Conducting the Jungle Diurnal, bipedal, bipolar, with moon-blind eyes and labeled moods, in the jungle, you are the intruder. The burden of blooming is not yours but the veiled stinkhorn’s, out from under shoes. Diurnal, bipedal, bipolar, you can try to tune to the tiger herons perched on dugout canoes, but in the jungle, the sun is an intruder, so don’t expect them to be the motor of your alarm clock. They won’t be used. Or diurnal, bipedal, bipolar, you can soundtrack invasive moisture, orchestrate your pants, growing mildewed. In the jungle, dry is the intruder, and sleep a condition you’ll recover from once silence ceases to be a muse and you, diurnal, bipedal, bipolar. The jungle takes in time its intruders. —Jen Karetnick, Bud Break at Mango House (The Portlandia Group, 2008)