home
- doing my best walrus impression, I flip to shift my weight. suddenly at eye level, the jumping spider floating right before me.
- Recently , I opened the garbagecan that sits in my back yard. It has a tough green exterior and Big, craggy, dusty-orange brown-striped lumpy little Jupiters っsized the carapace of an adult blue crab.
I’m not entirely sure on what basis i know the garbage can is filled with rocks. I cannot remember seeing any rocks put into the can, nor having participated in any actions or discussions pertaining to its contents. I probably hadn’t actually opened the can in years. Days go by without me even looking at it.
I naturally ignore it.
what can? Has it been emptied? Maybe somebody drilled in from underground, and replaced all the rocks with dynamite as a trap (what a jerk). Maybe the


rocks evaporated into vapor - I don’t know what theyre capable of.
- I lift the lid and am greeted by the largest jumping spider I have ever seen.
- Ambush predators , mimics can sit still for decades just waiting for prey. They outwardly resemble enticingly sealed containers: Chests, boxes, coffins - anything with a lid to conveniently conceal rows of teeth to slash fatty meat.
- I think we’re both a bit startled and freeze up. The first sign of movement is a shot of fluid out of its ass. The gob of liquid that drops to the bottom of the can. Not sure if the spider shit itself in shock or just took a dump in my face with indifference. Im not really concerned about it, focusing on the spider. About the size of my thumbnail, and iridescent. I’ve lifted the roof straight off of her bedroom. I try to lower the lid while channeling apologetic energy. I think of the eight beady eyes. hope they (the largest jumping spider I have ever seen) noticed
- The word for spider is a homophone of the word for cloud. Im reminded of a story where a spider crawled down from the sky on a thread of silk but only the story and moral not the title
"The Spider's Thread"
(蜘蛛の糸, Kumo no Ito) is a 1918 short story by Ryūnosuke Akutagawa, first published in the children's magazine Akai Tori.
- Maybe it’s because spiders seem to dangle down out of nowhere.
- I look up from the garbagecan, empty handed.
- What happens to a torn spider web?