Little By Little

06 of Nov, 2002

My hands are dirty with MovingType scripts. That’s how this beast is conquered: from the inside out. I watched a nature show a good while back about a kind of demonic fluke who inserts its parasitic larva within the carapace of a snail. Over time the wee ones, subsisting on the precious bodily fluids of the host snail, burrow their way merrily toward the eyepods, rendering the snail thoroughly insane. As the snail continues to crawl directionlessly, the wee ones lie just beneath the translucent skin of the stalks, and there begin to pulsate: a black and white throbbing strobe. The snail is no longer home. A bird invariably spots the strobing snail and plucks it off its leaf, thus propagating the fluke species… or some such. I don’t know what the snot all that’s about… but I myself feel like a burrowing larva within the deranged body of Movable Type. And I’m beginning to strobe, baby—time to get it on.


Related Tales

» “What the Other Hand Is Doing” (26 of Apr, 2003)
» “Terminal II” (03 of Apr, 2003)
» “Terminal” (31 of Mar, 2003)








My hands are dirty with MovingType scripts. That’s how this beast is conquered: from the inside out. I watched a nature show a good while back about a kind of demonic fluke who inserts its parasitic larva within the carapace of a snail. Over time the wee ones, subsisting on the precious bodily fluids of the host snail, burrow their…