sometimes wood burns

While folding laundry, I came to contemplate on the strange personality of some particular division of clothes and how I organized their existence.

There is this thing called the undergarment section, on the first shelf of the right side I have three sacks. They are neatly stored in cotton bags; soft and cared for. It is amusing to think about the way I feel for each sack and how I actually tried to come up with the most nondiscriminatory canons for judging their existence. Perhaps you have some similar idiosyncratic relationship with your non-living properties?

So, the three sacks.

One of them is where I put all those g-strings that you wear only when you are getting lucky or want to amuse yourself and impress a man. The ones with the tight and glittery edges, the dominatrix attire, the hello kitty dumb bitches hot pink frilly tails..... You know the ones that you just don't bother looking at unless you are getting it torn out and whizzed at. The cold ones for hot occasion? The piece of clothing that you don't talk to. And if your g-string would suddenly turn into a human being, you'd call it a slut. You know the ones that stay mute all their life. You don't try to get to know them. (Flesh, meat, evil, sins from garden of Eden kind)

And the biggest sack. The one which has those that you wear everyday. The thong sack. Aren't thongs like the people you like talking to and sharing the everyday world with? The ones with stories. The ones you'd find yourself in the company of, often. Almost like the closest of your friends? I find thongs to have a very jovial approach to everything. Like a eager butler, ready to comply.

Hmm. The last bag. This is where you feel curse of owning a bleeding vagina. In this sack you have sturdily stored the ones you use when durability is needed; when you go out into the world alone- to explore. The ones that accompany you to feet of mountains or into dark jungles at night. The ones that would be with you when you shat into your pants! Them, those ones. You just carry on caring for them. Almost respecting them for their good looks and intimacy with your biggest adventures. However, they just feel like people who you like but are too close to need to impress.


Yeah. Strange, people are. World is. Indeed.