sweet jesus! get this fucking moth off me! ·
29 June 04

I hate moths.

Really detest them. They are irritating and just a pain in the ass during the summer time. Following any form of light. If you wore a glow in the dark condom prior to a night of illicit passion, you would be guaranteed to attract the attention of these irritating vermin. I recently had a bizarre dream about a moth. It was a particularly interesting moth in that it was black, and appeared out of nowhere in a dimly lit room, with no actual artificial light presented.

Visiting a friend’s place, we sat around upstairs watching TV; I think it was football – possibly a recollection of the AC Milan vs. Depo match in which Milan thrashed them with a severe beating in the first of two legs. It was a good match, and everyone was lazily enjoying it – cheering when AC scored, and moaning when Depo played good football, passing the ball between players like a magnet attracted to metal. It was great, but annoying to watch another team do that to your supported team.

As the day went on, one of the guys made a call to invite some females around to just hang out, possibly smoke, drink and chat. This would naturally change the atmosphere, and I wasn’t familiar with the girls anyway, from what I gathered, they were University students – studying subjects which were “easy” in so far as the brain was never challenged, subjects within which convention has no reason to be challenged and you can just drift along merrily. This was annoying to me. No one to argue logic with, no one to argue about authors with. No one to discuss and rate movies with. No one of interest to me. Adult teeny boppers who listened to what was great now, not what will be great or was great. No imagination, and the ability only to follow the sheep, rather than lead them.

It felt like a velvet ball of some kind, fluttering around, against my face

The door bell rang, and I went to open the door. It was a reasonably hot day. I was wearing an open shirt with a thin, light and loose t-shirt at the top end, and very airy casual trousers at the bottom. They, on the other hand, wore near-crotch high bottoms, skimpy tops and were covered in all forms of paraphernalia – balls, rings, colours, shades and so on. I took a micro-second glance, opened the door and walked away. I heard them speaking to each other, “Who’s that? Do you think it’s ok to go in?” I lazily returned to their view as they stood in the corridor, and waved them in “close the door when you’re in, everyone’s in that room” pointing the way. “Thanks” came the response; it was too hot to give a shit for thanks or otherwise.

As I walked in, the sheep followed, and the sheep herder marked his place by throwing all the spare cushions in one corner for his own pleasure. All the guys watched and laughed as I took every visible cushion to create the dreamiest corner imaginable. “This is my corner, no one touches it” I decided to turn on my anti-social anti-charm, a regular personality I choose. “The guy who never says anything”, “The weird one that laughs at the jokes, but doesn’t comment” “The one who shouldn’t be there because he’s not being fun”. The guys were cool about it as ever, “That’s Jin, he just prefers to do his own thing – he doesn’t know you, so he can’t be arsed”.

The girls do not like this; the girls do not like me. But this is ok; their annoyance is to my pleasure and gratification. My interest in women is limited to those that have similar interests. I find the majority of women and I do not click, we may get on well, but we wouldn’t converse socially. I become a closed cocoon to the idiots and those of no interest to me – men or women. So, this is nothing new, and besides they have to be older – talking to women younger than myself has often led to my annoyance. The maturity thing rings true about women, which is my interest lies in those that are at least a couple of years older. Whether this is reciprocated remains to be seen.
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They come in one by one. While the others do the routine and pointless “Hey how are you” hugs, I sit in the corner, and pull out my book since the game is finished. I light up a smoke, take a drag, and carry on reading to the annoyance of the girls who find this anti-social bastard amongst them. No hello, no smile, no interest. “Sorry ladies, but to be the centre of my world, you need have an interest in the unusual and abstract as well as the common and usual.”

Everyone sits around, drinks their drinks, smokes, chat and so on. I’m totally engrossed in the book I am reading, laughing to myself to the amusement of my friends, and once more the annoyance of the girls as I interrupt the attention they are receiving from my friends. This is but a tangent for distraction, of course this wouldn’t matter if the girls really had something interesting to say, as I would expect looks of scowling from the guys as well as the girls.

I yawned, as something hit me in the face. It felt like a velvet ball of some kind, fluttering around, against my face. I waved my hand at my face, and everyone watched as this isolated maniac waved his hand at his face.
“What’s wrong?”

“FUCKING MOTHS MAN!”

“What moths?”

“THIS FAT BASTARD HERE!”

They didn’t seem to be able to see it. It fluttered against my face sporadically, and now it was getting late. The lamps were on, and the moth became more of a nuisance. I began to claw at my face to capture the moth with the stabbing of one finger.

“You all right? You’re acting a bit weird”

“FUCKING MOTH!! It’s pissing me off.”

“What moth? WE can’t see the moth.”

I decided to turn on my anti-social anti-charm, a regular personality I choose

I wasn’t quite sure if they were fucking blind, I was imagining it, or whether this was a moth only I could see. I didn’t really have time to figure it as the moth started to brush against my ear. Suddenly, I stopped clawing, and stopped moving around. I felt sick. The moth had, by some moment of chance, entered my mouth partly. I could feel half of it flapping around on the outside of my mouth, brushing against my upper lip, and the other half, resting and flapping against my teeth. If I opened my mouth, would it all go inside, or would it all exit? I wasn’t sure, I didn’t know what to do, and I was feeling sick at the thought of this moth being inside my moth, wriggling around, velvet in texture, but full of moth-like crap. It made me ill. I stuck the moth in my moth and bit hard.

Everyone in the room was now staring at me. My mouth seemed full, full of what no one could be sure. They asked if I was all right, I nodded with a mouth full of air, or a mouth full of squashed moth. Even I wasn’t sure anymore. Still, I felt the wriggling of something in my mouth and filled with a flood of saliva in an effort to drown the moth that was perhaps beheaded but moving around to my irritation and to the freaked out faces of the audience around me. Perhaps they had thought I was going through a moment of madness. Was that a cig he was smoking? Well, yes it was, and I was sure there was a moth drowning in my mouth, now dissected by my teeth.

The sickness grew, I wanted to puke profusely. The thoughts had manifested themselves into something ugly that was filling my stomach the more I thought about it. My stomach was turning, my thoughts churning black guts and blood. It was a machine of butchery that continued to present itself as the bile it was.

I walked out quietly, opened the door and made my way downstairs to the bathroom. I turned on the light by pulling on the thread hanging from the wall, and puked out a mouth full of saliva and out popped a sea of black. It was however, not a moth. On closer inspection, it was a head full of long black hair. I was confused by this. Having cleaned myself up, I looked at the stairs, which some how had moved. I looked ahead and then back, and found that there was no way I could return upstairs, nor go across to reach the stairs. Above me a light bulb shone, to which a moth was attracted.