experience), but I should I reduce my bear-thinking habits?

Should I simply be a bear instead?

Or is thinking about being a bear just part of being a bear?

And maybe overthinking about being a bear is just part of being a bear?

And maybe thinking about how thinking about not being a bear and a bunch of other things instead is also just a part of being a bear?

I do not know.

I suppose, for now and until someone or something tells me I am not doing it correctly, I will continue to just be a bear, whatever thinking comes along with being a bear.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site?

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear

How to approach humans: an important guide by a bear.

1 Reply

If you spend enough time in the forest, you will eventually come across a human. Humans are by far the strangest creatures in the forest (and I have my doubts as to whether or not they even actually live in the forest). If you do find yourself in front of a human, it is important to know some facts and guidelines about them, their demeanor, and how/when to approach/avoid them.

Before I go into depth about being actually around a human, I will explain some of the things I know (or speculate about) them:

Humans live in plastic triangles (tents) when they do live in the forest
Humans carry a lot of things with them
Humans also leave a lot of things behind when they abandon their triangles
Humans are protective of their dumpsters and keep their most valuable objects in them (including grease stained napkins)
Humans come in a great variety of shapes, colors, patterns, and textures
Humans are very loud and will direct their loudness at you
Humans stay in small groups (2-4)
Humans love hats
Humans are easily startled
Humans can fly (not proven)
Humans cannot run fast

Humans seem very scary upon sight, but it is important to remember that humans are generally just as afraid of you as you are of them. That might seem untrue when you hear the way they yell at you when they find you pawing through their seemingly abandoned tents, but always remember: humans are more loud than they are scary.

So what do you do when you find a human or, more likely, a human finds you? You can remember the steps of engaging humans with the helpful acronym H.U.M.A.N:

How many are there?

How many humans are there? Are they clearly in a group? You are far less likely to encounter a single human, so remember that even if you only see one human, there are likely more close by.

Understand their motives.

What do these humans want? Most humans seem driven by a desire to leave things around in the forest and yelling. If you see a human, he/she is likely about to do one of those two things: yell or drop something. You can tell by looking at their mouths and hands. Is the human’s mouth open? He/she is probably going to yell. Is there something in the human’s hand? He/she is probably about to drop that something and leave it there. Just wait for the human to leave before you take it so you can avoid the yelling, which leads of us to…

Making sounds?

Is the human making sounds? If so, that human is probably about to yell. Is the human yelling at you, specifically? Maybe at another human? Maybe at the trees? Maybe the human is just yelling because he/she likes to yell? It can be hard to tell, but nobody likes to be yelled at or be near someone who is about to yell, so remember how much humans love to do it.

Assess the situation.

Use the previous steps to create an assessment of your current human situation. You need to understand everything about what the human is doing and what the human wants. Once you have all of the details assessed, you must…

…Now run.

Always run away from humans. They will not chase you and, even if they do, they are not very fast. Frankly, you should probably just skip to this step of the process for every encounter you have with humans.

Humans are scary, there is no around that, but by using the H.U.M.A.N process (or at least the last step of it), you can avoid being yelled at by them.

Good luck with your future human encounters.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site?

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear.

Birds as hats: a failed experiment.

1 Reply

I do not generally wear hats for one very important reason: I am a bear, and I do not know if bears are supposed to wear hats.

That does not mean I have never tried to wear a hat. I once found a very lovely hat in an abandoned tent. It was red and soft, but I did not know what to do with it at first. I ate it, which, as it turns out, is not what you are supposed to do with hats.

Rob (the squirrel) later explained to me that hats are what humans wear on their heads because they do not have enough fur to keep warm all of the time like most forest animals. He laughed at me for eating it and called me a fool.

It was not nice, but I appreciated the information. I vowed that if I ever found a hat again, I would try to wear on my head so I could have a human experience.

When I finally found a hat again, it was in a dumpster and it was plastic. I put the hat on my head, but it did little in keeping me warm or being comfortable or not making it hard to get air into my body. From then on, I merely assumed hats were not for bears. It made sense, after all, as I already had enough fur on my head to keep me warm.

After living and accepting my hatless existence for a very long time, I eventually began to wonder if maybe my hat experience was just a bad hat experience. Should I give hat wearing another try? Even if my head is already warm, would it not be nice for it to be even warmer? Maybe the plastic hat I found was not actually a hat and was more of a bag, actually, in retrospect, I am pretty sure that was the case?

I wanted a warm head like humans must get to experience on a daily basis (I imagine all humans wear hats all the time (why would you not want a warm head forever?)).

The chances of me finding another hat were slim, unfortunately. So I had to consider alternatives to hats.

