Bedbug Domestication

Wyatt LucasLeave a comment

An advantage of rescuing bedbugs compared to more traditional pets is that they cost nothing. No enclosures or food needed. In fact, you actually save money by shedding the sociogenic fear of these insects since you can take advantage of internet marketplaces to find cheap/free furniture and mattresses without worry. To maximize your chances of colonizing your home, intermingle your street clothes and bedding. Avoid drying your laundry with high heat.

You can let bedbugs roam free without worry, yet be confident that they will generally return to roost with their warm, nutritious caretaker. When you have a bountiful degree of colonization (I consider the word “infestation” offensive in this context), some may travel with you by clinging to your clothes or bag. This is bittersweet but unavoidable, akin to any mother seeing their children off into the world. I love to fantasize about the odysseys undertaken; perhaps tracking individuals will be possible eventually with the advent of nanocomputers. One bug could potentially travel to my friends home, breed with others there, then hop back on for a ride to my place.

I look at their bites on my skin as one would the scratches of a zealous lover. They are marks which convey that one’s philosophy incorporates corporeality but extends beyond it to include an empathic, interconnected perspective.

I’m no entomologist, but hopefully one is reading this. Since my Google searches have failed to lead me to a forum of fellow bedbug enthusiasts, I’ve largely been winging it—unlike the bugs themselves who lack wings (maybe you CRISPR nerds can get to work on that mutation). My desire is for each bug to lead a long life and reach a voluptuous size in maturity. Research indicates that they feed in the dark, so I have applied blackout film to all the windows in my home. They can gorge whenever desired (as some humans might raid the fridge during their resting hours) since the photoperiod has been nullified.

Here are some research ideas I have for advancing my goal:
• Investigate the nutritional impact of blood qualities (blood component counts, nutrient content).
• Determine if a synthetic blood is viable. If so, how does the availability of synthetic blood impact their feeding on a live host?

You’ll never sleep alone when you have bedbugs.

First They Killed My Father: A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers

Loung presents the reader with a straightforward and heartbreaking account of the Cambodian genocide through her first-person perspective as a child struggling to survive. She does a fantastic job of humanizing the experience, displaying a singular perspective of an era which can be hard to empathize with otherwise due to its unimaginably vast and horrific nature (including the death of millions). The contrast between Loung and her relatives is particularly beautiful in showing the different ways that humans can cope under extreme duress. While she is headstrong and fueled by rage, her sister Chou endures through passivity. Loung’s description of the desperate actions taken out of fear, hunger, and anger are especially enlightening. The prose is fairly simple and the internal monologue comes off as repetitive at times, though this bolsters the book’s childish lens. Loung focuses almost entirely on portraying the narrative of her family; do not expect a complete overview of the genocide or any political analysis.

Finally the women stand still. Their weapons drip with blood as they walk away. When they turn around, I see that they look like death themselves. Their hair trickles blood and sweat, their clothes drip, their faces red and rigid. Only their eyes look alive as they seethe with more rage and hate. The women are quiet as the crowd parts for them to pass through. During the execution, the crowd did not cheer but watched, silent and devoid of emotion, as if it were the slaughter of an animal for food. After the women are gone, the crowd begins to buzz.

In Search of Respect: Selling Crack in El Barrio

Anthropologist Philippe Bourgois lives in El Barrio (an impoverished neighborhood in East Harlem, then mostly populated by Puerto Ricans) from 1985 to 1990 and befriends a network of crack dealers. Through transcriptions of tape recordings combined with historical contextualization and socioeconomic analysis, he paints a vivid picture of broken families who want out of this lifestyle but face countless hurdles from institutional racism. Generational trauma is maintained by a cycle of physical/sexual/emotional abuse and drug addiction. The characters are not easy to like yet their humanity is made obvious. Read more

Trotsky’s Terrible Tuesday

Wyatt LucasLeave a comment

(Written in April 2019)

It’s the tail end of a gorgeous summer day in Coyoacán. It’s August 20, 1940; the Communist revolutionary Leon Trotsky and his wife Natalia Sedova are drinking mint tea in the garden of their villa in this rural borough of Mexico City. They’re sitting on a stone bench under the shade of many tall royal palmetto trees, facing the garden of tropical flowers and rare cacti which Trotsky has meticulously cultivated these past few years. Thoroughly-needled tubes of mammillaria glochidiata cacti are backed by a shrub of pink dahlias with thousands of small tongue-like petals. Clucking comes from their nearby enclosure of chickens and the resonant plucking of a guitarrón is heard in the distance.

The stress from years of exile has aged the pair. Both of their hairs have faded to gray and Trotsky has put on a few pounds. The quiet lifestyle of this Mexican villa suits them, however, and it shows in their relaxed apparel. He is wearing a sleek white button-down and gray trousers (having ditched the suit jacket in this climate) and Natalia is in only a thin striped blouse and a long black skirt.

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Faraday

Wyatt LucasLeave a comment

(Written in April 2019)

March 30, 2011. My first big item, a Nintendo 3DS. At this point, I’d been stealing on a near-daily basis. It started with that bag of chips in the school cafeteria but it quickly progressed to retail. At first I’d justify it to myself as stealing things that I wanted so I didn’t have to pay for them, but I knew that I was really doing it for the rush. The rush you get from the weight of your full pockets, and that rush you get when the automatic door opens and your thieving ass is safe.

I got Trey roped into this early on, and I’ve not since experienced a bond at all similar to the kind that I formed with this partner in crime. Video games were our treasure of choice since we didn’t need to sell games to get value out of them. You just had to locate the security camera, get your buddy to cover you, and slip that game in your pocket. Then you had the choice of walking out nonchalantly or buying some cheap item as a decoy if anyone gave you a funny look. Of course, we would steal anything if we felt like it; even something as monotonous as a pack of batteries. Trey and I thought of ourselves as redistributors of wealth, not villains.

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