STINKBEETLE STUDIO: IN WHICH LIGHT CALLS AND NIGHT FALLS

September 23, 2009

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Whisper the stinkbeetles: we are on the wrong side of the window, by any point of view.

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The artist whispers: Three at a time, if you are compliant and kind. An offer of exodus.

The stinkbeetles whisper the terms: do not fold, spindle or mutilate the stinkbeetle.

Whispers the artist: Everybody stays calm, nobody gets hurt.

Two at a time, one glass per two minutes, whisper the stinkbeetles.

Eighty-nine stinkbeetles.

An hour and a half of travel time, whispers the artist.

Think again, murmur the stinkbeetles – for every five that are escorted out the door, another two come in.

Whisper some: The mathematics are still in the artist’s favor.

Whisper others: but marginally.

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At which time the discovery is made that stinkbeetles, driven to nervous anxiety, emit stink resin.

Oh dear, whisper all species present.

Cumulatively.

A cumulous cloud of noxious acrid fumes.

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Everyone vacates.

But the stinkbeetles can be heard to whisper from the boxwood hedges:  Gone, but not forgotten.

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Night falls, whispers the artist.

Light calls, whisper the stinkbeetles.

As the stinkbeetles enter, they whisper, whispers the artist.

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Pray for rain, my child, they whisper.

Rain, whispers the artist.

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