Cockroaches
I didn’t mind them at all, I mean, I didn’t even notice them. But, this was before. Before the gemstone dimensions and decay of stirring, stirring surfaces.
We have at least three different kinds: long honey-colored thin ones, sort of rounder dark brown ones, and very geometric brown ones that are in between the previously descrbed kinds. I wonder if they feel different from eachother. From me.
I am believe in coexistance. I have a lot of trouble killing [insects], on accident or on purpose. I think about all the things that truly inspire me to create an environment of admiration and gratitude, Gandhi and veganism, the face and I just feel overwhelmed. Who am I?
But something about the way they move now, how fast and abrasive. There are so many all over my body and moving on the walls and vibrating along the carpet, in the refrigerator, dropping on my legs at the table. I get back to work after lunch and a baby one is crawling on my pants. I feel frightened, the sheer number. It is terrifying.
I am waiting for the tiny moth to rest on my one-ton-bell self. I am waiting for the hinge to spread open.
Sometimes I think it’s just for the loneliness. We can learn so much from silence.
I wish we weren’t so different. I wish I could understand their sounds and determination. I wish I could look them in the eyes or something equivalent. Without that I just feel like they are taking advantage of me and crawling into my body as I undress.
But I know that there is something very profound about the expansion and detachment. We live so close but are so different. impermeable. Health is more important than saving their lives. What does that mean? Why is the solution to leave each other and to never look back? With no common currency/language/etc., how do we connect?
Is it possible to create something?
Why do insects seem so much different from animals, whom we do connect with?
Perhaps it is The Face.
2 Comments »
RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI
I have memories burned in my eyelids forever of turning on the kitchen light in the middle of the night and seeing the scattering of those hundreds of little bodies. I will not miss them crawling over the clean cups in our dishwasher; I will not miss their eggs sticking to the pages of the calendar; I will not miss suspecting every surface of contamination from their bodies. But I do miss all the places they’ve crawled, and I miss all the people who have seen them.
Comment by Julie Ann — June 22, 2007 #
my response to them one night… also other topics involved
did I think I could really endure this lemon twist
thirty-six more days without your waist
and i’m just sitting around, waiting to cash in
the upgraded ticket to my symphony of tired muscles
laughter ajar on the paved sidewalks
but i walk into a bottomless crawling household
stomp out the hints of movement and
stare into wasted electricity’s lazy blue eyes.
this is my only free night. i have to edit.
Comment by Ariel — June 24, 2007 #