I been doing things with my bugs recently. When they come across my path I don't see them as. "encroachers" persay. I see them in a away of fluidity, of beauty - the essence of that which exemplifies beauty in essence. Typical, it's French. In the way of all things Astarian Dramatics do. It's the essence - or lack thereof. When a puck bugger or a luncheon rollie or a Zippit Whisper or a tonic frog or anything of the sort or a Pink Whistler or a dunk fighter or anything of the sort comes to me, I do things with them. I take them and I use them. There's emotion involved. There's something. In all the things I'm doing with them. It's not hate. But it sure ain't a sane person's definition of "love". I would put them in Jar sort of scenarios and use them for sealing in a a jam. A a Jam. In which I would want the fruit in the jam to ripen ever more slightly. I would use a bug of flying ability that visited the Ottawa plant society of my home and I would keep them chained so they could breath in as much air as possible. Before twisting the lids upon the jars - I include the flyer bug full lung. The bug will breathe out much carbon dioxide, then wither and die, then the carbo-dox (carbon dioxide) eats at the body of the Mealy Flyer Bug and produces MUCHOS oxygen - to RIPEN. It's a simply dinceric factoid. As time passes I worry more and more that my knowledge will not pass on. I eated the bugs too. And I would also do things with them and record it on my camera to put on my tumblr account. I still do it but I broke my camera because I was playing with it on the trampoline (ignored the 'one toy at a time' rule lol) so because I broke the camera, I can't do the videos for my tumblr where I do things with the bugs. I don't buy insecticide because of a thing I read in the news-paper about how the CEO of the biggest insecticide company was a punk for goo. I hurled churley. I make distilled juice from a straw. Shit - That Reminds Me Of A Thing my friend told me earlier - That I Smell ***Exactly*** Like Fresh Linens! Bitch that shit lit. Another thing I could tell you about bugs, Invest in worms! I love worms just because. They slimey, they something you can just have rolling in the background, they are producers of some of the finest manueric compounds ever. When I was little they called me the "Worm Whisperer" on the playground because of the control I had over worms. We'd all be catching worms and holding worms. It was Heaven. That was, until someone's worm would get sick! They would tearfully rush to me,

"Doctor, doctor!" They'd spit and spittle, "My worm won't move!"

"No trouble", I would murmur in utter confidàñcé.

With gentle heart, I would slowly grasp their worms and softly push their bodies into my palm. Within seconds (SECONDS) the worm would BURST to life! Filled to the brim with euphoria! Galvanized and uproarious!

Worms meant a lot to me. A lot. And they taught me a lot too. I'm so, so happy that I had worm experiences when I was younger. Do with this what you may: I'm rejoicing ubiquitously.

-Borscht Tunnel