The problem with many of our lives is that theyíre so often routine: weíre busy with this and that, and then in our free time we just doodle inconsequentialities. But last night I happened to listen to a radio broadcast that explained how you could put everything you needed in life into one sock. I donít know why, but this suddenly brought me to life like the sound of a trumpet. I know the concept was lunatic, I know Iíd be hard put to describe why I was tickled, thrilled, and convinced all at once. Let me describe at least what this man told us to do.
You carefully check your daily routine and notice what you use out of habit and not need – obviously the angel-trumpet blossoms in your backyard that you stop and look at so fondly, or the doodlebugs that you approve of chasing ants at their roots do not belong in that sock, neither does (any more) the newspaper where you read about the broadcast in the first place.
(I did look to see if there were plans to repeat the broadcast since you hadnít recorded it and there were things that I found difficult to describe to myself after it was over – perhaps I could write the station about the sock programís availability, for them things like that must be pretty routine, all those guys and their secretaries sitting around with nothing to do but doodle on their memo pads and pass each other notes, like "You really need an ear-trumpet, youíve asked me to repeat myself the last three times we spoke, even though I trumpet what I say loud and clear," obviously itís not the office staff that created that broadcast, some genius, my God Iíve already forgotten his name, no it was Preston Doodle, although I canít remember if he wrote it or was just there to describe the project, I donít think so though, his voice wasnít pro, more like routine, with just that touch of weirdness that would think of putting your life in a sock.)
It has just occurred to me that what I heard as "into one sock" was actually "into one stock." Maybe Iím the one who needs an ear-trumpet. Jesus that would mean that everything that electrified me was only routine advice and I was a victim of my own wish fulfillment listening to that broadcast. Iím afraid that at this moment my feelings are becoming too painful to describe, itís as though a cruel God had taken a Q-tip and started to doodle inside my ear, inside my brain, inside my soul, the doodle of despair which I guess is all my life is worth – not worth sticking in a sock even. Still, maybe I can do something with the idea, maybe describe it to some friends as if it were a game we could play. Or I could take up the trumpet and get to be so hot on it Iíd end up making records and get broadcast myself, yeah, why not.
Meanwhile, itís not so bad in here, sometimes the routine gets screwed up - I mean my own routine. The supervisors all doodle. The janitor watches one TV broadcast after another. I look at my sock and pretend itís a golden trumpet too glorious to describe.