The Lesson of the
Social Insects
by Anise Nun
Nina
licked her full, petulant lips and started to take her clothes off, revealing
her "Today is Tuesday" panties and saucy poinsettia-embroidered garters which
lifted deep-purple silk stockings. Her creamy thighs and her soft mound
lay in shadow.
"Termites," she signed. "We
must learn from the social insects. They have been running successful
urban civilizations for 100 million years."
Saina leaned over to pluck the
poinsettias and watch the ivory limbs emerge from the purple silk. Anna,
watching, giggled and began to pull her dress over her tousled blond head.
She bent forward to peel it off, revealing the round, firmness of her thighs,
the two sweet dimples over her hips, the smooth, curving back.
"Yes," she murmured in agreement.
"Each termite colony is a gene-pool organized into castes which sends out
explorer-migrants to found new mini-worlds."
Finally Saina unbuttoned her
dress and let it fall to the floor. She was wearing Frederick's of
Hollywood panties, slit open, front and back, hinting at the plump curves of her
sexual promise. Her voice was soft:
"Those who wish to preserve urban
civilization should study the insect hive. The word termite comes
from the Latin word termes -- which means the end. The end-point of
terrestrial society is the hive."
The bedroom floor was covered
with an enormous blue yak fur rug. The three women tumbled down upon the
arctic splendor, their soft, milky bodies writhing and rubbing against each
other. They were no longer separate bodies. They were one sweet,
soft, curling octopoid body -- sucking tentacles, stroking hands, juicy tongues.
One squirming marine body with three kissing mouths, six erect nipples, three
moist vaginas. They pulsated together, limbs interwoven, slowly breathing
love. Suddenly a column of ants emerged from Saina's vagina and began
filing down her leg.
Nina began to giggle softly and
then spoke: "The growth of urban civilization during the last 5000 years
is a steady move toward insectivization. The well-run anthill is
99,995,000 years ahead of humanity in efficient social organization. A
hive is a joyful, clean Manhattan with 8 million secure citizens moving in tune
with the humming unity."
"Oh yes. Oh yes," gasped
Saina.
"It's so good, hmmmmmmmm," hummed
Anna.
Then mouths kissed and tongues
nibbled and juices flowed. The three starved bodies fed on each other, the
tension building. Probing fingers parted welcoming flesh and slid into
gasping lips. The soft pelt upon which they squirmed emitted a mammalian
scent which merged with the odors of their moist bodies.
Saina's honey voice broke the
slippery silence: "Humanity cannot grow beyond the Insectoid Stage until
it understands precisely how the social insects are ahead of us in terrestrial
culture."
Saina fell on the swelling curves
of Anna. Nina was rolling in passionate frenzy. One dimpled knee
over Saina's back, she twisted to reach Anna's legs with her searching tongue.
Anna writhes and pushed her mound closer to the penetrating kisses, the tender
bits, the hot tongue that was as firm as a ram's horn.
"OOOOH!" gasped Nina. "Yes,
when over-population and pollution signals the success of the society, then each
hive produces a new caste of Winged Giants who fly far away from the hive in
male-female pairs to create new worlds, to carry the gene-pool DNA to better
ecological niches."
As she spoke she twisted her body
so that her mound was pressed against Anna's mouth. Anna had been tenderly
caressing the curve of her buttocks, and now she slid her finger into the tight
little sphincter mouth, out from which flew clouds of silver-winged flying
insects.
"Isn't it amusing. We
languorous, self-indulgent high-flying ones are carrying the eggs from which
will come the New Hive Worlds."
COUNTER-INTELLIGENCE AGENCY REPORT
Date: February, 1972
Country: Imminsee on Lake Zug, Switzerland
Subject: FOR THREE HOURS I RAN NAKED AROUND HOLY-MAN RIDGE
Classification:
CONFIDENTIAL File No. 4575
(Conversation
videotaped.)
"Yes, exactly
timeless and priceless. My brain tunes into my DNA code, synapses
crackling with genetic messages. I see with the eyes of countless
ancestors. What a rowdy band of velvet brigands I spring from! And
the futique children to come. You understand my predicament? I am
real entity from time suddenly trapped in this fake-believe Disneyland.
