A moth was flying around my room last night. I tried to swat it out, but i killed it. I then thought of Virginia Woolf’s essay Death of a Moth. It was a tad depressing. But moth eggs are yuckyy
They found it on the ground one cloudy-but-warm day in September. It was right outside of their home, in their garden. The three children went to pick it up. The youngest, Emily, was scared that the insect was going to hurt her, and she hid behind her older brother.
Looking back now, I realise I did what needed to be done. He was an insect, a parasite that was slowly sucking the life out of me. Even when I craved that from him because it meant he was paying attention.
The insects on the windowsill were not going anywhere, nor were they causing any particular harm to the windowsill or anything else. They were just sitting there, sometimes moving a little bit. They looked as if they were sunbathing, which is a pretty harmless activity. But there was just something about them that bugged me.
as i felt and heard the soft crunch beneath my shoe, it brought to mind the exact frailness of life. If the poor ant can be so easily destroyed, how much harder can it be for me to pass away?
Insekten sind Tiere. Sie können so winzig sein, dass man sie nicht sieht. Und sie können so groß sein, dass sie nicht mehr auf eine menschliche Hand passen. Käfer, Schmetterlinge, Grillen, Flöhe, Läuse, Sandflöhe, Kakerlaken …
Six legs, two body sections; the annoyance of the world, yet the sustenance of the few. Wonderful yet crazy, colorful yet repulsive. Insects are the dichotomy of the world.
you are nothing more than an insect
a gnat
a fly
a worm
(are worms insects?)
you shouldn’t have the power to infect me
to inflame me
to annoy me
to incite me
more’s the pity that you do.
at least until I squash you.
Insects are the most tiny and most advanced animals, known to mankind. Why? Because. Because Ants can lift up weights, fiftytimes heavier than themselves, Bees are building Staates with workers and Soldiers and -of course- they are able to fly in a way, science is just dreaming about. That’s Because.
It’s warm, but not warm enough for insects. That means not warm enough for short. But too warm for pants. I can sit under a tree and not worry about ants.
Insects covered Jake from head to toe. He didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe. He didn’t dare. If he disturbed the swarm, they’d descend on him in a torrent of pincers, stingers and claws.
Oh, all that formaldehyde. And the discussions of nature/nurture. Racism. Then there was River Phoenix before he was dad and his brother took over the world for a brief time, and then disappeared in a hoax. Then there was summer and woods and writing the rest of our lives.
insects are icky. too many legs, eyes, bellies. They don’t act like other animals. They creep me out. Especially ants. I don’t like ants. ants everywhere. I have to kill most insects. Except for ladybirds. I can let ladybirds run around on my hands. I don’t like when animal documentaries show insects. It freaks me out.
insects creep me out. they are actually pretty beautiful animals, but they freak me out because of their giant eyes and pinchers…. not much else to say about that, just that if i had the choice whether or not to have an insect as a pet, I would choose not.
I hate insects. They give me a terribly funny feeling in my nose whenever they are around. It’s like I am allergic to their presence. Forced to go incompetent in their mere proximity. Insects are a lot like exes.
the most populous species on the planet, millions of species, even. humans are outnumbered by ants alone. there are shiny black beetles, butterflies with stained glass wings, praying mantises that prefer to wait and pounce to eat.
The maze sprawled before her, the twists and turns over whelming her. The omnious buzzing grew louder. She turned around to see the source of the noise and saw the sky darkened by the fleet of elephant sized bees flying through it.
I spend most of my time wondering lately. How the world works and why I’m here, mostly. Sometimes I ask myself why I don’t seem to succeed at anything, or why I do nice things and bad things happen in return. I’m not sure what I would do if I found out the answers to these questions though. Either I’d find out I’ll go places in life and I’m significant or I’d find out I’m just as unlikable as an insect.
I don’t know what, but I have a fascination with the slow movement of insects. Their skittering rhythm, the beat of their antennae, the hopeful start and stop of their pace. Not the flying ones, they get too annoying, but the ones that scamper across the ground living in a world too large for their liking.