I tried rocks, but they were far too hard and difficult to balance on my head. They also scratched my scalp a little too much.

The hat of leaves I made was nice, but it fell apart as soon as it rained, and it had far too many bugs in it for it to be comfortable while I was sleeping.

I tried accepting the cave above my head as a kind of hat, but since it did not actually touch my head, I had a hard time justifying that theory.

That is when I got an idea: why not put something I know is warm on my head? Most forest creatures are warm, so why not see if one could be my hat?

The idea was almost forgotten as soon as I remembered the time I let a opossum sleep on my head one cold, winter day. I woke up with very angry wounds near my eyes.

What kind of animal was warm enough to be a hat and docile enough to want to be a hat?

For some reason, my thoughts went straight to birds. Birds like to be perched in things, and why would you choose to perch in a tree when you could perch in warm bear fur?

I asked a bird who liked to make sounds outside of my cave every morning if it would be interested in nesting in my head fur, effectively becoming my hat. The bird agreed.

It was pleasant at first. The bird built a nest of sticks in my fur and made a cozy little home. It was sometimes difficult to keep on my head, but I managed to keep it secure while I walked around the forest.

The real problems began when the bird would fly away to do bird things, and I would end up just balancing some sticks on my head until the bird was back. And though it was nice when the eggs hatched, I knew this relationship could not last long.

I told the bird it could not longer be my hat. It was difficult to break the news to her, but she took it well and even let me keep the nest she had built (I did not actually want it, but I kept it to be nice).

Hats are not for me. People hats. Bird hats. Plastic bag hats. I am not meant to wear hats. I have to accept the furriness and warmth of my head as it is and move on.

Thank you, though, bird.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site?

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear.

Do trees care about me?

1 Reply

I cannot tell whether or not trees care about me.

I have known about trees practically all of my life, and for as long as I have been aware of them, I have assumed they have had as much care and interest in me as I have had in them. That is why I tell trees my every woe and discontent. That is why I spend so much time staring at trees and waiting for them to speak back. That is why I have been so patient with trees even when they do things like almost fall on me or not support my weight on their limbs or provide shade for hostile creatures like the deer across the river.

I have given trees a lot of my time and energy, and I have always assumed that such time and energy were reciprocated. However, a recent event has made me question the trees’ dedication to me.

I was sitting under a tree, gathering shade and enjoying the scratchiness of its bark, when I noticed something interesting about the tree: it was a home. The tree had a large number of tiny ants climbing in and out of its base through small holes and between scales of bark. It was a fascinating sight, and I spent quite some time just staring at it.

Right in the middle of taking in the majesty of these ants, a limb from the tree fell onto my head.

That is okay. That has happened before. It will happen again. It did, though, make me think: why do the ants get to live here? Ants live in this tree and the tree is perfectly fine with it. Do I get to live in this tree? No. In fact, this tree attacks me when I use it for shade. And every time I have slept in the branches of it, I have fallen out of the tree, finding myself slamming into the forest floor, far below the tree.

During this thought, I considered the ants. Despite being able to live here, I am sure there are some things about this tree the ants do not get to enjoy. What if a limb falls on them? A limb that would leave a bump on my head would completely destroy them.

I do not think that tree (or any tree) hates me or the ants. I think trees might just be indifferent. They provide wonderful shade and lovely homes for some creatures, but they can also crush us and throw us from their tops, and they seem to do this indiscriminately.

I thought trees were there for me. For the ants. For the creatures of the forest. I do not think they are there for themselves, but they are definitely not here for any of us. Maybe trees just are. Trees are just here to be trees, whether that helps or hurts us is more up to us than it is to any tree.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site?

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear.

The dumpster next to the broken fences: a food experience critique.

1 Reply

I frequent many dumpsters in my travels throughout the forest and areas adjacent. With as many as I do visit, it can be difficult for a dumpster to really stick out to me as particularly special or worthy of future visits. The dumpster next to the broken fences I found, however, manages to do both of those things. Not only did this dumpster feature an interesting spicy plastic dish I had never had, but it also managed to contain not one but two whole fish carcasses. Even with the (possibly rabid) raccoon watching my every move in mind, the dumpster next to the broken fences has been one of the best dining experiences I have had in a very long time.

