That's blasphemy.

Why is it that the housefly always seems to deliberately buzz so close to one’s ear, enough to irritate but not enough to cause too much of physical trouble? You know how the buzz of a housefly always remains as a lingering itch that you can never reach because it no longer exists, and perhaps it was never there to begin—the fly plays psychological games with you, with me. The Sly Fly. It feeds on our fear, and our paranoia—after the fly by, its job is done, as we spend the rest of the night with a pillow on our ear—When will this Sly Fly strike again? Nobody knows. It probably would not anymore. At least not any time soon, I think. But it does not matter, it has planted that seed of fear or at least, annoyance, within you. Now the Sly Fly rests a few metres away from you, watching you as that seed manifests into repetitive brushing of your ear. What have you done to me? I suppose it’s a problem—perhaps the fly only happened to brush by my ear just that very once, perhaps it’s meant to be a sign that my ear somehow attracts the Sly Fly in one way or the other. I should now be wary of flies, or the idea of me sitting in a room and be alert to the idea that there might be a fly lurking somewhere in the room waiting to attack my ear. It’s just a fly. It just happened to fly really close to your ear. That is all to it. Still, we let that affect us, and we start to create significance out of absolutely meaningless encounters with the a fly.