Spiders among other things
Allow me to state that should I be accosted by highway men on my pretty way to town, I shall not blink an eye. Should I find myself in a dark alley about to be deprived of my maidenly virtue, I would only sneer. There is one thing on this earth, however, that will always create in me, a reaction of terror and disgust.
That is the spider.
Long legs, hairy, quick movements; I, to this date, have been unable to analyze my fear of them. I have come to several theories, though.
1. They are really very disorganised creatures. To me, they are a symbol of chaoticism (word) and downright disobedience. When you run through a tall hedge to escape the cretin chasing after you with a water pistol, who should you run into but the spider's web.
Not that anyone wouldn't go for a nice healthy dose of web face.
2. It inspired the concept Spiderman. Not that I didn't appreciate the concept, but I am prejudiced and no one can make clear to me why it would be cool to a) be bitten by a spider and b ) develop their same disgusting traits over night.
3. I once considered it a phobia, but I've always felt the word "phobia" implied an irrational fear. I think that my fear of them is completely rational. Ask me why I am afraid of them and I say this thing, "I do not want them to touch me because they are the vampires of the bug world."
Vampires can be sexy; spiders are not. Vampires have angst; spiders have rude and uncouth bloodlust which leaves them under the impression that they may enter my room and sit next to me as I open my eyes in the early hours. (SPIDERS WERE HARMED IN THE MAKING OF THIS ESSAY). I just feel that comparing them to vampires makes my fear a little smaller. The only problem is that garlic is not going to make that spider retreat into the darkness nor the sun, wither the fine fuzz on its many-eyed head.
Do not take me for the judgemental species-biased bigot I sound like. I have tried to befriend spiders in the past. For the first few months that I was in French Africa, I lived in a room where nightly a spider with horrendously long legs would creep from under the baseboard and sit there until exactly nine-fifteen in the morning, whereas I would head to classes. As I dressed in the morning, I would make conversation politely. Saying things like, "Can't be easy being the overlord of bugs, can it? I mean, no one trusts you, do they? I can almost imagine why your eight legs can be a bit of an off-putter. Parties wouldn't be as fun if someone invites a spider."
The many-legged monstrousity actually blinked at me once and I spent a count of thirty minutes frozen on my bed with my feet tucked under me, feeling a fear beyond words.
I spent the next five minutes convincing him that I didn't mean to offend, I was just horribly opposed to his beliefs. Before I went off to class, I called him Lestat.
Unfortunately, Lestat was killed a week later. The reading selection in that house consisted of bosomy women being clutched in the most-testosteronic arms of her beloved as she looked off into the stormy sea, thinking thoughts of betrayal, tears, and sex on the beach. I was reading one such novel because if I don't read at all, my stupid turns on, when my dear host wandered in to ask me a question. I nodded a yes to whatever it was and he murmured something in return. It was a moment before I heard the horrid sound of a raid can being put to use and another such book hitting the wall repetitively. I looked up from Felicity being ravished by Jacob Biceps or something or other only to meet the foul and grisly sight of Lestat covered in his own entrails, cracked and broken upon the floor, his long and beautiful black legs twisted here and there.
My mouth formed an "OH" of terrible contemplation as my host cracked a smile as if to ask, "Are you not pleased at the death of your first spider romance?"
When he left to retrieve paper towel in order to scoop up my beloved Lestat. I stood from the bed and looked down at him. I thought it would be respectful to shed a tear, but I'd just seen another tinier spider run up my wall and the book was in my hand so...
Well, anyway, I really tried and I felt a contemplative, shrewd affection for Lestat, in that he was probably the evil spider overlord and perhaps of noble blood. Sometimes I mourn him by appreciating how intricately the web of a spider can be; sometimes I think Lestat may have been a girl, then I find myself contemplating the existence of spider-reproductive organs, and I feel like crying. When my friends and family see the tears in my eyes then, they look at one another and think,
"Anaria once loved a spider. His name was Lestat."
So, a tribute to Lestat! The Vampire of Bugs! Long-legged, dynamic, most likely witty, whose theme song would be Mozart's Requiem Agnus Dei.
