Oddsockology
People ask me all the time, what I mean when I talk about Oddsocks
and what is Oddsockology?
They say it like it’s some kind of forbidden cheese.
Today I’m finally introducing you to the notorious Oddsock.
I’ll start by telling you a secret that’s been whispered
through the twisted air vents of old theatres
and tattooed on monks from the order of the ancient mystical banana.
Oddsock is not a sock.
It’s a mood, a movement and a certain kind of mystical manifestation.
A long time ago; Somewhere between Wednesday and the fall of Atlantis.
I discovered a single mismatched sock hiding in my drawer, it wasn’t mine.
It didn’t belong to any known brand, foot or dimension
but it pulsed faintly whenever the moon giggled.
It came alive at night.
So, I did what any reasonable person would do.
I wore it.
From that day forward, my mentalism got weirder and my scripts got spicy.
Predictions became freakishly accurate and my tea was always too milky!
I named him Oddsock and he became a talisman of creative chaos.
The deity of disproportion and intuition.
He takes on many forms and he is a symbolic reminder
that not everything has to match to make sense or nonsense.
Or better nonsense that secretly makes more sense.
When you see Oddsock pop up in my writing, know this:
It’s not random and it’s not a typo.
It’s a wink from the odder side!
Oddsock is a reminder
that in a world of neatly folded pairs,
the truly magical wear a sock that doesn’t belong.
Long live the lone sock.
All hail the mismatched.
Oddsock, we respect your hustle!
Stay Weird
ЯYΛП MΣПƬIƧ
International Man of Mischief
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