These Little Bug Blues

I'm currently working on a project to catalogue a library of insects.  Thousands of little arthropods called  Curculionidae something or other.  What do you want... Latin?  I went to art school, you know that.  I'm lucky I can spell my name in my native language.

This little guy above is something I found in a random box of assorted critters all of which are unidentififed and, as I understand it, unidentifiable in their current condition.  A little tag which we translated to Eastern Criscuma region of Paraguay was pinned beneath.  The googles told me that the Eastern Criscuma region of Paraguay is probably Brazil.  The Google map of Paraguay contains surprisingly little detail, in comparison to the map of the ocean floor.  Maybe Google hasn't found Paraguay, or Paraguay is very good at keeping secrets.
Shiny green thing, keep on shining.
I find it completely impossible not to anthropomorphize a bit.  Imagine walking along trying to be the best little green thing on the circuit, just cruising for a little something to nibble and maybe some romance and all of a sudden you're in a jar filled with sodium cyanide only to end up with a pin through your exo fixed to a box in a little room far from anything that will ever benefit from your existence.  (I'm not preaching anti-anything, or pro-something.  So, don't go too far with this scenario, empathy is good but only to a point.)  One little bug picture and everybody gets a little Kafka shiver.

I'm interested in the inception of the instinct to collect a specimen only to abandon it later.  By extension, the instinct to react to an idea of artistic impulse only to let it flounder on it's own and eventually dissipate like a mustard burp.  Ideas don't have to die in a box, I suppose.  Maybe that's the point of this post.  Seems a fitting epitaph to our cyan adventurer above.

A tiny green idea floats insouciantly along, eventually to become a victim of understanding.