The butterfly dies in two weeks. Did you know that? Fourteen days after all of that work. When I was a girl scout we stayed at the Science Place, overnight, once a year. One year they gave us Caterpillars. I took care of him until he finally cocooned, and, you know…
A young Melody Amelia looked at the insect which had landed on her finger. It had a pair of wings, and the wings were orange and black.
“Daddy,” she said, “what’s this?”
“Oh, that’s a monarch butterfly!” said the Doctor. “Pretty, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It tickles my fingers when it moves around though.”
She moved one of her fingers, and the monarch flew away.
“Oh,” she said sadly. “It flew away.”
“Don’t worry, dear,” the Doctor said. “There are plenty of butterflies in the world.”
I have no love for insects. Bugs — all of them, save ladybugs and butterflies — are repulsive to me. I keep a fly swatter near my desk, just in case one of these unwelcome creatures wanders into my office.
As the insect approached the group he closely inspected each person, trying to decide who would be his next victum. He finally flew away after finding that non would suit his needs.
Of course. I hear the buzzing in my room and all I want to do it kill it. Ah, there it is. The fly is near the ceiling, well beyond my reach. Figures. Suddenly, he’s on my hand. Perfect. I am one napkin away from peace. Squish and he’s gone! I sigh and go back to my computer and then I hear another buzz.
A bright blue insect which I could not identify nestled itself in between the wall and my oak desk. Its wings appeared to be like crystal, drops of sun sprinkling across its reflective sheen, bits and pieces of rainbow foundation scattering about my white walls. I wanted to retrieve a book of mine and see what its name was, but instead all I could do was look at it over my stream of notes.
Insect, that’s me. That’s all of us, crawling along, being disgusting and useless my roommate makes me feel this fact more thn anyone. Its a terrible feeling. Like shit, but crawling.
The beautiful little creature crawled across my arm.
He tickled and wiggled
‘Til I couldn’t take it anymore!
He was the cutest little but I ever did see.
This little insect was looking at me!
You fly around my head, biting and nipping and buzz buzz buzzing. I try to swat your annoying little ass, but you say “I am like Socrates, this is good for you” in which I concede to your ways and let you push me to be better than myself. But you are still annoying as shit.
The boy walks across the forest floor, tandems of moss crushed by his narrow feet. His circular rims eye the small creature crawling away from his rampage. A bug, beetle-centipede, slithering away with its many feet. Where is it going? Where is it leading the boy?
He follows into a cave where a thousand centipedes attack!
Most don’t like the insignificance. They aren’t satisfied with the quiet, the calm, the simple. The leaves and the twigs and the dirt offer little solace to a mind dreaming of white clouds and infinite horizons.
But then you see the owners of the sky, the tired faces and the worn shoe soles, and maybe being an insect isn’t such a bad thing.
Push and pull through the weeds as I might, I’m an interloper. My garden is a prison to escape, the insect is king and I am a pawn of my fastidiousness. I can never win against such armies. The cricket presses his knees together in a chicken dance.
The insect has multiple legs to go with a complicated eye. It welcomes new directions and new ideas. Nothing misses its scrutiny, or so it would believe. Walk over my finger. Tell me what you learn. Land on my nose and marvel at my eyes.
He loved everything about insects: The legs that sprawled out on the floor, soaking in the sun. The crisp, firm black backs of the bugs scrambling for the nearest dark corner, the antennas willing to listen to and feel anything. That’s why every time he lifted his foot and sadly used his thumbnail to remove the carcass that accidentally had been hugged too tightly by his foot, he couldn’t wonder if such acts of genocide of the ones we loved, occurred elsewhere in this world.
“Look at this beautiful insect!”
She couldn’t hold back the shivers from running down her spine as her science teacher brought the still jumping grasshopper towards her.
She’s been deadly afraid of insects, especially June bugs, since she was a young teen, and finally she told us the reason. She’d been cleaning up grass that had been raked into piles in her Nana’s yard, and swarms of June bugs came buzzing out at her.
Spider
Ant
Legs
Sting
Bite
Sound
Night
Camp
Tiny
Wings
A moth was flying around my room last night. I tried to swat it out, but i killed it. I then thought of Virginia Woolf’s essay Death of a Moth. It was a tad depressing. But moth eggs are yuckyy
An insect, a parasite, in my mind they aren’t that different. They both bite you, but one clings. They both can be small, but insects can be larger?
