Centipedes Are the Spiders of the Bathtub

I participated in a conversation yesterday where the title of this post was actually used, in context, sensibly, to contribute to the foward flow of intelligent discussion.

I find it too good a turn of phrase to let it disappear back into the linguistic ether. So I think maybe I should use it as the name of my next musical project. Or maybe just write a short story with that as its title.

For some completely unfathomable and inexplicable reason, the phrase evokes images in my mind of another short story: “Everything That Rises Must Converge” by Flannery O’Connor, a viciously dark Southern Gothic tale of sadness, misery, misunderstanding, suffering and guilt.

I don’t question my odd synaptic links. I just run with them.

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