.: A Bug's Blog



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!