I hate insects, except when I ate them.
Their little wings are the worst part. I don’t eat them.
Danny hit the roof after swallowing the creepy spider, then dropped dead soon after spraying insect repellent in his mouth.
They found it on the ground one cloudy-but-warm day in September. It was right outside of their home, in their garden. The three children went to pick it up. The youngest, Emily, was scared that the insect was going to hurt her, and she hid behind her older brother.
Looking back now, I realise I did what needed to be done. He was an insect, a parasite that was slowly sucking the life out of me. Even when I craved that from him because it meant he was paying attention.
The insects on the windowsill were not going anywhere, nor were they causing any particular harm to the windowsill or anything else. They were just sitting there, sometimes moving a little bit. They looked as if they were sunbathing, which is a pretty harmless activity. But there was just something about them that bugged me.
as i felt and heard the soft crunch beneath my shoe, it brought to mind the exact frailness of life. If the poor ant can be so easily destroyed, how much harder can it be for me to pass away?
Insekten sind Tiere. Sie können so winzig sein, dass man sie nicht sieht. Und sie können so groß sein, dass sie nicht mehr auf eine menschliche Hand passen. Käfer, Schmetterlinge, Grillen, Flöhe, Läuse, Sandflöhe, Kakerlaken …
Six legs, two body sections; the annoyance of the world, yet the sustenance of the few. Wonderful yet crazy, colorful yet repulsive. Insects are the dichotomy of the world.
you are nothing more than an insect
a gnat
a fly
a worm
(are worms insects?)
you shouldn’t have the power to infect me
to inflame me
to annoy me
to incite me
more’s the pity that you do.
at least until I squash you.
Insects are the most tiny and most advanced animals, known to mankind. Why? Because. Because Ants can lift up weights, fiftytimes heavier than themselves, Bees are building Staates with workers and Soldiers and -of course- they are able to fly in a way, science is just dreaming about. That’s Because.
It’s warm, but not warm enough for insects. That means not warm enough for short. But too warm for pants. I can sit under a tree and not worry about ants.
Insects covered Jake from head to toe. He didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe. He didn’t dare. If he disturbed the swarm, they’d descend on him in a torrent of pincers, stingers and claws.
Oh, all that formaldehyde. And the discussions of nature/nurture. Racism. Then there was River Phoenix before he was dad and his brother took over the world for a brief time, and then disappeared in a hoax. Then there was summer and woods and writing the rest of our lives.
insects are icky. too many legs, eyes, bellies. They don’t act like other animals. They creep me out. Especially ants. I don’t like ants. ants everywhere. I have to kill most insects. Except for ladybirds. I can let ladybirds run around on my hands. I don’t like when animal documentaries show insects. It freaks me out.
insects creep me out. they are actually pretty beautiful animals, but they freak me out because of their giant eyes and pinchers…. not much else to say about that, just that if i had the choice whether or not to have an insect as a pet, I would choose not.
I hate insects. They give me a terribly funny feeling in my nose whenever they are around. It’s like I am allergic to their presence. Forced to go incompetent in their mere proximity. Insects are a lot like exes.
the most populous species on the planet, millions of species, even. humans are outnumbered by ants alone. there are shiny black beetles, butterflies with stained glass wings, praying mantises that prefer to wait and pounce to eat.
The maze sprawled before her, the twists and turns over whelming her. The omnious buzzing grew louder. She turned around to see the source of the noise and saw the sky darkened by the fleet of elephant sized bees flying through it.
I spend most of my time wondering lately. How the world works and why I’m here, mostly. Sometimes I ask myself why I don’t seem to succeed at anything, or why I do nice things and bad things happen in return. I’m not sure what I would do if I found out the answers to these questions though. Either I’d find out I’ll go places in life and I’m significant or I’d find out I’m just as unlikable as an insect.
I don’t know what, but I have a fascination with the slow movement of insects. Their skittering rhythm, the beat of their antennae, the hopeful start and stop of their pace. Not the flying ones, they get too annoying, but the ones that scamper across the ground living in a world too large for their liking.
