Tuesday, March 08, 2011

If you look into the ogre-faced spider--not literally, although that's probably fun too--it seems like no one wants to talk about its eyes, only about how it likes to cast nets like a fisherman with many many legs. And that's an impressive technique, to be sure, but if there's one thing I've learned about spiders it's that the only consistent thing among them is their tendency toward wackiness in looking for food. But the ogre-faced spider somehow missed the day in evolution school where their eyes got the reflective predator membrane, and so instead they had to learn to grow a new layer of cells every single night. You know how I like to think about eyes, and it's remarkable to me that it's not remarkable to everyone else. This spider, it looks at everything with brand new eyes practically all the time.

I sliced my finger badly last night, cutting something carelessly while sitting on the couch. What I should have done was jump up and run to the bathroom, to avoid getting any blood on my grandma's quilt, but it seemed to take ages for the blood to reach the surface. I couldn't move until I saw what came out--a rainbow or a monster or thirteen poems. But it turns out I am only full of blood after all.

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