Head Dust


ERUCTED THOUGHTS, MIDDEN SIFTINGS, HETERONYMOUS DISJECTA.

I HAVE ANOTHER SHIRT

I have another shirt but I always wear this shirt. I do not like this shirt. It is ugly. I like my other shirt. I am wearing this shirt to keep my other shirt from getting dirty. This shirt is dirty. The collar and the cuffs are especially dirty. But there’s no point in washing it. Once this shirt was clean and new and ugly and I put it on and I fastened the buttons and I tucked it in and I wore it. Eventually it got dirty on the collar and the cuffs. I took it off and washed it. It became clean but not as clean as it had been before I had worn it. I wore it again. It got dirty on the collar and the cuffs. Because it had not been so clean it took less time to get dirty. I washed it again and it became clean but not as clean as it had become the first time that I washed it. I wore it again. It got dirty on the collar and the cuffs of course but because it had not been so clean it took even less time to get dirty. I washed it again. I wore it again. Each time I wore it it got dirty more quickly. I washed it more and more frequently. It got to the point that I could hardly fasten all the buttons before the shirt had to come off and go into the wash. It got to the point that I had to choose either to wash the shirt continuously without wearing it or wear the shirt continuously without washing it. As an unwearable shirt is no use to me I chose to wear the shirt continuously. I have not washed it since. It is not quite true to say that an unwearable shirt is no use to me. I have after all my other shirt. In my opinion my other shirt is beautiful. Maybe even very beautiful if this could be said of shirts. Of course I never wear it. It has never been worn. I never wear it for the reasons outlined above. Maybe there will come a day when I can wear my shirt without it getting dirty. Not even on the collar and the cuffs. I am saving my shirt for that day. I don’t think I will live to see such a day. So much the better. I will wear my dirty ugly shirt and save the other. Maybe my very beautiful shirt doesn’t fit me or maybe it doesn’t suit me. Maybe others would scorn it. No matter. I will never find out. So long as I never wear it I preserve the perfection of that shirt. And the shirt I do wear? It is ugly. It is filthy. It has attained an indeterminate colour. Except that is for the collar and the cuffs. The collar and the cuffs have attained a colour of their own. A colour unrelated to the colour the shirt used to be. Whatever that was. I’ve forgotten. When others scorn this shirt I am pleased. I am not so unlike them after all.
THOMAS PORS KOED