The butterfly dies in two weeks. Did you know that? Fourteen days after all of that work. When I was a girl scout we stayed at the Science Place, overnight, once a year. One year they gave us Caterpillars. I took care of him until he finally cocooned, and, you know…
A young Melody Amelia looked at the insect which had landed on her finger. It had a pair of wings, and the wings were orange and black.
“Daddy,” she said, “what’s this?”
“Oh, that’s a monarch butterfly!” said the Doctor. “Pretty, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It tickles my fingers when it moves around though.”
She moved one of her fingers, and the monarch flew away.
“Oh,” she said sadly. “It flew away.”
“Don’t worry, dear,” the Doctor said. “There are plenty of butterflies in the world.”
I have no love for insects. Bugs — all of them, save ladybugs and butterflies — are repulsive to me. I keep a fly swatter near my desk, just in case one of these unwelcome creatures wanders into my office.
an insect six legs.
As the insect approached the group he closely inspected each person, trying to decide who would be his next victum. He finally flew away after finding that non would suit his needs.
Of course. I hear the buzzing in my room and all I want to do it kill it. Ah, there it is. The fly is near the ceiling, well beyond my reach. Figures. Suddenly, he’s on my hand. Perfect. I am one napkin away from peace. Squish and he’s gone! I sigh and go back to my computer and then I hear another buzz.
A bright blue insect which I could not identify nestled itself in between the wall and my oak desk. Its wings appeared to be like crystal, drops of sun sprinkling across its reflective sheen, bits and pieces of rainbow foundation scattering about my white walls. I wanted to retrieve a book of mine and see what its name was, but instead all I could do was look at it over my stream of notes.
Insect, that’s me. That’s all of us, crawling along, being disgusting and useless my roommate makes me feel this fact more thn anyone. Its a terrible feeling. Like shit, but crawling.
The beautiful little creature crawled across my arm.
He tickled and wiggled
‘Til I couldn’t take it anymore!
He was the cutest little but I ever did see.
This little insect was looking at me!
You fly around my head, biting and nipping and buzz buzz buzzing. I try to swat your annoying little ass, but you say “I am like Socrates, this is good for you” in which I concede to your ways and let you push me to be better than myself. But you are still annoying as shit.
The boy walks across the forest floor, tandems of moss crushed by his narrow feet. His circular rims eye the small creature crawling away from his rampage. A bug, beetle-centipede, slithering away with its many feet. Where is it going? Where is it leading the boy?
He follows into a cave where a thousand centipedes attack!
Most don’t like the insignificance. They aren’t satisfied with the quiet, the calm, the simple. The leaves and the twigs and the dirt offer little solace to a mind dreaming of white clouds and infinite horizons.
But then you see the owners of the sky, the tired faces and the worn shoe soles, and maybe being an insect isn’t such a bad thing.
Push and pull through the weeds as I might, I’m an interloper. My garden is a prison to escape, the insect is king and I am a pawn of my fastidiousness. I can never win against such armies. The cricket presses his knees together in a chicken dance.
The insect has multiple legs to go with a complicated eye. It welcomes new directions and new ideas. Nothing misses its scrutiny, or so it would believe. Walk over my finger. Tell me what you learn. Land on my nose and marvel at my eyes.
He loved everything about insects: The legs that sprawled out on the floor, soaking in the sun. The crisp, firm black backs of the bugs scrambling for the nearest dark corner, the antennas willing to listen to and feel anything. That’s why every time he lifted his foot and sadly used his thumbnail to remove the carcass that accidentally had been hugged too tightly by his foot, he couldn’t wonder if such acts of genocide of the ones we loved, occurred elsewhere in this world.
“Look at this beautiful insect!”
She couldn’t hold back the shivers from running down her spine as her science teacher brought the still jumping grasshopper towards her.
She’s been deadly afraid of insects, especially June bugs, since she was a young teen, and finally she told us the reason. She’d been cleaning up grass that had been raked into piles in her Nana’s yard, and swarms of June bugs came buzzing out at her.