Oh My God Shoes
The dizzy spell's spin began to settle, with me belly first on the ground. Eye to eye with part of my shoe collection. I didn't faint. There was no fade to black that used to come when you took a wall toke to the head. This was a simple directional switch of spin. The force of the earth, in the blink of an eye deciding sorry bud, I changed my mind. This imaginary alternate vortex of 733 miles per hour, twisted me off of my feet. This has been going on for the last two weeks, but I wasn't procrastinating of going to the doctor. I just kept repeating 'fuck that shit'. I am pretty sure this is a bad idea as it sounds behind my eyes, but we've seen loads of those to their end, over the years. The black ones were work shoes. Battered, mould dusted, a foot away from my nose. There was a couple of leather CONVERSE behind them that has seen better days.
“A hansom pair of tri-coloured ANDREW wing tips. Black and white creepers, I have as yet to break in on the count they are too fancy for this province. I worried bout my CBC RADIO blue suede shoes,. 'Of coarse this Negro's owns a pair of blue suede shoes, motherfucker that's elementary.' Sick boy would say to his sexy, Asian comrade. At first sporting a black and white summer dress, as I imagined the two actors standing over me. But of course I was trying to peek up her skirt. The idea of toxic masculinity interrupting the mind's vision fiction. All dominate television culture manipulating imagery, for far too long now, has me envisioning her in a long tight nit, form fitting dress, making a pretend peep an impossibility. Hahaha but I can still see all of your womanly form. I miss the idea of my initial desire.” I looked toward the bedroom door for some reason. “Fuck man you can't even fantasize any more without woke intervention.” I sighed, “If these smurf motherfuckers caught this mould infestation, I have no idea how to rid them of that smell. Haha how many times did my first love and I get high and go watch Under Cherry Moon another time, just to see the last scene before the end credits as Jerome cus off his french girl, climbing a spiral staircase. Man, just because it gave us inspiring thrills. We went to great lengths to encourage those. That woman was so suggestibility pervy.”
“Who was? That's just the kind of woman I need.”
“All woman are, if you have skill and patients. At least they used to be. Before the time when porn filled their heads with all of the raunchy possibilities. There is just no discovery anymore. Nobody is ever surprised when you do something freaky, out of the blue. I feel sorry for all the new people. I didn't hear you come in. So what so new?” This woman wasn't in a skirt either. What was the point of lying on the ground? Oh yeah, I just ended up here.
“I took my bike in fer service, and that cocksucker fuck it all up. She's running like shit, and I would like you to fix it.”
“What did he do to it?”
“That's what I'm hoping you'd figure out.”
“What did you bring it in for?”
“Carb work. It wasn't running tip top before, but now there's no riding her.”
“You want I should do it now, I'm kinda taking a nap here.” Truth was I was ah, scared to get up on my feet.
“I can wait. I was wondering, seriously what are you doing on the ground?”
“The world is spinning too fast man. It's freaking me out. Hey you remember my favourite boots. They are in need of sole repair.” I spelled out the letters resembling the master of conscientiousness, “You know that essence that takes over in dreams?” My swirling thoughts couldn't help but drift to, “If you are not dreaming, what is your soul up to in other dimensions, without your third eye watching?”
“How much weed have you smoked today? Dude should I come back tomorrow?”
“I quit. This is what happens to the brain when you suddenly cease and desist in the abuse of substances. It fucks you all up.” Behind her stylish, thick rimmed glasses there was quizzical regard, but that was nothing new. It was always there when we worked together, whatever I said. She was one of the only chefs I respected. She was never stuck, stroking her own ego. Man, she did make the best burger.
“Yeah I remember them. I remember how they looked really comfortable on your feet.”
I sat up and reached for one of the boots, which started a whole new spin. Is this going to be the way of things from this day forward? I closed my eyes, spinning the loose rubber part of the heal on a single, stationary nail.
“They have seen better days. I want twin pair in black. But I also want a copper roof, what's one to do?”
“Yikes, that don't sound cheap.”
“These shoes are 300 dollars.” I repeated this sentence in mind for a bit, with a pause. “Remember the good old days when the inventive people on youTube used to film witty skits, instead of camera stuck, straight talking shit? Before a single accusation of bigotry, enacted a policy of not paying anybody, anymore for nothing? It's called you tube for fuck sakes. Advertisers man. Give up the money you greedy fuckers. Almost every single Creator I follow complains about demonetization. I only follow one suggestive, snooty channel. And yet, these fuckers, try and force me to sit through tasteless ads of pubic hair trimmers, and cartoon step mothers getting caught by their children fucking vegetables. Convoluted contradictory thieves. Hoarding money for nothing, and living of the avails of honest creatives. They need to slap Jessie James five, then on the back hand side, stop flip it back over, and memorize his palm. These cocksuckers with no soul. We should all send them the way of the original, popular social gathering website. The world needs to remember, we the people, are in control the content on the web. These FREERIDING dickheads have just hijacked the information super highway it for a bit. Using it to spread all their lies. She's a useful tool, I will admit, but youTube needs a spanking. Just fucking say no, even for a day, would be enough for a right good attitude adjustment.
