Life is too short for boring stories

“This is how human is: she scolds his shoe, and her foot is the cause,” writes Samuel Beckett rightly in his grandiose piece “Waiting for Godot”. Grandiose or condemned to eternal actuality. Whichever way you take it. The above quotation, however, is not appreciated enough. For this, pupils who cannot yet understand the sharpness, the irony and the humor are tormented. Everyone knows it, no one reads it. This is the disgrace of school politics. In this country. I always talk about this. One should speak of what one knows. That is why Samuel Beckett, attributed and probably also constituted as a man, could never be so close to it as to cover the whole range of foot and footwear dilemmas. I have a brief hand, without having – admittedly – empirical evidence that he was wearing socks and shoes. But not stockings. Had he done so, he would have found a quite different, even comprehensive political statement in it, with all his appendages.

At the beginning of the strutted legs were the stockings, which were equipped with garter belt, optionally with corsage with the necessary attachments. This was and is a rather elaborate clothing variant, which the modern woman cannot need. The hosiery industry took this into account and invented the stockings, which no longer needed any braces – the so-called hold-up ones, but also the pantyhose, which, as the name implies, are like a pair of trousers and warm the bum beautifully. Pack, pack away, hide and conceal. Another form of women to close and seal. But only by the way. Whoever understands it understands it. If I now banish tights and hold-up stockings, which symbolize infantilizing, the others as such, the degradation of sensuality into the hustle and bustle of modern times, from my clothing repertoire, and once again wear stockings without hold-up, this is quite feminist and therefore as a political statement. This also explains the dilemma.


“So human is now: she curses on her stocking, and thereby her leg is to blame.”, One could persistently remark. The bag to be packaged proves to be scratch-resistant and the nails on the feet as too rough for the delicate interlacing of the textile structures. Fine interwoven, facilities, connections, each in red and black. Later expanded by blue, green and pink. Everything is connected with everything, and if one thread is separated from the other, the whole structure dissolves. Which of course nobody wants. Therefore, the unruly part of the leg, the foot is straightened. If need be with executive and jurisdictional violence. Order must be. The rest, then fits itself as always by itself. Then the stocking is pulled over the leg, again checked whether it sits properly. What a beautiful, colorful mixture. Only the green is now striking with the others and is pulled out. The sting in the flesh, which has become tired and mellow. He could not feel any more. It easily dissolves as if it were repelled by preservation and preservation. When the stocking sits, the brackets are applied, one after the other. The simplest is the black one, which, however, has embraced and tried to take a more prominent position. That is why he has changed into turquoise, which is, however, only an external cosmetic measure, but in the conglomerate with restoration wills and Biedermeier attitude excellently. Next comes the red holder, on the left back next to the bottom cheek, which has shortened a little and hardly the connection to the stocking finds. So far, they were doing well on the left leg. Stops and nostalgia on both sides, back and front. The braces on the second leg are somewhat more tame. Blue and pink, which fits in color, and also the stocking has its joy, but they want as far away as possible from each other. And while my hands become more tangled, the connection becomes independent, as if it were never to be separated any more, a differently colored thread sneaks in parasitically into the braid and spreads out slowly. Gold shining and auspicious. It can calmly subvert the structures, because the holders have now become hopelessly tangled, self-centered, and forget that their task is to dress the leg. But who cares about the leg. This should be reported in five years. Maybe.


Kommentar verfassen

%d Bloggern gefällt das: