El Scorcho Online Article

Got Purpose? by Ashley Adams
Flies always haunted Emily Dickenson. They can be parasitic, disease carrying creatures and were present at the Black Plague. There should be no romance attached to the fly. Then again, the real moments are only beautiful once they're romanticized, and there's something poetic about being compared so closely to one of the masses that you are, in fact, a fly on the wall.

Personally, I've always found flies disinheriting. They'll try so hard to get outside through a window that doesn't even open, until eventually they waste away in pursuit of their goal. A fly's only real chance of survival in such a case is to abandon all hope of survival. Leave the window where they can see, almost touch, the object of their desire. Abandon it in favor of a more remote part of the house which offers no promises or particular allure. Only once the fly gives up completely has it any hope of success. Life lesson?

Virginia Wolfe once wrote a similar essay about a moth. Something about reclusive women English majors overanalyzing things from the phylum leprotada makes me realize I need to get out of the house more.

Apparently, I seek vengeance under the haze of the borracha, but I'm tired of being a failed version of the good-on-paper beckon-call-girl. In the words of Tim Sandlin, "I'm declaring myself a temporary emotional catatonic."

"I been talkin' crazy, ain't I?"
"Yeah, Chief"- he rolled over in his bed- "you been talkin' crazy."
"It wasn't what I wanted to say. I can't say it all. It don't make sense."
"I didn't say it didn't make sense, Chief. I just said it was talkin' crazy."

Original Release: October 2006, Version II
Section: Human Issues