Arachne Gets the Blues | Laura Solomon The webs, the webs, always with the webs. Surely theres more to existence than this sticky little thread That strings from tree to tree like some heavenly rope We can never swing by. Food is the point, the hunt is everything to ladies like I, I used to enjoy it, the struggling of the prey The pitiful attempts to break free. I guess you could say that it gave me a kick. Now I feel nothing at all. Well look at that, I say with a shrug, another sucker, trapped. Some of these flies really ought to look where theyre going. Whats the point in having all those eyes if you dont know how to use them? Youd think theyd try to learn from the mistakes of those who went before, But they pay no heed to their ancestors. To their demise. Same old, same old - the brutal struggle, the fight to break free, Until they, like I, resign. Its only ever a question of time. Everybodys just going through the motions. Still, when alls said and done, Id rather be on our side than theirs. Who wouldnt, given the choice? Its all fairly painless. I like to keep the suffering to a minimum; Justchomp, one, twoand its over. Done and dusted. This afternoon, in a backyard filled with ordinary angels, As I sink my glistening fangs into another black and twisting body, It strikes me, and not for the first time, that this is nothing more than role play, That this tree is only a stage; that I must have something better to do.