The Bedtime Story of Insectopia (365/365 #353)
Only some of us remember what Life was like, before
all us bugs took over. The human geniuses all agreed
they smelled inevitable sprayed on the wall years ago.
The math alone- odds of two million to one- spoke
loud with prophecy. We insects were to the humans
what the mammals were to the dinosaurs: the next
act, waiting in the wings, wings buzzing, legs clicking,
poisoned mandibles primed. They stood, human sand
castles against the ocean, ignoring the terrible truth
of what's rich in their species; the mix of ignorance,
arrogance, and soft flesh. Fat and sluggish, they brought
on evolution's night with no thought for every Passenger
Pigeon blown out of a tree; without even noticing how
close they were to the same edge they sent Dodos over;
without noticing how many insects they didn’t even see
on any given day: something like eleven million. Imagine
the day we had the same idea at the same time: “Man
= food.” That was the day the sand castles truly knew
what it looks like when the ocean notices you, and crashes
with all the weight of your mistakes. They brewed poisons
that only made our shells stronger. They spent everything
on war, and watched it on flat-screen televisions; grew blind
to the trouble growing outside the front door. They couldn’t
walk outside for the fire ants and killer bees, death-trapped
inside, and no matter where they stood, there was a spider
never more than three feet away. Whenever they scanned
for aliens, they always looked to the sky, afraid of invasion
from body-snatchers looking for a new home. They never
looked at their own feet. As one people, humanity fell hard
into arguments and anger. The PETA folks said “Good!
We deserve to go out this way!” while scientists pounded
atoms into the shapes of new poisons, better roach bombs,
chemicals so toxic, most of the best researchers perished
from their own experiments. There are places on earth
man could never walk safely for 10 x 10 thousand years,
even if they lasted that long. We insects live there just fine.
This is why I tell you this bedtime story, my pale grubs, you
seven thousand young: so you know “Once there were giants
that roamed these lands. We know this because their bones
tell us how they lived, but not as much as their garbage can
tell us of their complete lack of true rhythm with the world;
and their terrible, burning dreams, heavy with loneliness
that never knew a hive-mind. They are gone, swallowed
by extinction. When we sing “ Resistance is futile” it is we
remembering how the humans buried themselves for us.
all us bugs took over. The human geniuses all agreed
they smelled inevitable sprayed on the wall years ago.
The math alone- odds of two million to one- spoke
loud with prophecy. We insects were to the humans
what the mammals were to the dinosaurs: the next
act, waiting in the wings, wings buzzing, legs clicking,
poisoned mandibles primed. They stood, human sand
castles against the ocean, ignoring the terrible truth
of what's rich in their species; the mix of ignorance,
arrogance, and soft flesh. Fat and sluggish, they brought
on evolution's night with no thought for every Passenger
Pigeon blown out of a tree; without even noticing how
close they were to the same edge they sent Dodos over;
without noticing how many insects they didn’t even see
on any given day: something like eleven million. Imagine
the day we had the same idea at the same time: “Man
= food.” That was the day the sand castles truly knew
what it looks like when the ocean notices you, and crashes
with all the weight of your mistakes. They brewed poisons
that only made our shells stronger. They spent everything
on war, and watched it on flat-screen televisions; grew blind
to the trouble growing outside the front door. They couldn’t
walk outside for the fire ants and killer bees, death-trapped
inside, and no matter where they stood, there was a spider
never more than three feet away. Whenever they scanned
for aliens, they always looked to the sky, afraid of invasion
from body-snatchers looking for a new home. They never
looked at their own feet. As one people, humanity fell hard
into arguments and anger. The PETA folks said “Good!
We deserve to go out this way!” while scientists pounded
atoms into the shapes of new poisons, better roach bombs,
chemicals so toxic, most of the best researchers perished
from their own experiments. There are places on earth
man could never walk safely for 10 x 10 thousand years,
even if they lasted that long. We insects live there just fine.
This is why I tell you this bedtime story, my pale grubs, you
seven thousand young: so you know “Once there were giants
that roamed these lands. We know this because their bones
tell us how they lived, but not as much as their garbage can
tell us of their complete lack of true rhythm with the world;
and their terrible, burning dreams, heavy with loneliness
that never knew a hive-mind. They are gone, swallowed
by extinction. When we sing “ Resistance is futile” it is we
remembering how the humans buried themselves for us.