Of Flies, Snakes, Swallows and Carpets of Blue
"Masters of decay." I was reading an essay in one of my favorite magazines. It was an essay about flies, you know, those things that, if we think about them at all, our thoughts are of disdain, disgust, often while words like, get lost you damn flucking fly , accompany a waving of arms around in a futile attempt to coerce them into doing just that. "Years ago, on a hot summer afternoon, I was sitting on my front porch when a housefly took a liking to me. I swatted, but it kept returning, landing on my arm, my leg, my face, my knee. I simmered with agitation.." Here I was reading about flies, but the picture I was drawing in my head was one of an entirely different pest. "Our relationship with these buzzy insects has often been conflicted: Flies carry disease, contaminate food, sometimes bite, and tend to make sound in frequencies we find irksome." That last part sealed the deal, the picture was completed - the monotonous, emotionless, droning voice of ...