Course 1: Spicy yellow plastic bag with very strange dust

I have to admit, after I managed to hurdle my legs over and into this dumpster, I was not optimistic about the first thing I found. I have eaten many plastic bags in the past, and though they are very fun to chew on, they are not great to eat and almost impossible to digest. This plastic bag, however, was so intriguing. Spicy. It was so spicy. I could feel the heat of whatever once sat in the bag run down my tongue and out of my nose as it cleared my nostrils. There was a strange dust that came with the bag, too. It was spicy like the bag, but there was so little of it available. I liked what I had, but I really just wanted more. Side note: the plastic bag featured a drawing of a very strange cat with black eyes and thumbs. I was not fond of him. He was scary.

Course 2: Two fish carcasses (one with the eyes still in the head)

I did not expect fish carcasses. Sure, maybe one fish carcass. Maybe cans that smell like fish carcasses. But two whole carcasses? This was a rarity and a delight. One carcass even had two large, yellow eyes resting in the skull. The bones of the carcasses were soft and chewable, making them very easy to eat. I did not accidentally choke even once. One fish carcass was drenched in a tangy sort of red mystery liquid. I hoped the sauce would be hot and spicy like the plastic bag from the first course, but, unfortunately, it was quite bland and did little in favor of the carcass itself. It was not unpleasant, but it was definitely not necessary.

Course 3: Apples cores with a light coating of coffee grounds

The apples cores looked stunning. Presentation wise, they were the most appetizing looking course of the night. Unfortunately, I was unable to actually eat any of them as my meal was interrupted by a (possibly rabid) raccoon who barged into the dumpster very suddenly. Then I heard very loud shouting as the raccoon scrambled and clawed at me. He quickly jumped out of the dumpster and I followed because loud sounds are very scary.

The dumpster next to the broken fences I found was one of the best dining experiences I have had since that time I licked the moldy rock in my cave an entire morning. I would give it a perfect review if it were not for the incredibly scary loud sounds that drove me away at the end of the meal. With its minor faults in mind, I give the dumpster next to the broken fences I found:

4 out of 5 lovely leaves.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site?

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear.

I think there might be too many leaves.

2 Replies

Calculating the ever-growing number of leaves that seem to fall from trees is an impossible task. Just when you think they have all fallen and that there could not be any more lingering up in the branches, more come.

I tried to consolidate the number of leaves in the direct vicinity of my cave one afternoon in hopes that it would make the opening of my cave more appealing to forest creatures who pass by. Rob (the squirrel) calls this “curb appeal.” He also suggest I trim some of the low branches of nearby trees, but I decided this would be cruel since the trees did nothing wrong and did not deserve such a punishment. Trees are pure entities who only have good will toward everything else in the forest (even the awful act of shedding leaves is actually beyond their control). If anyone or anything was to blame for the number of leaves on the ground, it was the wind…

I knew the wind was to blame after my initial leaf consolidation.

I had seven tidy piles collected that resulted a nice grassy clearing to lay in. The sun beamed through the bare branches to heat my newly cleared spot. It was refreshing to have the warmth beneath by belly meat. Before I could drift off to sleep, a rush of crunchy orange and red things pelted me in the face.

I sprung from the clearing to see that the piles I had collected were launching a full assault against me and their driving force was, beyond any doubt, the wind.

I felt betrayed. The wind was often the source of delicious smells. Why would it turn on me with such malice?

I wondered if I was hasty in blaming the wind. Maybe there were really just too many leaves.

There was only one way to find out. I would turn the leaves into something constructive. With the help of Rob (the squirrel) I skewered leaves on fallen twigs and used bits of twine from the dumpster to cinch them together. Eventually I had enough to begin forming the twigs into shapes. The shapes eventually formed images. From the leaf skewers I formed the shapes of many things in the forest: rabbits, squirrels, rocks, trees (ironically enough), me, and even a really big leaf.

From the chaos I created something wonderful. Rob (the squirrel) even lauded my work (even though he said that if the squirrel I made was him, it was a bit fatter than he’d like it to be).

With an overwhelming sense of pride in my work, I decided I had deserved a nap. I went into my cave and fell asleep the moment my head hit the dirt floor.

Hours later, I awoke to find my work ransacked by raccoons. They had destroyed all the shapes I had made (perhaps I should have thrown just one raccoon into the mix).

I wanted to be angry about what had occurred, but I wasn’t. Instead, I was struck with an epiphany.

Too many leaves was not the problem.

Vandal art critic raccoons were.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site?

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear.

Hiding day.

2 Replies

Yesterday was a hiding day.

I do not know from what I hid, but I hid from it for quite a long time. I frequently find myself using a nice hiding day to keep away from whatever emotions, deer, bad weather, or rowdy squirrels could potentially give me trouble in a given day. It is nice to just hide away sometimes.

This particular hiding day, however, I wanted to know something: what happened when I hid? Did my worries and troubles really go away? Did the forest worry for my presence, perhaps even going so far as to send search parties out for me? Did anyone actually know where I hid?

