socks spoons the best... an obsesion... feel almost naked without them 010505 ... anonymouse damn straight...its like a security thing for me... 010827 ... daxle +flames=nice 010827 ... silentbob i was thinking of you while i jerked off into my sock last night. i was thinking of you while i jerked off into my sock. i was thinking of you wish i had more than two, i was thinking of while i jerked off into my sock. 010828 ... pilgrim And I thought I was the only one to ever do that. 020328 ... dionysos in days of old when men were bold and condoms weren't invented men put socks upon their cocks and babies were prevented -nonsense from the Society for Creative Anachronism 020328 ... alice for some unknown reason, i cant sleep with my socks on unless i also have shoes on 020725 ... spoons Am I the only person out there that has right and left socks...???? 021114 ... kerry i'm listening to Ted Leo&the Pharmacists. i'm almost too tired to think but not quite. there is just enough energy to squeeze some words out. my dog is dying i think. there's something wrong with her liver. she is incontinent. exactly one year ago today i told james how i felt about him. it could be just me but i think he remembers that it was today just by his face and the sullen droop that follows a quirky grin, the same one i've always known, all these 3 years, and three isn't even that long except it's a long time for me to even keep caring, i can't say i love him anymore or even have nearly as much respect for him as i once did i can't say that i don't even feel sort of lonely especially tonight and i think now that is the one emotion that drives me to this place. today we got out of school at 12:15. we ate at the Majestic served by a sickly looking boy who vaguely resembled Ewan McGregor. it was in the face. the waitress in the headscarf with the cigarette had black cats tattooed onto the back of her arms. frizz-boy stood in front of the griddle and stared at the grease spitting, arms limp by his side, and suddenly jerked up remembering to put on the cheese. there were guys that looked like vietnam vets, and a couple that sat hunched over and stared at each other, and a blazer-man with dark hair studentish and IM SORRY WE STARED AT YOU but YOU WERE BEAUTIFUL. ellen and i later walked around behind stores and abandoned workshop/ex-houses, and took pictures. the little kids from the government housing projects on the other side of the wrought-iron fence were jumping rope, they saw us rooting through rotting furniture and old machinery and speakers, clicking away, and came running up waving, and wanted their pictures taken. they gathered all together laughing and said CHEESE and smiled pearls and were absolutely wonderful in clown-wigs and gathering their babyfriends, and we have vowed to go back monday with prints and give them to the kids, if they are out playing. now. i just want to lay with my head on someone's chest. i just want my dog home curled up in a corner somewhere sleeping. she is in pain and that pains me. my father told me about having to identify Larry-with-five-toes after her drowned in the apartment swimming pool back in 70-something. ecstacy-induced seizure, rigor-mortis, little kid found him in the pool. that kid, long since grown, is probably forking over thousands of dollars for therapy, and if he was young enough he may not even really remember what it was that fucked him up so much. night/morning he died, larry sits in mud-puddle 2AM. party-ers return. "hey man what're you doin?" larry throws his watch into the bushes and says nothing. "hey man you lost your watch!" "oh i dont need it, i'm goin to heaven." and he was "full speed or stop, no idling for me." 040213 ... silentbob one white, one green 040214 ... epitome of incomprehensibility I find the time to run, and I wear holes in another pair. I wear holes in my hair, souls in the air, halos in the stairwell. Socks are puppets, but not the kind that allow you to post under different names. Real-life metempsychosis allows me to become those different souls, different soles with aggregated dirt specks giving rise to holes in socks. Children's Christmas Community Something Party: I wear a butterfly in my hair and point to a pink-decked, blond, little baby girl Jesus. I'm culturally incongruous in a dollar-store lei over a Ghanaian batik tunic, but the bright rainbow colours match. My camp-counsellor sole gets a kiss on the ear by a little boy named Anmol, about twenty years too young to be my sew mate. I don't so. My socks don't show. I should have brought my rainbow scarf that I bought at the second artisan_show (total barter economy there, I traded it for a necklace of mine) but holes wear into my raver or Annie Broccoli persona; too many economic downturns at the end of the rainbows. I'm accepted not for a job-job, but freelance translating, while I'm wearing mismatched socks. The bottoms are both black. I'm too busy to feel unsettled or proud about the differential. I really don't know what a math differential is. I promise. I'll learn when I have new socks? 141217 ... kerry my mother sends me socks for every occasion in which it is appropriate to send a gift, and sometimes just because. usually when i get gifts from her they cause this cramp in my stomach because i just see dollar signs, money wasted on things i don't need or want, clothes she would pick out for herself that i'd rather die than wear out in public, no matter how soft and fuzzy and drapey the fabric. i think she knows it is okay to send me socks because they are practical and inexpensive and you can never really have too many socks. she reaches out to me through socks instead of calling or texting (usually). they are always the same brand, and supposedly you can send them back to the company and have them replaced when they get holes in the heels and toes. (my gynecologist also wears them and i only see her once a year so we have this same annual conversation about how much we love these particular socks.) i think she is afraid of me. i think she knows how i judge her and that we are so different and if we were the same age in high school we wouldn't be friends. her: voted best-dressed, parents never home, dachshund named dolly, didn't make the cheerleading squad. lonely, pining. me: also lonely and pining, but definitely not best-dressed--jeans bought too big so they're frayed and dirty at the hems and saggy in the butt, patches sewn in crude jagged stitches to shirts jackets backpacks messenger bags. scarred knees, content in dark rooms with red lights. i don't remember what it was that he asked me but we were standing in the kitchen and it was evening, we had full bellies and two fingers worth of whiskey in our glasses and my automatic response was "because i HATE my mother!" and in the moment it made me laugh because i felt like a cliche. and i don't hate her. i would be sad if she died. i would regret the things i've said and written and thought about her, the things i've said to her and should've said to her (things that will always "should've" been said but will never be said) like why don't we understand each other, why do you look at me like that when i resist you, why does your voice grate on me, why don't i want to need you anymore? why can't i depend on you to be the mature one here, to be stable and steady, to always reassure me, why do you hide downstairs? why do you hide behind your blurry eyes and slurry words? it is easy to forget the good things when i fixate on what i wish could be different. but i will always appreciate the socks. 230510 ... kerry i wear the socks she has given me while i am lying on his bed and we are talking about how we are the ones who escaped. we both have mothers who resent the fact that we took it to heart that we were what they called strong and stubborn and independent and those were qualities that made us leave, looking for a place that really felt like home. he only wears ankle socks but when he visits his mother she says the same thing that mine does--why don't you want to be here? 230510 ... raze i have a hard time throwing out the ones that have holes in them. there must be a pile of half a dozen on top of my dresser right now, all frayed by the fury of my fretful feet. an unwanted slit for a big toe here. a worn_out pad there. i think i've convinced myself i might someday make puppets out of them, though that hasn't happened yet. 231031 what's it to you? who go blather from