A Leaf-Insect Gets Existential With Heavy-Handed Metaphors
By Emily Clouse
How long has it been since I last gazed upon mine own reflection? Has it been… not since… no; never like this. Never so deeply.
How long have I been both leaf and insect? Am I equal parts both? If I weren’t, what would be the difference, upon death?
What do others see? May I find comfort in the fact that all four — you, they, He and I — each see something different? Am I invisible to those who wish me harm, beautiful to those who wish me procreation? Am I, as an individual, eligible for either, or am I, as an individual, given nary a single thought, until I force myself upon someone, demanding to be recognized, insisting on existing, begging to matter? Even then, am I, as a species, worth Googling? Am I, as an individual, worth blogging?
I hardly want to admit it, but this door, though reflective, is also a window. If I try hard enough, I could surely see inside. What holds me back? Is this someone’s home? Where they eat, sleep, cry, lay eggs, laugh with friends, sit alone? What is “home”? Do I want to see what another’s life looks like out of empathy, or perversion? Do I want to compare a random sampling with my own to feel better, or worse? Does altruistic curiosity exist?
No; I am reflected, therefore I am, therefore I am imperfect, therefore I am perfect. I am leaving; I am insecting; I am woman, hear me rustle. I AM. EASILY. GOOGLED.
If this doesn’t become the biggest video on the Internet, then I have no faith left in humanity.
By Rob Fee
I’m about to finish up my sophomore fall of college, and friends from home are getting married and having babies and sufficiently freaking me out.
He was a perfect date. I later got drunk and hacked his phone (who uses their birth year for a password? It was 1986, by the way #teamcougar). What I found was a text to a Kristina explaining his aforementioned sex dream he’d had about her while sleeping next to me in a luxurious hotel bed.
By Meg Beyer
Single people love to whine about being single.