“I was talking about the roof.” I laughed.
“Oh, yeah roofs never are. Ash fault, Tesla glass, shit solid gold, it's all the same prospect with no solution. What it is I should do is cut up a bunch of tires, tar the fuckers down and call her a day. But that's a nightmare for another decade. Man, you cut off a super rant too. I was just about to set into a soapbox of all these tech companies, with their billion dollar earnings and the shitty feelings, their garbage user experiences, leaves a person with. How man times have you left a website with the feeling, you've just had the wind knocked out of your ass? Piss on their leering activities. It calls bullshit on Joseph Schumpeter's philosophy, of big profits driving the competition that destroys the monsters of monopolies. Such a crock. They just turn in to high school pot dealers with cocaine dreams, fantasizing all Miami Vice styles and buying out the competition, or worse, stealing a good idea or two. So what's your bike doing?” My friend gave me a comical look.
“She's bogging out when ever I hit the gas. She's got no balls. It took me forever to get here. I'm glad you were home.”
“Wow that narrows absolutely nothing down.” The room's two, whirling horizon lines of floor trim, I was trying to orient myself with, final merged into its singular self, behind the second pair of designer shoes I bought, GRANTS. They cost more than an ounce. I purchased them in a fit of revolt.
“What was the first social media website?”
“What do you mean in popularity? BlackPlanet.com. Speaking of which, you see those black and green fuckers?”
“Nasty, I remember them too. Is that mould? That can't be good.”
“What can you do? I was a life time Adidas supporter, from the first and short time my best friend sported a pair of original shell toes. The fucker wouldn't even let me try on. Jokes on him when his older cousin went home with them. I don't even think he hit the street with them on his feet. Little did we know, having to protect foot ware would be an on going theme growing up in Toronto. I remember feeling down and put out, after hearing of the death of my homeboy MCA.
“Shit, when was the last time you had to protect shoes?
“It hit like a tonne of bricks. . . Are ah, I don't know, like 2000 maybe?
“How old were you then?
“Round about thirty. I was heading to work, and found two little jahfakian fuckers, after this tiny Indian kids Nikes, in this long tunnel that lead to the subway. I slapped one of them, pointed at the other, the shoes were returned, and the brown kid ran off. I fucking went to work. Anyways, not that I knew him but, that first year of high school, him and two others, were on every television set. . .
“The Indian kid?”
“No man, MCA he and two other fellers were spreading the hypnotic, hip hop word, that you had to fight for your right to party. Never been too far after that.”
“What the Beastie Boys?”
“Yes ma'am, I was playing at the idea of online shopping, when I read the news. Before that day, I would have never bought a set of kicks anywhere's other than a store. Shit, but you Island motherfuckers know nothing about shopping. Only fucking Walmart and Payless to choose from. I'm surprised there ain't more psychotic incidents round here.
“No incidents, you just not hanging out in the right places, is all.”
“You could be right. I rarely leave the house now a days. I always thought one had to know, kicks fit snug. You spend a lot of time in them. Just like a bed. You gots to know it's comfort is assured. All I was finding were peter pan flyaway boots, in shiny gold patent leather vomit. It couldn't have be helping my gloomy disposition any. I considered a pair of black and red TIMBERLAND boots.”
“Oh those would suit you.” I laughed.
“I once worked at a call centre, for half of the wages the parent company offered its staff for the same work, anyways. I successfully had the heart of the girl other end I was flirting with. . .”
“You were at work, flirting with the customers?”
“But of course. It was the only thing to wake my ass up in the morning and head to the job. Its the little treasures we steal away with everyday, that get us through the grind, don't you think?” Behind those glasses, she looked as if she was giving the idea a think.
“On purpose, I used to loose my log in password, every morning, on the count I had to phone somewhere's down in Mississippi to acquire a new one. I was insanely attracted to the deep, sweet, southern sounds of the dark operators on the other end. I tried forever to seduce a great big smile, my ears could feel, on the other end. None of these stoic woman were bout it. Never deviating from a strict air of professionalism. One of my great failures in life. Before you ask yes, there are many.” Her smiling eyes giggled,
“Didn't your ass get in trouble for that shit.”
