Hello August. You found me sleeping late again, waking up to crusty eyes and a stubborn desire to pull the sheets over again. You found me with breakfast pastry crumbs between my feet. Between life and death, you found me.

You hold much for me. June and January are distant now and I’m glad for us. Yet there were times I wished you were October, November or December. I was wondering last night if you’d be so great I could burst. But I know you and I won’t last. In due time, September will pick all my broken pieces together, lay me out on the grass and assemble me once again.

So what are you going to be about? Chances are, chances being from anything to everything, we would be having a lot of fun. Yes, me and you.

August, we will live and love for nothing. Yes, for nothing.


P/S: India.

[I’ve been shooting/uploading a few dead, dirty and ordinary things from the back alleys as of late. Dried grass, wild flowers, cracks, rubbish, dew, stinky birds and some discarded has-beens interest me. I don’t know how long this will last, but I like ordinary quite a lot.]

Link for the week: Soundtransit. Now you can travel with sound. This is home.



  1. agung

    whoa. thin legs.

  2. thundered cat

    mildly twisted too.

  3. agung

    apologies for spamming, but i do wish i had your november and december.

  4. thundered cat

    dave, i wish i had your four seasons.

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