.: A Bug's Blog



Proportion is something bugs cannot understand. It seems to me proportion is a forced perception of space. Like many other things, one is never really aware of this fact until one experiences the fascinating world of non-proportion.

There is nothing surprising in the world of proportion, it is merely a way of organizing space. “Organizing” is the key word here. It is an intrinsically human word. And, as such, it fails in every direction. Perhaps things would be better if the human sense of “proportion” was any like a bug’s.



Passages are the most amazing places. They are both scary and fascinating. One avoids them as much as possible because one knows they are the breeders of many unpleasant surprises.

Sometimes though, they become the only way out. One bursts through them fast, trying to ignore the sleazy corners and the endless passers-through. At times one actually comes to appreciate them in all their glory-of-escape. During these times they can be magnificent. Yes, one recognizes their splendor when, suddenly, something better appears on the other side. Even when its just the commencement of another ladder.


I started this blog recently and already got some hate-mail. Someone said “it was unacceptable for a dirty vile and insignificant creature to talk about humans in such a brutal way”(?). Apparently some humans have a hard time dealing with criticism.

Why is it so hard to face a mirror when its someone else forcing you to look?



I remember being old and looking at things in a such a way that it was hurtful.
I would spend hours talking to tree branches and knew all their names by heart.
It was a time when all things came to my attention. Even humans seemed almost tolerable but that was a long time ago.


Its usually easier when one doesn’t think about the eatable lapses of time that pass us by.

Its like tasting the pitfalls of laughter.



It’s a mistake to think of humans as time bombs. I was having a discussing about this with my bug friends the other day and reached the following conclusion: humans are much more like that disaster you knew was going to happen, even though everyone else assured you it never would. Something inevitable but clumsy. No matter how many preparations you have made to avoid it, it always happens; usually its even bigger than initially thought. At least one can predict the worse and never be disappointed.



Today I felt. Its not everyday that I am actually able to do that. In fact, sometimes I suspect I cant do it at all.
By feeling I became immune to any snare, any possible blunder of fortune. It made me unhappily wiser. And sometimes that’s a first step to revival.


I tend to think of humans as nauseated fertile bones neglected in space. In the good days I see them as an evolutionary experience so successful that it managed to regress. However sometimes surprises do happen. Like that one time when a human looked at me. Looked AT me as if it was the first time. And some unspoken mechanism broke.


Sometimes we have to face things. Even if they have wings. Take me for example, I’m still deeply attached to Bessie Smith ever since my 2345th reincarnation when I woke up on a cigarette butt, looked up and heard a voice singing that, I knew then, had just brought me back to life. These are the things one never forgets, no matter how many lives weight/wait on you. That’s an intrinsic bug characteristic: we never stop be



A passive/aggressive right at the edge of something nasty. That’s how I always describe things when asked to do it. Not that anyone ever does but that doesn’t stop me. At least not when its called for. So yes, I look out and see nothing stirring. Nothing to make my curvilinear body jump with excitement at the passage of grace. Sometimes some of my many legs retire and refuse to step over endless passages that seem to stretch over to unknown locations where no bug has ever been. That’s when I start blending curves into similarities.


I look at it like a sanctified obligation – something lost in the semantics of scissors. Something I can never again recover or something whose possession was not worth the effort. Yes, a frame of mind or a mind framed. That’s how I look at it.


It seems all anticipation hastens itself towards pure ecstasy thus the rebirth of sensorial manifestations below the skin. As such, I awake to the enigma of confessions and controlled congestions. Welcome along!