Write a first person monologue from the perspective of a fly. Not a la Cronenberg or Neumann.
Write from the perspective of a fly trapped between two panes of window glass, five hundred words. As though this act were not human conceit, trickle down specism. From the perspective of one hundred and ninety two hours from the first unit of biology to none.
Write from any amount of time spent trapped between heat, light and exposure. This is the gravitational minutia of time. This is a model of agony. How many models do we create to justify and inflict pain on others?
Write from the perspective of waste. From the ragged edge of seeping wounds, the sockets of rank eyes. From the living organs of the host, summoned to slow yield. From the wet womb filled with pus, populated by frenzy and motion. From larval writhing to the fetid surface, hook by hook. The gas bloat forces you free. Geysers and zeppelins implode. The flesh expands outwards, balloons with pressure. It could be a galaxy in redshift. A mass of warmth struggling out. From the deep muscular burn grown flaccid. From the putrefying skin, fertile as it cools. From disease bath.
Write a first person monologue from the swarm of wriggling being. Imagine this. To not be yourself but to be not a self. To be a swarm of frantic motion. A shiver below the dermis. Imagine a word which translates to the verbs to be born and to come to die to decay and to growth to have excess and to have lack means space empty and space full both and not both.
Write from the perspective of nexus genesis hunger lust and life. The brief blur or freedom.
Write from a narrow trap all sides is an illusion. Possessed by mania. Compulsive with desperation. Constant stamina. Fruitlessness made flesh. Directionless urge. A kernel of rage.
Write about a day, an hour, a minute. Wasted to exhaustion. Wasted until its genetic end. Until its animal failure.
Write the urge to fester into existence. To birth a generation of warmth. All denied. What would your perspective be? Would you rage plot and revolt? Would you froth with genetic roar?
Write from ceaseless rage. From rampage.
Write from the perspective of a fly trapped between two window panes haunted by light heat and vulnerability.
Write from the perspective of life.
Larval was written by Genelle Chaconas, who is queer, genderfluid, feminist, over the
untrustworthy age of 30, an abuse survivor, and proud. Their first chapbook is
Fallout, Saints, and Dirty Pictures published by the little m press. They’ve made their
demands known and won’t be taken alive.
