haha. very funny. first they promise to tell ME something – me, the foot, misleadingly referred to as “leg” at this rather peculiar establishment, because some people still haven’t understood that the whole point of the word “extremities” is that they refer to the most extreme part of the human body. like fingers. or feet. [come to think of it, katatonik’s knees are pretty extreme too. but in a different, inexpressible sort of way.] because some people still haven’t realized that legs are just necessary intermediaries that connect feet to hips. feet have a mind of their own. and a voice. and ears. legs have nothing of that sort. everything in between your ankle and your hip is numb & dumb. mind-wise.
oh well, never mind the nomenclature. so first i’m promised some stories, which never arrive. i complain – justifiedly -, get insulted, and next thing you know, this anally retentive management scolds me. ok, so perhaps my choice of language was not too fortunate. but is linguistic symbolism really all that matters? whatever happened to the brute facts? care for facts anyone? truth?
and then this. now, oh visitor, pause before you sympathize with the sock.
there’s another story to tell. there always is.
sock, you self-pitying romanticist fool with more blinders on your eyes than the common viennese fiaker-horse! let me just ask you a few questions: who was it that clogged katatonik’s washing-machine so badly the other day that she had to call custom service in and pay outrageous ATS 960 for absolutely nothing? who sneaked into katatonik’s jeans a couple of days ago, let himself be carried around close to her knee all day and then mischievously dropped out of her trousers in a painfully bright public place? [not that it ruined her social standing. she doesn’t have any.]
as you will no doubt have guessed, oh esteemed visitor, the answer is simple: it was a sock. socks are egotistic creatures whose sole priority is their own longing for each other. who grossly over-exaggerate their importance for human well-being. whose historical significance is nil. zero. whose artistic achievements – oh, well. we all know that sock poetry is some of the worst bullshit ever to be written on this planet. i won’t even go into sock music. or sock painting. ok, so not everyone is artistically significant. but worthy beings should at least have social conscience. sadly, socks have nothing of that sort. there the rant goes on about “sadistic” feet, about “mucous toes” and “blabbermouth bacteria”. has it ever occured to a sock that bacteria’s – admittedly inane – conversation is but a product of the hopeless situation into which they are forced by reckless’n ruthless exploitation on the part of The Capital? has a sock ever stopped to analyze the situation of collective exploitation that we ALL, sock, foot, shoes (yes, them too!) AND bacteria, are part of? has a sock ever taken pride in his work? has it ever dawned on a sock that sneaking away whenever possible is not the best way to contribute to our collective well-being? has it even ever dawned on a sock that our collective well-being is actually in HIS interest? of course not. all they want to do is be with other socks, long for other socks, look for other socks. and then they wonder why noone cares. go figure.