another installment in the creepy-crawly saga

Spiders, right?  Spiders, beetles, creepy-crawlies, things that crawl over your hand in the night…  Except that maybe the spider that crawled over my hand wasn’t a dream after all.  Because the night after, my partner screeched out a great yell from the bathroom, and I went running hell for leather to see which leg he’d broken.

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He hadn’t, though.  No, he’d spotted a spider on the wall.  A great, fat, juicy, gross monster of a spider, that looked like it couldn’t possibly be a UK national, must surely have smuggled itself in under a bunch of bananas.  The kind of spider that Brexit was invented for, that’s almost enough to put you off the ideal of the free movement of peoples – and spiders – across borders.

And then he took a newspaper and he splatted it.  No searching about for a cup to coax it into, no throwing it out unharmed into the night.  Poor Mr Spider, I am sorry all over again!  It was a monster, though.  But doesn’t a monster spider have the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of Mrs Spider?  Arachnid rights, people!

What’s it all about then, arachnids of my manor?  Spiders of the ‘hood, what’s the word?  What are you trying to tell me?

I think maybe I really ought to begin on my serial of ‘The Entomologist and No-Spidersman’.  I’m afraid of what might come visiting otherwise.

Image – USGS Bee Inventory and Monitoring Lab, public domain.

 

Hence, you long legged spinners, hence!

 

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And continuing with the creepy-crawly theme of this blog recently, I had a dream last night.  Well, I think it was a dream, or not.  Or else I woke up in the middle of the night, reached out to the nightstand for my phone to check the time, and –

 

a spider ran over my hand.

 

Checking, this morning, it must surely have been a dream.  Because according to my partner – who sleeps lightly – I did not wake him up by screaming the place down.  And also, there is a curious fogged, vague, indeterminate lack of ending to the memory itself, which doesn’t lend it a lot of credence.

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If it had been for real, then I would have been haring around the bedroom, bashing anything that moved with a rolled-up newspaper and screeching my head off, for sure.  Not that I mind spiders.  Generally, I am pro-spider.  Just not when I’ve that second woken up, and the spider in question is ON MY FUCKING HAND.

That’s all.  I reckon the universe is sending me a message.  Possibly, ‘Crack on with that ‘The Entomologist and No-Spiders-Man’ tale, then, eh?  Where is it?’

 

Image – 1000iu Klvo on Flickr, public domain.

Image – Rob Mitchell on Flickr, public domain.

what have I got in my head AND WHY?

 

THAT!

‘Anyone knows an ant, can’t
Move a rubber tree plant

But he’s got high hopes, he’s got high hopes
He’s got high apple pie, in the sky hopes

So any time your gettin’ low
‘Stead of lettin’ go
Just remember that ant
Oops there goes another rubber tree plant
Oops there goes another rubber tree plant
Oops there goes another rubber tree plant…’

 

I seem to have insects on the brain lately.  I oughta write a gay romance about it – because you can write a gay romance about anything, right?  A superhero saga, maybe, about a mysteriously powered bug-collector and an arachnophobe – ‘The Entomologist and NoSpiders-Man!’

NoSpiders-Man’s spandex would have to be a photo negative of Spiderman’s, of course…

Here’s the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!

I had the windows open this morning, while I wrote.  And while in a daze, wondering whether to throw in a few fifty-buck words just to piss off Hemingway, I became aware of a buzzing.

A buzzing, a rustling, a frantic hum, coming from behind the curtains where they were bunched up.  And when I went to have a look, it was an insect, bouncing around behind there.  Frantic with captivity, wings flickering and building up to an aggressive whine if it didn’t find the exit bloody quick.

A fly.  A fly!  OH GOD A FLY!  I ran and grabbed household antibacterial spray, found fly spray in the cupboard under the sink, ran back and MACED THAT FUCKER.

Then I got a bit of a closer look, once I’d calmed down, and it was all still and quiet and deaded.

Oh, but it wasn’t a fly.  It was a beetle.  A harmless beetle, just faintly wobbling one feeler as he wobbled off this mortal coil.  Damn it.  I’d jumped to conclusions, freaked out a bit, gone into battle: and now one poor beetle had paid the price.  He’d probably come in on a bike or a jacket earlier in the day.  He didn’t mean no harm, honestly guv!

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And now, hours later, I still feel just crummy about it.  Oh, poor Mr Beetle, I feel absolutely awufl.  I’m so sorry.

 

Image – Fowler, W. W. (William Weekes), 1849-1923; Donisthorpe, Horace St. John Kelly, 1870, public domain.

 

 

wow. and cats.

Since I began blogging this past year, it’s been such a joy to discover cat inspired artwork all over the world. I am amazed every day by the unending inspiration that the feline form (and temperament!) provides. Although I love so much of the art I find, certain cat artists quickly became favorites – and…

via 8 of Kitty Curator’s Favorite Cat Artists — Katzenworld

How adorable are these?  I need a cat.  I also need a print (or preferably an original) by every single one of these incredibly talented artists.

meditative epiphanies

I had an insight while meditating.  (Better get used to it, if you’re reading regularly).  First, a Bible passage sprang into my mind.

The steps of a righteous person are ordered by the Lord. Psalms 37:23

And then this thought.

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Image by Beryl_snw on Flickr, public domain.

If your steps are ordered – guided, approved, meaningful – then doesn’t it make sense to take a lot of them?  Instead of just praying vehemently and waiting for your desired things to fall into your lap, to go out into the world and do your part, as part of the universe, in making it so?  A lot of ordered, guided steps!

Very like Steve Pavlina’s posts on massive action, and the comments of those wiser than I on adherents of the Law of Attraction who think it sufficient to achieve the ‘correct vibration’, without going out and doing, going after what they want.  Like the universe is going to dump a Porsche and their soulmate in their laps, right there at home.  Vibration is movement, people, by definition!  Vibration is action!  It’s taking steps!  (Divinely ordered ones, of course.)

The Universe is in motion, and you are part of the Universe.  If you want it to bring you what you desire, you’d better remember that you form part of the machinery that can actually do that.  Little cog, get moving!