After posting this I’m going to and shop online for
something to wear for next month’s “Funky Sock Friday.” I may work 9 to 5 in an
office, but I still have a personality dammit! I prove it by joining half the
office in wearing colourful socks on the first Friday of every month. Send
through pics of your favourite funky
sock! I will decide may favourite.
Socks will be judged on the following criteria:
- Theme
- Use of colour and movement
- Funkiness
- Danceability
- Lighting and mood
- Sockervescence
Winner of favourite funky sock will get a message notifying
them of their victory. An unframed, A5 sized “Best Taste in Funky Socks”
certificate available on request, but can only to ship to Australian addresses. Winner will be announced at some point, probably. All judgements are final, unless there’s an official protest or I change my
mind.
The below wasn’t the piece I was intending to finish today,
but it is about as appropriate to my current mood. I guess if I was in the mind
to make it heart-warming or inspiring, I’d try and finish it by saying
something like - “the time is now, roll up the sleeves and get on with the job.
You put yourself here and it’s up to you to pull yourself out.” But all I can
say to that right now is, if you want that, go watch Dead Poets Society, or
read some Walt Whitman and carpe diem or whatever. Go get uplifted someplace
else. The best you’re getting here this week is a hokey totally genuine sock
competition.
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| Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May John William Waterhouse - 1909 |
Rosebud
I used to have the time,
All the time in the world.
To sit and ponder nothing,
Or dream of pretty girls.
To line all my tomorrow’s,
With wonders yet to come.
Or lay back and reminisce fondly,
On wild parties, and good fun.
I’ll get to it next week,
Next month, or even next year.
“Hey slow down what’s the rush?
Let’s relax with another beer.”
I miss those times of ease,
When life slipped by so slow.
Now I’m in a rush,
Everywhere I have to go.
Losing touch with childhood
friends,
And best mates with a hundred
bills.
No more room for late nights, or
late starts,
No more room for Sunday thrills.
They tell me it is maturing,
Getting responsible, growing
older.
I find all it ever does,
Is make the world seem a little
colder.
A place so full of promise,
Full of wonderment and lust,
I find now to be hollow,
Empty, meaningless dust.
No more ‘next year’s
Only yesterdays.
A life once full of ‘what if?’s
No place now for ‘maybe someday.’
Still the seasons continue to
pass,
And the years they slip on by.
I can’t help but now think,
Did I ever even try?
Seriously though. Life is never quite so bad when you’re
equipped with a really solid functional pair of socks, no matter what they look
like.
