A very dear friend gifted me crocs for Christmas.

[angelastella@social.treehouse.systems]

A very dear friend gifted me crocs for Christmas. Only thing I ever wear on my feet for reasons, and she knew the ones I was using were at the end of their lifecycle. They were punctured and didn't provide proper electrical isolation in case I stepped on a single drop of water, for one thing.

Problem was, the new ones were black, absolutely not my color (for this kind of thing: a black dress I could wear; black backpack is out of the question), so I had to deface them with spray paint first and then use whatever was at hand: nail polish in my case. As you can see, I'm no artist and I don't care. Purpose is crude personalization. Think of PPE in the middle of nowhere: people judge you for being an asshole, not because you drew a goddamn peace symbol in your helmet.

Opted against wearing them for the photo. Hope you don't have a foot fetish I'm inadvertently frustrating, but it wouldn't play well with one of my minor dysphorias.

[angelastella@social.treehouse.systems]

Rant time. Silence me if you like. I'd silence myself if I could. Hell, I usually do, but that's neither here or there.

Calling these things shoes is an insult to every shoemaker who ever lived. To me they're "things you put on your feet so you don't get kicked out of places".

And my despise at such things (back in the day it was alpargatas, espadrilles, for me: long story, not really suitable for wet weather) is rooted in the fact that I have walked barefoot. In the streets. Here in La Plata and in Buenos Aires. Bit harder in these months of fucking relentless Sun and hot pavement, sometimes maybe hundreds of meters of it: once I had to improvise some protection out of cardboard. Didn't much care for the dog shit plus broken glass, but if most people emigrated or died at least one of these problems would go away.

Yeah, somewhat violent mood. Happens usually in summer. We don't know how to live, we're killing ourselves by living stupidly. Can't even read the fucking sky. When the daystar is up you shouldn't go out. We haven't been really trained on it, but there's something called siesta in the provinces up north. Survival strategy when it's above 40°C in the shade. But down here in Buenos Aires that's just being lazy, right? We won't survive global warming and I won't shed a single tear for this so-called great city. We had our chance and we wasted it.