it’s about fears, really. would it help if i told you my skin crawls looking at pictures of insects? but last night i spent hours in fireworks mx carefully cutting out & changing & arranging & getting layout ideas from these objects of my own irrational fear, both the pretty moth and my main man mr. chrispy over here, i mean i was upclose & personal with bugparts in great detail. and here they are. & i’m fine, really. sure it was touch and go for a bit there, but isn’t it always?
i don’t forget the bee body’s there, but i am … forgetful in general & (i have to find him a jar) & last night i tipped the piece of paper & flung him (not far but enough)… didn’t land on me, or else i’d probably be in restraints in the psych ward pumped full of thorazine & still screaming and that is only slightly an exaggeration. only. slightly. and … i had to use a piece of paper to pick him up and put him back on his piece of paper, where i can keep an eye on him (you would need a fairly severe phobia for to understand the degree of panic involved here) – & the whole time i was squeaking & hyperventilating & it does not help that that much adrenaline makes the hair tingle, i’ll tell you that right now. & … the weight of him. goodgod. the sound he made when i scooped him up, heavy dead bee body. heavy. i mean, the damn thing weighs … something. ok? weight & bee, not things you generally put in the same sentence, unless the sentence is in an entomology exam.
bee body’s still here. i’m still
sane here. it’s a symbol, a sign, & several reasons, all wrapped up in one crispy little former critter.
but he needs a little jar. with a nice, little, snug-fitting lid. oh my yes.