Yes that's it. I remember seeing at Disneyland a plastic Indian village
with fatigued redskins selling tickets and bakelite bows and arrows to cellulose
tourists. Okay, now I'm the real Crazy Horse suddenly popped down
there. Whew! Quel horreur. I see at a glance what has happened
to my land and my people. I see in microscopic despair these robots who
have never felt the wild Dakota wind in their face or the taste, touch, smell,
thunder-sound of the living, eternal God. I scream at them. 'Are
none of you alive?' I rave around looking for another living soul."
"Yes, that does
tend to happen," comments the Professor sympathetically.
"Or I am your
Thomas Jefferson appearing in a modern Congress. Awake you pink-faced
rubber frogs! Is this what we fought for! I am Giordano Bruno
running around alive in Madame Tussaud's waxworks! I am Peter the
wild-eyed Fisherman screaming at the Jesus statues in the plaster Bibleland in
Florida. Awake Brothers, let's trash this place and get back to the living
soil.
"Dig it, Wizard,
for three hours I run naked around Holy-Man Ridge in Almora bursting with
energy, shivering in cosmic loneliness searching for a living soul. I sit
in the lotus position on a rock overlooking the valley to Tibet and watch the
sunrise. Good. That's all in order. I stalk regally back to
the cottages looking deeply into people's eyes. The American theosophists
turn away in fear. Another acid flip-out! But dig it, the Hindu
natives grin and salute me. Whew! Give me some more wine."
Prince Alexis
throws himself on his knees in front of the fire and holds up his glass.
The wine splashes light yellow, reflecting the firelight.
"Now, I'm getting
to the hard part."
The Listener nods
in understanding.
"Okay, I'm loping
along the road approaching the house owned by the Methodist church. Two
middle-aged matron-missionaries from Kansas are standing on the steps. I
love these little ladies. They were the holiest Americans I'd found in
India. So I trot up to them in joyful anticipation. But dig it, they
both throw up their hands in some sort of defense against me. Why?
Cause I'm naked, I suppose.
"But I'm so pure.
So as I run by I casually swing my arms and gently, the way you'd pat a push-me,
pop-up doll in the toy store, knock each of them down."
(End of tape.)
WINTER 1977
TUCSON LECTURE
ANYONE BORN AFTER 1945 IS A
MUTANT
Now let's
fine-tune the time machine. I'd like to call your attention to the last
thirty-two years in this country. Let's focus on what has happened since
1945. We're all so involved that we may not appreciate the incredible
changes of the last three decades.
We choose the year
1945 for obvious reasons; that was when our species fissioned nuclear structure
thoughtfully at Alamogordo and blindly at Nagasaki and Hiroshima. The
release of atomic energy is a mutational moment in the history of every nursery
planet.
It's useful to
assume that in 1945 every living organism of every species, on this planet,
picked up this fall-out and radiation message and transmitted it through their
nervous system to RNA and back to DNA: "Hey, the domesticated primates are
fissioning the atom! It's time to leave the planet because nuclear
energies are not supposed to be used on a tiny, shrinking planet like ours."
(Applause) At this moment an astounding acceleration of
intelligence occurred! Review the evidence.
Since 1945 we have
fissioned and fusioned the atom. Decoding the DNA Code has allowed us, at
this moment in history, to confront the possibility of genetic engineering,
cloning, and biological immortality. In the short three decades since
1945, Medical science has eliminated, one by one, most of the scourges and
plagues which have terrorized our species since the beginning of recorded
history.
|
The
release of atomic energy is a mutational moment ... |
One of the most
important things to happen to the new species born after 1945 is neuro-electronic
consumerism. Television. Every American child born after 1945
crawled out of the crib, toddled across the room, and with tiny, chubby, baby
hands reached the boob tube and began dialing and tuning realities.
Wheaties, no! Post Toasties? Maybe. Coke? Maybe.
7-Up, Ford, Carter, Chevrolet, Ford, Carter, Disneyland, Disneyland, Disneyland,
Disneyland. (Laughter) A young child born in the late 40's
has learned how to be a Reality Consumer, a watcher of Reality Commercials, a
selector of Reality Products, actively dialing a wide frequency spectrum of
passive receptivity.
The Sun Belt kid
born after 1945 has experienced more realities in one week than the most
affluent aristocrats of the past could experience in a lifetime.
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