Tina Rowley

writer + (performer) + [space left open for surprises]

a horrible, horrible thing

My eyes are still aflame from seeing what I have seen. The crabs, the crabs in the live crab tank at Larry's Market. The crabs...last time I saw the crabs, they were mostly just lying around. But two of them were having crazy, crazy sex. And that, you know, was whatever, sort of amusing - the abandon of them, the, er, sex-positive vibe of the whole thing, if you will.

But yesterday, in that same tank. Horrible, horrible horror. The bulk of the crabs were lying around in a stupor: traumatized, stoned, what have you. But one crab was not moving - or rather, not moving OF ITS OWN VOLITION. Because there was movement involved. And the busy, horrible crab behind it? What was it doing? Was it having sex with the motionless crab? No.

The crab in front had died. And THE CRAB IN BACK WAS EATING IT. The. Crab. In. Back. Was. Tearing. Pieces. Out of the crab. In. Front!! Waving the pieces around, and EATING THEM. With, I have to say, as far as I can make out crab expressions, a totally psychotic look on its face.

I wished I had never been born.