Some things are truly unplannable. Like my foot!, that infinite shriek in my right runner. Every step of the way from here to Holland and back home again, I was accompanied, if not possessed, by a beep, presumably caused by a leak in an air chamber in the sole of my shoe. After I made sure it was not letting in water, letting in water I bent it, shook it, anyway I wanted, but could not copy the force exerted by my body weight.
Every step I took, every move I made the flatulent creak sucked and trumpeted my whereabouts. I like to walk and think and since I travelled to Holland by plane I had no car so I had to walk the mile and many more. A constant recurrent sound I can take in my stride, but my squeak became a bodily expression of undesired intimacy. A proclamation of my clumsiness echoing on lonely street. Well you know I can't take it light, to sound the same, I won't ever get it right, it calls its name.
The shriek was muffled while I walked on grass and assimilated by the hussabustle of the city. It became an embarrassment when overtaking, as it was when walking behind other pedestrians. When I accelerated my pace it went up in pitch, not in singular silence could I round a corner. I felt an outlaw in modesty, a conflicting intruder, leaving his footprint in the ears of my fellow man. I know my limitations, but this was more than the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to. My faithless footwear frustrated by failure. How I craved for revenge upon this devilry that followed me wherever I went.
But then again, silent now, hear ye! hear ye! A new confession:
It times the tunes that dwell in my head.
I'm fingerprinting me.
Is it not great to communicate my directional intent and have you step aside, partner, here I come.
Beep-beep-m-beebeep, yeah!
My message may be kind, but the delivery is brutal.
I have left my sound signature in the texture of the tarmac and the fissures of the masonry. Even when raindrops are falling on my head the scrape won't stop, I jet air from my heel, like the steam whistle from a singing tea kettle.
But on the rocks I sneak in silence, here the rooster is too lazy to crow the day. Deedomdeedom sssqqquuueeeaaakkk...