beetles

There exists a microscopic breed of brain beetle, commonly known as an __dea_. An idea desires only one thing: To catch the perfect brain wave.

A dung beetle couple in love constantly proves that you still can be in love living on shit.

Bugle"Black beetles know where the most recent bonesbake in the heat, tendons and meat long gone, bleached white, and if you give them cheap wine --drizzle a few red drops on a flat stone--they will lead you to a barren gulchsurrounded by sages and nettles, dirtburnt to powdery sand and sharp thorns. Hunchabove the skeleton, bow your head, start reciting verses you learned as a child, there, under the sun with rocks and brush, bare locust tree a telling reliquary of dust to dust, all so brutally hot. You must pull ribs from that rotting body,words that matter: love me, love me not.

I find myself thinking about this hue-mon all of the time. I wonder if it ever thought about us?Was there room in here for thoughts about beetles?Did it ever wonder how some glow?Or spray liquid fire?Or dance on water?Or drink fog?Maybe someday, if a hue-mon reads this journal, it will help them appreciate all of the amazing little aliens living underfoot.