There were so many mysteries on hiding days. Another mystery I had to figure out was how I would collect data on a hiding day. How could I hide and understand how the forest functioned while I was hiding? I would have to trust a friend.

I considered trusting Rob (the squirrel), but I knew he would do what all squirrels do (lie). Instead, I decided to ask a very friendly blue bird who nested in a small bush outside of my cave. The bird agreed to fly around the forest during my hiding day, seeing if anything out of the ordinary would happen, particularly things that seemed dependent on the presence of a bear (me).

Then I hid.

I hid inside the very bush where my new bird friend usually nested. It was a good hide. I spent practically all day sitting and hiding and enjoying some peaceful napping and staring.

Then the tiny blue bird came back and reported what he had found.

Nothing.

He told me that the forest had remained the same throughout the day. Nothing of notable importance had shifted in any way he could discern.

Everything was fine.

Without me.

Everything kept moving as it always had and likely always will.

It felt strange.

I thanked the bird for its time and observations and went to my cave. I napped some more. It was difficult to sleep with the knowledge of how unimportant I was to daily forest activities.

I had a dream where the bird, though observant and thorough, simply missed all the tiny aspects I impacted on a daily basis. He missed how the floor of my cave grew cold without me. He missed how Rob (the squirrel) was likely even more aimless and crazy than usual without my presence to balance him. He missed how the deer across the river probably did not even go to the river when I was not there. He missed that his day had even completely changed because of a simple request from me. He missed how the sun came up a few hours later and left a few hours earlier and how the moon did not shine as brightly as it usually did and how the sky fell a few feet downward and…

But that was just a dream. And a nice thought. But maybe he really did just miss a couple things.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site?

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear.

I wish bad things did not happen.

3 Replies

I had a collection of sticks.

It was a lovely collection. It contained sticks that were long, sticks that were short, sticks that were pointy, sticks that split off into some sort of double stick thing, sticks that had been broken into more sticks, and even a few items that were not sticks but I felt deserved to be in the collection (dirt, a plastic bottle I found, some acorns, etc.).

I kept the collection near my cave and added to it frequently. The collection was growing quite large, and I loved seeing it grow. I was very proud of my collection of sticks (and stick related items), and just knowing that it was there, ever being a lovely collection of sticks (and stick related items), was comforting to me.

Recently, however, it was damaged. I do not know by whom or why, but someone or something ravaged my collection of sticks (and stick related items). I approached my sacred pride early one morning to find it strewn throughout the forest, massive chunks of the once amazing assortment scattered and broken and lost and gone forever.

I was heartbroken.

Why would someone do this? What had the collection of sticks (and stick related items) done to anyone? I tried to follow the path of chaos that had been left by the destroyer, but it was fruitless. Even pursuing the idea did little to make me feel any better about having lost the sticks in the first place. I just wanted my sticks (and stick related items).

I growled for awhile. At nothing, really. I wanted to be angry at what happened, and I wanted that anger directed at someone I could blame. But the loud roars I produced also failed to make feel any better about my lost stick (and stick related items) collection.

I felt lost and helpless. I considered: Why have a stick (and stick related items) collection to begin with if someone or something can just completely destroy it on a whim and with reckless, hostile force? Why bother collecting anything that could be so quickly smothered out of existence without notice?

I sulked for awhile, sitting next to my fractured stick (and stick related items) collection.

Then I collected the sad remnants of my sticks. I picked up the ones I could find with gritted teeth.

I piled everything back the way I remembered it was, as best I could.

It was a slightly smaller collection of sticks (and stick related items) now, but it was still my collection of sticks (and stick related items).

I do not know why my collection of sticks (and stick related items) was attacked. I wish it had not been. I wish my collection had been allowed to just be a collection of sticks (and stick related items) forever, never losing sticks or getting tossed around or being destroyed.

I wish that had not happened, but it did. I still have my collection of sticks (and stick related items), though. And I will keep adding to it like I have been. Maybe, one day, it will be just like it was before.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site?

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

The potentially wonderful but possibly nonexistent river bear.

Hello, I am a bear

Thank you for visiting this site. Please enjoy the comics, writings, and adventures of me, a bear. I am a bear.

Tag Archives: twitter

Here is a list of things to do in the snow.

Do I think about being a bear too much?

How to approach humans: an important guide by a bear.

Birds as hats: a failed experiment.

Do trees care about me?

The dumpster next to the broken fences: a food experience critique.

I think there might be too many leaves.

Hiding day.

The potentially wonderful but possibly nonexistent river bear.