There are a few things in life there can never be satisfied… for instance, white t-shirts, one can never have enough white t-shirts, inevitably the foolish, such as I, will attempt the good deed of washing clothes on a Saturday afternoon, with the best intent and warmth of well being one might notice the red table cloth bearing a crumb or an ash or the hint of tired eyes, thus setting in course the thought process that this too would certainly benefit from a cleaning, so warm heart and good intent collide placing the soiled covering amongst the man's pile of clothing (which is most certainly out of sorts) and the push, the pour, the clicking of ancient knobs set to ease a life less cluttered a part from the brutal monotony one experienced long long ago pushing and pulling with a sense of duty across the ribbed version of modern simplicity, what once was a sparkle in the eye of young and old, the prospect of making life simple has turned the page of time once again to simple and sin-ple and sin-ple-er, so progress and perfection unite in the never ending splurge of inventiveness all for the sake of saving time (which too can never be satisfied) only to be filled and refilled with this grand moment of splendor and the technology that has now become a god to be worshiped upon waking, upon walking, upon returning to sleep…. But the result is the same: good intent with a lack of forethought or desire to listen to the voice echoing in the back of the boy's mind "you must not wash the whites with the reds…." as it fades away with the pull of the knob, the successive reverberation of hot and cold water splashing about or the click that gives weight to the subtle waves we sometimes like to call "satisfaction" encompassing the soul at the prospect one has yet again "done a good deed". That is until the close of the cycle, with the chirp from a far when again time that was saved beckons us forth to reenact another wonder of science and pull damp cloth from the bellows of the beast only to find the loved white t-shirts are no longer as they should be, but now dawn a hue of red more commonly known as pink. No amount of bleach or afterthought can save those once pure from a life now deemed worthy to become rags and wipe the ashes, the crumbs, the tired eyes, so as to avoid such tragedy in the future. Undergarments as a whole ( a rather distasteful lot ) fall into the mix of items that can never be satisfied, they wear out, tear our, becoming brittle during their time spent on earth till they are pulled, and separated in the desperation for copulation, and animal instinct wins out, as Darwin would say, "survival of the fittest", but the fittest (in my experience of course) Is generally the opposite sex, in yours? (we'll we leave that to imagination). No matter the science behind it, I always wind up with a 5 pack in my hand (men's medium, crew-neck, signature series of course) all that this wonder be recreated again and again, and morning rituals of wake then water can be blessed by the dawning symbol of inner purity and cleanliness which I might add go oh so well with almost everything in my minute collection of un-fashion. So I sit here on Sunday kaki shorts and beloved white t-shirt, may it stay lovely for a time, may I never lose hope, or faith, or regard, till a time when clothing is optional, or I find yet another desire to s-a-t-i-s-f-y…
