Friday, March 16, 2012

A Tourniquet Tale

Fully clothed, in quite the typical fashion, the softness of off grey athletic socks, are sheathed by snugly fitting high-end leather.  The whiteness of the fashion plates are offset by the normal sights and “scenery,” where an ever-present assortment of debris, is somehow providing an emulation of life to the dirt, dust, filth and grime that lingers about the familiar and routine path.  The blue splash logo blurs as feet progress forward, stepping one foot behind the other, in a mundane version of syncopation, connecting Lamborghini soles to the cracked aesthetics of what once was widely considered prime suburban real estate.  The mind often wanders discreetly, yet many times, such as is the case for this particular excursion, it remains blank as thoughts decided to take refuge or vacation, either way, illustrative enough.  If it weren’t for the foul, yet comforting familiarity that accompanies each of the many strands of scent created from the exhaust that’s consistently generated and then subsequently cast off into the air, I would’ve most likely not have been aware of the distance traveled, of the time that had elapsed, where my current location was, or that my journey would soon come to an end.  Those thick black clouds of gaseous composition remind me of why I left home in the first place, and when combined with the arrival of the monstrous beast that is public transportation, I knew the conclusion was here.  The song of the city sticks with me throughout the day; reminding me that in just a few short hours the hydraulics will sing once more, and of the path I will most certainly retrace, and of a damp cloth patiently waiting at home, eagerly anticipating the arrival of my return, and for finding out what types of dirty, dirty things those sneakers accumulated since the time it left that morn.

My feet are in my socks.  My socks are in my shoes.  I walk to the bus stop.  The bus arrives.  The day moves forward.  The bus arrives. I walk back home.  My feet are removed from my shoes.  I wipe the dirty from the shoes.

I put on my socks and shoes.  I walk to catch the bus.  Eventually I return home and clean my shoes.

I leave the house.  I ride the bus twice.  I reenter the house.  I clean my shoes.

When you walk through dirty streets, it is likely you’ll have to clean your shoes.

If shoes get dirty they need to be cleaned.

Walking can be dirty.  But dirt can be cleaned.




  1. haha you really went through the mundane a bit today with your shoe display. Can kind of trap ourselves in the mundane but we can always take the socks and shoes off. Even if we have to walk through the crap and face it each day, washing it off can surely make it go away. If only the mind was as easy to wash.

  2. i like how you capture the everyday treadmill, those endless circles of getting up, getting to work, wandering, falling asleep..with the socks, the feet, the shoes...the cleaning also speaks to me...oh we're surely collecting dirt...and the physical is not the worst...i like

  3. to truly live you have to step in a little drit and probably some crap along the way, i like to think it shows character you know...ha...and shoes can def be cleaned....

  4. 'round these suburban parts one has to take care not to step in doggie doo-doo.. Pat above mentions it too.

    And I think The Stones sang... "you got to scrape that sh$t right off your shoes? :)

    this was very interesting where your mind went and took us.

    I think I'm due to ride the monster of public transport. As I recall it can be quite the trip. And do you know The Roches song "The Train." ? Speaking of the woes of public tranport... :)


  5. It really can be so dreary can't it? Being part of the rat race. This hits it right on the head!