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9:14 p.m. - 2001-10-06
Sea-bugs Got It Made
I've started to read more online journals. Some are funny, some are dark, some are merely a list of errands people run throughout the day. They all seem to be the same in one regard though, every writer is coping with the ability to see the absurdity of human existence. Comedy, anger, depression, indifference, all different voices saying the same thing.

I used to be a prawn fisherman. We pulled tons of the little insects off the ocean floor. I sometimes felt like the grim reaper watching their life-light literally extinguish from their eyes as they lived their last moments before me. I often pondered their experience, these little beings, their biology is fascinating. They start off asexual before turning into males for the first two years of their reproductive lives. They then finish out their remaining one to three years as females if they are able to avoid fishes, octopi, and human predatory practice.

We can barely deal with it when we start to grow furry privates and pits.

Despite a complicated life cycle, their responsibilities are almost nil. They have four ways in which they can respond to the world and only four. Eat, crawl, swim and fuck. Thatís it. Thatís their entire obligation. Survive, reproduce. No communication, no creation, no concern beyond their immediate sensory.

Did they form thought? Did they wonder "why me, God?" as they were slowly suffocating in the open air? If I threw one back did it change it's life thanks to the near death experience? Straighten up? Start living right?

Like I said, too much time to think.

We all have too much time to think. We have gotten the prawns problems pretty much licked, plus the few extras dealt to us such as shelter and clothing. Now we can concern ourselves with all manner of bullshit, from entertainment, to extending our lives, to yes self-explanation. Why us, God? Why us?

I was recently asked the question; what pleasure do I get from my creative outlet. The answer I gave surprised me. I think what I really enjoy is communicating my reaction to the daily pain of living in a world that is inexplicable while having a burning desire for explanation. I long for confirmation that I am not alone in my pain. When someone says that they relate with my experience, it makes me feel connected with humanity. This is why I yearn for accolade. This is why it is not the process of creating that is important to me, but the validation of having another be touched by whatever I created. It is the same reason that I enjoy the art of others- be it expression of comedy, anger, or delight- feeling like I am not alone in my emotional experience is beautiful.

The more I look for the opportunity to feel connected, the easier it becomes for me. All one must do is give up the notion that another must react similarly to you, and suddenly, everyone is speaking to you in every action every day.

The man who cuts me off in traffic and screams in his road-rage. The woman who spends thousands of dollars, and hours each morning trying to recreate herself so she can proceed to snub me. The back-stabbing gossip at work who can't wait to use my head as a rung on their ladder. They are all just telling me that they understand the pain.

I hear y'all motherfuckers, I understand it too.

By the way, the next time you have prawns, ask yourself if you would eat one if they lived in your kitchen like other bugs. My guess is you would stomp the shit out of it instead giving it the ol' garlic butter treatment. But that doesn't necessarily mean we should stop eating prawns, maybe that we should start eating roaches.

 

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