Long Live the earth's necessary monstrosities!
*weeps*
That is the spider.
Long legs, hairy, quick movements; I, to this date, have been unable to analyze my fear of them. I have come to several theories, though.
1. They are really very disorganised creatures. To me, they are a symbol of chaoticism (word) and downright disobedience. When you run through a tall hedge to escape the cretin chasing after you with a water pistol, who should you run into but the spider's web.
Not that anyone wouldn't go for a nice healthy dose of web face.
2. It inspired the concept Spiderman. Not that I didn't appreciate the concept, but I am prejudiced and no one can make clear to me why it would be cool to a) be bitten by a spider and b ) develop their same disgusting traits over night.
3. I once considered it a phobia, but I've always felt the word "phobia" implied an irrational fear. I think that my fear of them is completely rational. Ask me why I am afraid of them and I say this thing, "I do not want them to touch me because they are the vampires of the bug world."
Vampires can be sexy; spiders are not. Vampires have angst; spiders have rude and uncouth bloodlust which leaves them under the impression that they may enter my room and sit next to me as I open my eyes in the early hours. (SPIDERS WERE HARMED IN THE MAKING OF THIS ESSAY). I just feel that comparing them to vampires makes my fear a little smaller. The only problem is that garlic is not going to make that spider retreat into the darkness nor the sun, wither the fine fuzz on its many-eyed head.
Do not take me for the judgemental species-biased bigot I sound like. I have tried to befriend spiders in the past. For the first few months that I was in French Africa, I lived in a room where nightly a spider with horrendously long legs would creep from under the baseboard and sit there until exactly nine-fifteen in the morning, whereas I would head to classes. As I dressed in the morning, I would make conversation politely. Saying things like, "Can't be easy being the overlord of bugs, can it? I mean, no one trusts you, do they? I can almost imagine why your eight legs can be a bit of an off-putter. Parties wouldn't be as fun if someone invites a spider."
The many-legged monstrousity actually blinked at me once and I spent a count of thirty minutes frozen on my bed with my feet tucked under me, feeling a fear beyond words.
I spent the next five minutes convincing him that I didn't mean to offend, I was just horribly opposed to his beliefs. Before I went off to class, I called him Lestat.
Unfortunately, Lestat was killed a week later. The reading selection in that house consisted of bosomy women being clutched in the most-testosteronic arms of her beloved as she looked off into the stormy sea, thinking thoughts of betrayal, tears, and sex on the beach. I was reading one such novel because if I don't read at all, my stupid turns on, when my dear host wandered in to ask me a question. I nodded a yes to whatever it was and he murmured something in return. It was a moment before I heard the horrid sound of a raid can being put to use and another such book hitting the wall repetitively. I looked up from Felicity being ravished by Jacob Biceps or something or other only to meet the foul and grisly sight of Lestat covered in his own entrails, cracked and broken upon the floor, his long and beautiful black legs twisted here and there.
My mouth formed an "OH" of terrible contemplation as my host cracked a smile as if to ask, "Are you not pleased at the death of your first spider romance?"
When he left to retrieve paper towel in order to scoop up my beloved Lestat. I stood from the bed and looked down at him. I thought it would be respectful to shed a tear, but I'd just seen another tinier spider run up my wall and the book was in my hand so...
Well, anyway, I really tried and I felt a contemplative, shrewd affection for Lestat, in that he was probably the evil spider overlord and perhaps of noble blood. Sometimes I mourn him by appreciating how intricately the web of a spider can be; sometimes I think Lestat may have been a girl, then I find myself contemplating the existence of spider-reproductive organs, and I feel like crying. When my friends and family see the tears in my eyes then, they look at one another and think,
"Anaria once loved a spider. His name was Lestat."
So, a tribute to Lestat! The Vampire of Bugs! Long-legged, dynamic, most likely witty, whose theme song would be Mozart's Requiem Agnus Dei.
Long Live the earth's necessary monstrosities!
*weeps*