The Wax Conspiracy

Beware the socks of an untrustworthy universe

Solemn the Duke, cousin of his brother the King, Solomon Grundy, but of a more staid upbringing, understood that with the advent of socks, comes also with it the fate of many. Socks, it was and still is, is the universe's proverbial Man Cards handed out not unlike Dr. Cox of Sacred Heart Hospital. When you lose too many, your casket readies.

Trust begins at the bottom and where else to bottom out than on the socks. If you cannot be trusted with a pair of socks, there is no illusion other than your own, facing the mirror every morning as you stuff your gaping maw with a wad of Early Morning Pipe. Trust is a one way street filled with needles, junkies and politicians. You strap in, grit the belt and hang on for the multicolour spectrum tripping through. Clarity. Honesty. Street signs into the netherworld of today's misgivings.

As with all karmic resonance, water plays a heavy part in understanding the fluidity of Bruce Lee. Kept in motion with sway and swagger, the agents of the universe are installed in many homes, some hostels and plenty of laundromats. Washing machines, as the cycle turns, are the gateway between you, the universe and reclamation.

Every child that grows up is handed to them socks of previous generation. Made of the bone fibres woven into tubular fashion, these foot coverings keep your toes warm and wet, depending on the sweat. Laced with a sudsy nonpareil, your judgement begins in the wash cycle and ends at the rinse.

If, by the last chugging spin, you find all your socks in pairs, you have come away one day richer. For the universe, in its infinite wisdom, takes with it a sock for the collective transgressions of your social failings. Each time you use the wrong "your" in place of "you're", or when you berate a deaf person for not listening, you are docked a thread. These add up and are tallied with the amount of detergent per load.

When you lose a sock after a wash, this is the universe's way of telling you it will trust you one less feather. When you are plucked and shivering naked on that street corner asking for shoes, do remember that leather boils best and you can really get a nice chew after a few hours in the pot.

Ethan Switch

Written on Friday, 27 July 2012

The Wax Conspiracy

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