Notes on a Sandal

I like sandals. I like that I wore sandals all day today, Friday December 26, 2008. I like the way I almost touch dirt and stone and floor and pavement when I wear sandals. In fact, I'd prefer it if I could walk around barefoot. All the time. Without sandals, even.

Sandals in Spanish is: sandalias or chancletas. But chancletas always has the accompanying image of children running fast in one direction. Sandalias is refined like sand. Sandy-les. Yes, that's me - a sandy-les. Sand-less is a stone beach, although don't be fooled: it just requires deeper contemplation.

Sandals don't fit into hourglasses, though sand does. And the Penz hourglass is very much on its last tilt. Without sandals or sandy lesbians. I am sad about this. Thought you wouldn't know it from my (in)conspicuous absence. I've been a truant. It's cause I've been playing in the sandbox. Or rather, building castles out of sand and sky. My last hurrah is Sunday or Sand-day, whichever you prefer.

Alas, my twilight has arrived...or shall very shortly. A year has been shrinky-dinked into small square gesso tiles, of which a few remain, though really, I should only have one. Have I mistakenly kept souvenirs of my trip? There were 91 + 13 tiles at the beginning. Oh yes, that's right: I betrayed my canvas. Told Penz I'd be there at 7pm for our scheduled rendezvous but instead, ended up lingering in the crowd left behind. Shadows of the scorned tile replicate themselves in my paint box.

Perhaps my twilight will be a glorious rendering of time. Or perhaps, it will be stifled by silence. It is late morning, noon is on the horizon and night is on the other side.

Do tell - do you wear toe rings?