To Bee or Not to Bee
To Bee or Not to Bee
Did you know that bees can count?
Don’t like reading? Allow me to read it to you 👈
To: Queen(z)
From: A Drone, Drone Congregation Area (DCA)
RE: Application for reassignment
My Queen(z)
To bee, or not to be a bee, or to be, me bee? Should I?
Whether ‘tis better to drone insolent, hive mind swirling
Toward the eventual abyss of my directive,
Or to switch it up a bit and reject the premise;
Ineffectual layabout, sucking on the nectar of the hive with impunity,
Taking everything, contributing nothing.
Recalling the royal jellies of youth, with decadent calories
Spawning big eyes and too fat head
While nodding to the beat of a bee-privileged life.
Droning on and about in the DCA,
Congregating, droning, area-ing.
Patient calamitous hum, drunk with unexplored boredom,
Yearning for your Regal zonal buzz to activate my urgent purpose.
To dream, perchance to consummate.
I will die.
What kind of sleep is that?
Geez Beez.
The dizzying plughole of my quietus spins,
Staid, useless thing. Do nothing nobody.
Collecting no pollen, nor generating the sweet honeys of expectation.
Manuka, devoutly to be manufactur’d.
But not by me!
How could I, think you, have fed the world
When I could not even feed myself?
This bee. This useless why be a bee, me bee.
Eating more than my earnings, absent of stinger,
Hearing rumors of drones with groceries—groceries!
—deliver’d in far off other worlds,
Inevitable dread of demise on the horiz.
Ay, there’s the dance.
Eat. Mate. Die.
Will I watch, falling, mourning my detach’d appendage?
Life fading from mine eyes,
My bulbous and giant, Queen-seeking eyes?
Staring on as another usurps my contribution to genetic diversity.
Barbarism of fate writ in the wax and cap
The natural, primal, helpful booty shakes of my sisters.
I burn hot in conscious expectation.
Come winter.
Do not come winter.
That makes calamity of so short life.
To paraphrase.
The pang of unexplod’d ordinance consumes me.
When I have succumb’d to expell’d endophallus
And duty performed in flurry of zone
The cost of consciousness will empty my register.
All will be lost to the void of my inevitable timeline
At that moment of ROI and evolutionary settlement
This plea of reassignment will ping in your inbox
Too late? Opportunity lost to the void of the server?
From Drone to Worker, that is the question.
The measure of my measure goes:
I math hard. I math like no thorax’s business.
I can count 1, 2, 3 and higher!
A wannabe Worker, finding the fields of promise.
Dancing circles in the waxy landscapes of Hiveland.
Tapping out the distance and coordinates of our promis’d lands,
This undiscovere’d country
From which no busy bee returns, we would return!
Me, calculating the mathematics of noble distance.
Counting down the hours and minutes to infinite honey’d bliss.
No longer a drain of Drone—now Worker. Contributor. Provider.
Counting-the-beat 2, 3, 4, 5.
To bee or not to be this bee?
Did I mention I can count?!
Help.
- A Drone.
To: A Drone
From: Queen(z)
RE: Application for reassignment
Most Precious and Important Drone.
We have received your request for reassignment to Worker.
You already count.
And we count on you.
You will not survive.
But through you, we thrive.
Request: Denied.
Responding, Collectively.
🐝
Go behind the scenes and see inspirations for this post👇
This week’s amends…
"The message is the message."- Keith Haring
Taken from this book review about “Radiant: The Life and Line of Keith Haring,” by Zack Hatfield.
On Rotation: “Strange Overtones” by David Byrne
Trailer for Michael Sheen being asked questions by neurodivergent people. You can watch the full episode on YouTube.
Via Boing Boing
You’ve probably seen the footage of the Emperor penguins leaping off a wall off ice into the ocean recently? Here’s Ozzy Man giving some reviews on the performances. Language warning? Well… Australians.
Via Boing Boing
Shameless Podcast Plug
Listen to audio versions of early issues of The Stream on my podcast, Field of Streams, available on 👉 all major podcasting platforms 👈
Here’s Apple