Romancing the Lachryphage

One of the supreme pleasures of that giddy delirium called human consciousness is an unsuppressable proclivity for filtering each extant instant and event, all objects, and every possible thing through the highly sensitive prism of emotion. The result is, put simply, poetry. We look at things around us, purposeful things, functional things, simple, straight forward things, and create out of them, through pattern recognition, anthropomorphism, and analogy a baroque emotional landscape positively rife with the touching, the gut-wrenching, and the glorious. Though the universe does not know it or care, we look around and we shudder at the significance of it all.

What am I rambling on about? Well, how about, for example, lachryphagy?



Jimsonweed junkies is definitely related. It’s the first thing I thought of reading this. The next thing I thought of was how I remembered “Moths Drink the Tears of Sleeping Birds” as being the most poetic headline of ‘06. Thanks for diving deeper into this. I love it.

posted on 07.07 at 08:11 PMJed


While reading this one of my eyelashes became detached and started to irritate my eye, causing weepage. Coincidence? I think not.

Also, I remember seeing a BBC documentary some time ago which tried to establish the difference (if any) between tears caused by physical and emotional trauma, but all they found were some minor variations in the proteins contained therein. Maybe that gives them a slightly different flavour…?

posted on 07.08 at 03:40 AMsimon


Got a timetable for the downfall of Western civilization? I thought it started last May, but I haven’t seen any cannibalistic lepidopterologists just yet. Apocalyptic daydreams have their place, but I think our world will just slowly, gently wind down.

posted on 07.08 at 09:58 AMShii


Butterflies are odd little people. When the wife and I were walking in the arboretum, we noticed half a dozen butterlies, beautiful ones, hovering around a pile of (probably) dog poo (definitely poo, probably dog, that is) and landing on same, tasting therefrom. To get the taste of nectar out of their mouths? Some sort of return-of-the-repressed scheisse fetish? A more pacifistic creature is difficult to imagine, and the imp of the perverse in the butterfly id must therefore be a powerful one… but, no, it’s safe to say that they were attracted to some mineral, some protein, some undigested vitamin in the feces.

And, somehow related in a lachrymose and eschatological way, is this boffo line I heard on the radio today, spoken by an actor imitating John McCain: “Hope? Hope is a one-eyed prostitute who winks you off in an alley while her brother robs you!”

posted on 07.09 at 10:41 PM.


By strange coincidence I read this lovely lyrical post of yours with eyes wet from freshly shed tears.

posted on 07.12 at 10:58 AM.


It’s weird to think of an insect living off an animals tears as romantic, yet I can’t help but be drawn to the fact that every time I have cried…I have always wanted somebody to wipe my tears away. The most memorable tearful moment was one of deep love and romance…where tears were exchanged from moistened cheeks to willing lips.

posted on 07.12 at 09:49 PMJonathan


Brilliant post…Good read

Tears for Fears

posted on 07.12 at 10:16 PMFritz


Wonderful topic, and great post, as always.

If I had a pet lachryphagic moth I’d name him Caesar.

posted on 07.17 at 10:47 AMbluewyvern

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