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May. 16th, 2009 04:08 pmButterflies scare me.
No, that's not quite right. They disturb me, at some subconscious level. When I see one, I recoil not out of fear, but because some tiny bit of my mind is screaming that they are wrong. Wrong like a triangle with four corners. That tiny bit is steadfast in its insistence that they are impossible, even when one is fluttering about in front of me.
The thing is, I don't have a problem with pictures of butterflies, or even videos. But when they're right there, something in my head blows a fuse.
I sort of regard them as quasi-mythical at times. Like something that should be restricted to the pages of a fantasy book, but they just don't know it. I actually created a weird worldmyth around a giant space butterfly. It had been around for so long in a cocoon that life and civilizations had taken up residence. When it matured, millennia later, mountain ranges split apart as it emerged, flinging said civilizations flying into the vacuum of space. (I'm probably using all the wrong terms here, too.) Giant Space Butterfly was a sort of world-god, and one with a time limit.
And yet, whenever I'm at a zoo or museum or whatever that happens to have a butterfly house, I think to myself, "Oh, I'm not that scared!" ...And almost immediately regret it when I step in, a sharp chill runs up and down my spine and I do my best to get through as quickly as possible without having a complete and total mental implosion.
I don't know why I'm writing all this. Just brainspew fueled from operating on far too little sleep, I guess. I keep coming back to this story in my head of butterflies being discovered to me some cosmic horror - a little glitch in the universe. In their flutter's wake, time folds in on itself and rips tiny little holes, through which we get pinhole glimpses of the impossible. And I keep wanting to write it, but I can't figure out how.
(And if I get really low on sleep, I might start believing my stories...)
No, that's not quite right. They disturb me, at some subconscious level. When I see one, I recoil not out of fear, but because some tiny bit of my mind is screaming that they are wrong. Wrong like a triangle with four corners. That tiny bit is steadfast in its insistence that they are impossible, even when one is fluttering about in front of me.
The thing is, I don't have a problem with pictures of butterflies, or even videos. But when they're right there, something in my head blows a fuse.
I sort of regard them as quasi-mythical at times. Like something that should be restricted to the pages of a fantasy book, but they just don't know it. I actually created a weird worldmyth around a giant space butterfly. It had been around for so long in a cocoon that life and civilizations had taken up residence. When it matured, millennia later, mountain ranges split apart as it emerged, flinging said civilizations flying into the vacuum of space. (I'm probably using all the wrong terms here, too.) Giant Space Butterfly was a sort of world-god, and one with a time limit.
And yet, whenever I'm at a zoo or museum or whatever that happens to have a butterfly house, I think to myself, "Oh, I'm not that scared!" ...And almost immediately regret it when I step in, a sharp chill runs up and down my spine and I do my best to get through as quickly as possible without having a complete and total mental implosion.
I don't know why I'm writing all this. Just brainspew fueled from operating on far too little sleep, I guess. I keep coming back to this story in my head of butterflies being discovered to me some cosmic horror - a little glitch in the universe. In their flutter's wake, time folds in on itself and rips tiny little holes, through which we get pinhole glimpses of the impossible. And I keep wanting to write it, but I can't figure out how.
(And if I get really low on sleep, I might start believing my stories...)
