This was not the first time Crissalida had disturb me. Who knows what she had been digging back then in the freezing winter days, but she did dig me, and she did dig that it was not alright to dig me, so she ‘gently’ buried me, gently?

Back in those days I was me, but my looks where not quite as attractive as now with my flame-red goatee and neo-punkish flame-red mane. Indeed I was quite different, larval really. I was white but not as white as the snow surrounding us, and pulpous but not pupal yet.

Matter of fact I was somewhere in the mist of my metamorphosis, and I tell you, it was painful. Hence my choosing winter for the process as in cryonic manner the temperature would ease some agony away. AOOO that wakefulness... the thought alone still haunts and torments me. I had no legs, no eyes, no antennae but I did have a brain, a mouth, a belly and large intestines which where full of shit because I had been eating for a good 10 months. The trouble was, I had no asshole yet!

AOOOO..what can I say..Do you know what I’m talking about? No, of course you don’t. No level of empathy could possibly make you feel what I felt then, wiggling about in the caring but torturous warmth of Crissalida’s beautiful hand. You think this was bad?

As Crissalida laid me in and before I had a chance to tuck back into slumber in my soil chamber, between her thumb and her index…AAAAAGGGHHH yes I was squashed!

I twitched and screamed and thought I had died before I had even been born. Masses of soil were shoved onto me and further pressure was placed upon the soil that buried me deep enough for Crissalida to hear my squealing and howling no more, luckily there were no ants nearby.

The shocker took the wind out of my sails, literally out of my guts. Yes OOOH yes, as a bolt from the blue, the pressurised feeling was released, and flabbergasted by the event I had a good shit. Best shit ever, AAAHH how I embraced the open passage of my newly found asshole.

Ever astonished, I had pupated, metamorphed that one step further and fluxed back into intra-epsilon-sleep. Funny how a step can be of indescribable discomfort, yet a step is all it takes for one to move sunwise. There would be lots more to come in the metamorphosis process, but I was determined to get through my fear of pain. The ‘dream’ world amused me and I knew then that one day I would see the light and the dream would become real.

Time went by. Time in which I gain knowledge of the songs of nature from the intra-dimentional matrix, of my fellow bug mates and enemies too, such as these lot.

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It was a nice state of being, except at times when I would concord to violent molecular fluctuations of my physique. There was beauty in that too, in the feeling of appendice growth that would equip me for a dreamed-envisioned future. Talk of coding DNA dynamics!

As my antennae grew, I was able to toggle about sonar and chromo-dynamic frequencies which spurred further my evolution. I learned of love and of duties. I pondered rules of my species patterns, rebelling somehow against them and against all that had been established, because I was an individual you know? The collective dynamics that magnetised me were useful guiding poles, but that’s all. I was to be me, to create and re-create my behaviours forth when I intuitively knew one day I would be free.

I had dreams of achievements, not to satisfy any particular societal colony, but to be true to myself and follow my own path. I was determined to free myself from the agony of living this way bondaged by outdated habits and old formulas which were thrusted upon me.

I would prioritise to make myself happy, and the waves of my joy would ripple others happy. I would exemplify the truth of self duty, free of constrictive family and educational bondage and free even from etheric, telluric, geo-magnetic, thermo-active parameters and that sort.

Yeah, I had lofty ambitions and the heart of a warrior of light, perhaps that bit too much, but I did have much light to give. You see how life’s light beams out of me? I am alive. I AM here.


Anyhow, above all I wanted to develop my very own unique experience of exploration of existence. For example, my antennae had brought forward the information of a British citizen, Professor John Searl’s environ-mental SEG tech spaceship which I could stowaway guilt-free of damaging nature, and get to New Zealand in a matter of 3 hours, where I would hum and lick about sweet tree sap, just as native little humanoids did as taught by their mums.

Of course eventually I would need to hitch a ride back to London where my presence was so badly needed by a degenerated collective consciousness which had irrefutably detached itself from elementary oscillations of nature.

But you know what I mean, I did not wish to shackle myself to societal duties alone. Slavery was so passé’, I would do my own thing too, I would refuse to display anyone else’s enforced perceptions of ‘right’ behaviour. Those whose path I would cross would just have to adjust. There would be no right or wrong because what-e-va I would choose, that would be my path, and that is a fact I would not justify.

In that sphere of thought I was when a few weeks back, after spending underground a good fourth of my total existence, I was woken by a shovel which could have dissected me apart.

I shook my wings for the first time with all my might creating a drone strong enough to rattle the soil molecules which enveloped me. Talk of the power of sound. Crissalida felt it, heard my sonic cry loud and clear.

I was ready to be born. Feeling gawkish, I climbed out amongst giant strawberry plants, saw her face and saw eye to eye. Yes, I could see! Under fluffy dark hollows I had eyes. She had a concerned and curious demeanour and would wire up a bit in sync with the vibration of my wings. I smiled.

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I studied my curvaceous, succulent, furry, colourful and light anatomy, and discovered its uses. How lucky I had been, I was intact. Males of my species could be so brutal as to prowl innocence and virginity with a strong mandible grasp, only to later dismiss responsibility of work. My spermatheca was clean and empty, and I planned to keep it that way for I had better things to do with my life.

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Right now –and the NOW is of greater importance than else- I was hungry and lured by the fragrance of floral oils, eager to test my buds into taste and ready to eat pollen and drink nectar, the loving nectar of life’s abundance.

Propulsion, antigravity lift-off, GO!

Crissalida cried. I flew about her and vortexed her thought which shared of my joy. Perhaps with her cocoonish name she had somehow empathised and understood the treassure of my life. Off I went over the abysm of the balcony, vertigoless whilst she gasped.

In a sign of friendship, some 10 minutes later I returned to her nest where she stood in rivers of emotional tears and laughter, to wave each other one last goodbye.

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'Not that way!' she shouted loudly when I entered her home. 'Out that way, towards the marshes which so depend in your pollination for survival', she said.

'We ALL depend on ‘pollination’ for survival’, and with a wink in my eye I was gone.

‘I love you ZZAM, may you live long and prosper , you go girl, buzz the world.’



Copyright © 2010 C Correa All rights reserved. Any unauthorised public performance, copying or adaptation will constitute an infringement of copyright and may be prosecuted.