Tigers and Beetles

There are many who wish to become the tiger, yet the best they can do is to become the lesser vehicle called the tiger beetle which is a bug, similar to a cockroach, that lives in vertical holes in sandy ground, that has long left Kansas territory. Their most impressive stance is the reflection off the underneath side of their wings that are incapable of flight.

This cockroach type creature has only one purpose in life, and that is to prey upon its own ignorance. It’s “I” remains close to its home, and attached to the program called time, which the bug worships. Everything it gets is according to the electrolysis of its maggot effect.

This infested cockroach feeds on prey in order to eat its dead, but it is not instinct, it is rather etiquette that drives the bug to ruin. Its thrill is the roasting, and the smell of the dead. Their young are always sluggish worms that dwell on the practices of their parents who feed on the dead. They are always happy to spread their wings in order to show you their reflection, as long as you don’t step on them, as bones are another item they worship, and the dead body that surrounds them. They always eat their favorite bone, called T, which reminds them of the time they have left before they are crushed, or eaten by such as the rooster, Gallus domesticus, which exemplifies the demeanor of the bug and its dangerous course of action.

Its courage again rests only in its reflection. The cockroach will look and acts like a completely normal bug, attempting to fit into society as other bugs. It hangs out in libraries, not to read, but to seek prey. It builds its own community of various bugs all with funny wings. The extra legs near its trimmed head help the bug to tease itself, constantly brushing its Teeth, and to keep it enticed to feed.

The tiger on the other hand, never brushes it Teeth, as it knows to eat what it is designed to eat, so the Teeth remain healthy. The tiger is a real carnivore, whose fear is limited. The bug who thinks he is a carnivore has no sense of fear other than to hide and hope things clear up. The tiger has a love for the soft fur and hair upon the hide, which the cockroach repels. The cockroach who wears a tie and suit does this to reflect the skeleton which holds the putrid ingredients that empower the bug, for which the bug needs desperately to survive, as this gives everyone else the illusion that it is real. But the cockroach is not intelligent enough to know that once this is removed, it will soon die.

The cockroaches come in all shapes and sizes, but mostly roundish looking, with a scurrying habitat of feeding on other’s ideas, which might be referred to as aristocracy, yet the wrist watch has no time, nor is it the best, it is only another bug. It is assumed that the bugs have what is of value, but the bug is not smart enough to know its main purpose is fertilizer, and this helps to explain why the bug wants to breed, as this brings the formation of the B horizon, which then brings forth the stationary of life that has real value.

The cockroach holds that its harmony is in the argument, which is their basis of life without harmony at all, rather entertainment for the tiger who praises the sun shine in a soft field. Eventually floods, fires, and other natural means ends the bugs rein of self happiness. However, the tiger will see this coming long before it arrives and prepare.

The beetle who thinks he is a tiger has a favorite past time of lying to itself and others. This helps the putrid bug to enrich itself in its short rein that is lost in time. The easily crunched bug has no hutzpah, rather has what is referred to as chutzpah, and that of claiming its own lock, which only exists between its feeble jagged legs that scurry around others in the chance it can eat. Its biggest fear is to fall down its own hole. So, insurance was created to prevent this from happening.

As for the cockroach, all that matters is what is “inside”, and everything that is “outside” is checked to see if it can be eaten. The deadish-looking bug does not see the net stretched out before it, it is completely ignorant. When the bug spreads it wings, just hit it with the white flush, or that of a quick love-in-a-mist, and the bug will curl up and die. Or watch the bug cook in the sun, after a quick swath of the paw. The ants will soon come to clean up the mess. The bug cannot live without its preying and crying upon its own Gothic lierne shell in which the gravity of love quickly destroys.

We live in a world where the bugs came long before the wars ever began. This may be why we often hear that they will only survive, but logic denies their claim, as they always must feed from themselves, and if only they survive, they would soon devour themselves as the cannibals they are.

The bug is incapable of seeing the sky, or feeling the rain. Their gods wear rubber wheels, and turn at their commands on the fire they despise. The sand in their heads helps them to navigate their anisometropia, or that of their twisted drone in bedfellowing and the worship of their animal poles.

The bug assumes their life is the good life, similar to humans who live only for the sluggish self-endangerments that leave no trail behind, and the wind blows away all traces of their existence. Others strive through the Angora jungle, with their long legs in search of the snake as food, and are remembered as that of the anhinga, from the Tupi ayingá, who inhabit the earth beyond the wrist with a hollowed out hole to tell time by the amount of roar in the pm.

The sheath of the bug serves as its own well, or Welena, which in sound begins to lay out a bloody plan of breaking out of their own valley, and the horrifying movie concept of “It’s Alive”, as this is the first thing checked when born. From this point, the bug is like a doll with lots of strings attached to it. Some of these strings are made of gold, some silver, and some drip the poison along its pathway of life until it reaches the lips.

The tiger sees all this and wonders at the Pleiades. Does he eat the food or play with it for awhile. Maybe it is better to take a nap and eat later. Maybe the stars will form into a giant swatter to swat the bug. The tiger gazes at the twisted herring bone of the image of the bug, like a bad argyle. The bug plays solitaire on its own deck; digging and filling it own holes.

The cockroach is built off the nexus plan, without the distinction between the sound, or the word, or the voice. This comes out of the roots in etymology, straight through the first and second well and converted into the ultimate elongated 8-ball, a fourth fury upon earth, and seemingly the help-mete for two words. It is almost as if the bug collects as a way to allot.

Artistic expression amounts to how fast one can run, or how fat one can be. Measurements are stripped down to a harder science that has its own scurvy and a four-barrel carb. Holes are traded to increase pleasure in the bug’s fantasy. The tiger watches in boredom while viewing a blooming orchid, and a warm breeze from the south. Some of the bugs seem tangled up in their own shit. The tiger ignores their demise and praises the growth out of their fertilizer effect.

Eventually, the wads of bugs are devoured by the ants while birds and other critters use the shells to build huts in the forest. The old stories still echo off the shells of the useless bug world from both sides in time. The story goes that all they had was in their shell, and the pictures remain for all to see in the world of the small, a gift weeded out of the matrix in time.

The tiger stretches out to take a long nap, and listen to the grass wiggle while nature tidies up.