I Am Entirely Processes

Last term I took Apocalyptic Cinema: the Cold War with the illustrious Ian Abrams. One of the books we read was On the Beach, a story about a few Australians and an American submarine captain in Australia after nuclear war has broken out between the US and Russia. Basically, the northern hemisphere is dead, and the radioactivity is moving south; the book talks about their final year alive.

After class Abrams asked us, “If you knew the end was coming next week, what would you do?” There were a lot of answers around the class; a few wanted to be with their families, some said they’d go down blazing, looting and burning or perhaps run off a cliff; drink and drugs and excess of every kind. One said she would pray. Abrams himself said he’d curl up with his Dickens books and some nice brandy or something, and just read until the end. My answer was simple.

“I’d take off my shoes and go for a walk.”

So a week or two or three ago, Conor is telling me about this study showing that shoes are actually bad for your posture and I think, “Well, heck…why wait?” And I took my shoes off.

Since then I’ve been going barefoot when possible; in the city, in stores, anywhere I go. Initially I went a little hard on myself and developed a fantastic pair of blisters, which I had to nurse for a few days before they finally consented to burst. And on one occasion, yes, I did get a little shard of glass stuck in my foot (although to hear people tell it you’d think the city was covered in a fine layer of deadly shards, in turn covered in a fine mist of aids, syphilis, cancer and mustard gas). Oddly, no one seems to notice in stores; only once have I been discovered, and even then I didn’t get tossed out (although she did give me a lot of disapproving looks).

But what’s been brought most to the forefront are the surfaces. Basically, the condition of the surfaces under my feet has joined the smell of the air and the taste in my mouth as something I keep some track of, and moreover, has become something I have…favorites of.

You’d think grass would be my favorite, but it’s actually pretty mediocre for me; the softness often hides nasty little rocks, and it has sort of an itchy feel I don’t particularly like; city grass is waxen compared to a thick suburban lawn. Smooth concrete on the other hand is really nice in the morning and afternoon; the city sidewalks are warmed by the sun, not too hot, but in a comforting way, despite their hardness, like a blanket fresh out the dryer. Bumpy concrete, however, is pretty far down the list. The rough texture can be nice on occasion but cobbled sidewalks usually perform this function much better, especially the ones around here that have been warped into rolling waves by the tree roots burrowing underneath. Cold tile is something else I’m growing to enjoy; generally the smoother a surface is, the more I like it, and indoor tile is usually very very smooth. The best has been in the grocery store near the open refrigerated sections; like standing on an ice floe. Of all this, carpet I’d say is usually the worst. Public carpet is like walking on a great dead tongue; unpleasant buds lapping at your toes, the spongy substance in gross submission before every crushing foot, lifeless limp burs rubbing at your feet, a million unknown chemicals seeping upwards…

Ugh. Don’t like carpet.

There are some things that can only be enjoyed in passing. The trolley tracks near my home offer one such attraction; the imbedded rails, usually slightly hotter than the surrounding concrete, smooth and touched for only a moment in passing, little warm crevasses. I’ve come to enjoy curling my toes over the edge of the curb while waiting for traffic lights to turn, delighting in applied pressure. The white stripes indicating crosswalks have their own distinct feel, one foot on them, the next back onto the road, and then one foot upon them again, smooth, rough, smooth, rough. At points on my routes I get the opportunity to walk on marble, and I see why it is crowned king of all stones. And then there are the times when standing, leaning, sitting, that I find metal structures with cylinders and bars, to rest a sole on, to wrap the toes around, to pull and tug at.

And everywhere, something to touch.

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