“I was always under some kind of contradiction with the management in that place. Mostly for doing my job. Being a flirt has its perks. I didn't follow the stupid chain of operations of intentionally making people wait for their new cellar toys. People love them little fuckers. I skipped the knotted chain in the middle, and went to the order placing source. The only thing that saved me was, the crazy number of calls in praise of my efficiency. Yeah that and I always had snacks on me. Food was not aloud on the floor. A rule everybody ignored.”
“You never flirted with me, why was that?” I wanted to stand with this silly idea and flank close, but I was still tizic. Gravity's force and all. I dropped to my back, boot falling over head, and smiled. With a deep breath in through the nose, as the spins returned, I licked my lips,
“I thought you weren't into me Jesss”, the lisping lasted long, “ssaahaha heka. Such sweet, soft feminine surrender juxtaposed before the pounding domo. . .”
“Oh KAY STOP. I forgot who I was dealing with for a second.” Oh how I love to make a woman flush pink, and listen for the wee little persona hidden inside, slip command in the timber of average intonation.
“Anyways, she asked me it I had Timbos on my feet, and I lied looking down at my denims and replied, 'Royal blue baby cus I'm regal like that'. She sighed and asked where I was at, and the girls in the cubicles surrounding me were all laughing. Proclaiming to the sky of how they couldn't believe I haven't been fired as yet. I could never ever bring myself to purchase a pair the them. I am into the classics, and I AM a Dr. Martin motherfucking hard rock negro to boot, haha. Ever since I heard the rumours, their insignia was of a tree bearing STRANGE FRUIT, they were not to be fucked with. In grade eleven I planned and plotted a way to seal the money for a right good black, three quarter Troop jacket.”
“Troop Jacket, what is that?”
“Do you remember the jams bout me and my bubble goose?”
“Sure.”
“It's one of those. They were all the rage in the end of the Eighties. Them and corduroy suits.” She let off a burst of laughter,
“What the fuck, like a business suit?”
“No, more like a track suit. I miss them. I turned around and sold that fucker after hearing the same kind of rumours. Why is it that urban fashion articles always fall into the hands of some Klu klux klan scheme, to incite black on black violence? Well that and, I came to find it wasn't real leather.
“You are crazy. Are going to stay on the ground forever, or do I have to go out and grab you some weed?” She asked through her zany grin. Fuck non fiction. Fuck reminiscing and fuck the world man, I screamed in mind, as I remember a time when I was totally enamoured with all woman playing androgynous, rule breaking games. The sentiment has been soured, along with every other noble, revolutionary ideal, I once subscribed to. How the fuck did that happen?
“I don't know, I think I'm crashing into metaphysical crisis.” I sat up again and shivered with the fresh spin. “Scratch think, I know.”
“Shit, what the hell you have to be worried about?” She couldn't have missed, how crazy I though this opinion was. It had to smash across my face.
Fuck man, how do I reply to this question? Locked in anxiety, depressed since childhood, the last three years filled with a unique experience of urgency. To balance rage, caused by helplessness was different from fear, and was a whole new emotional education. I guess in life I have never felt, truly helpless, until the very end of 2018. Are they identical emotions spawning from the same chemical centres? Splashing the brain into panic, pumping heart the faster. Shorting the breath at a time when you need more air? I've learned in these times to ignore the minds reaction, dispute its vibrating, battle the thumping, halt the habitual teeth grinding and the compulsive urge to hit anything. Helplessness, I imagine I will never cease in learning a new thing. Well that was the last two years before the shut downs. Today is a flavour of an entirely different substance of absurd, metaphysical confusion. Twirling round all aspects, within the projections of life displayed before us today, taste premeditated. I understand why and the hows, I just am not sure of the way through or forward. I understand there is a gate to pass through to achieve all of my goals. Too many doors with gigantic locks before it. My brother was the lock-pick. But the stress and anxiety are integral ingredients I come to find, clues leading me to the map, outlining the path to the beginner's mind. The very everyday state, the last three years I have only been able to bitch about, are the ingredients to push me forward. How do you spell motivation, because I suck a spelling? Just an other example of mother nature playing a sick games with her creations. Like the picture I took of the fucking mouse, cat brought home to gloat of how she's the baddest bad decapitator, that wouldn't leave the killers side. Almost instigating the feline with cat calls of,
“Come on pussy, I dare you to eat me.”
Bottom line we have to change our behaviours. The ones we are locked onto and are all in love with. How important are our obsessions? What purpose do they serve, and are they even our own intentions? I am old, up against impossible odds, but I am not alone. Everybody has a story. Mine is only one of 7 billion in global laboratory. One in a collection of lab rats, test subject of 21st century feudal overloads. The same as all the others, trapped on this soot filled rock, but most have no problem choking on the smoke.