Do I still hang on to my rusted ways? Let’s just say that the wounds have healed and the tetanus cured.
Here is the third pair from my thrifting trip early this week. Comfortable enough to ditch the socks (cleaned the pair already and it has passed a breaking in). Also: you know how much I love woven leather.
Fortunately, morning light still slants past the roof of the extended house, offering an otherworldly glare. Covered by the piles of gravel and discarded wood, trapped in the refuse made sticky by absorbed rain are half-masticated dreams.
Am sure the tamarind tree is happily soaking up the rich mass of decay.
The irony of thrifting footwear for me is to try to literally walk in somebody else’s shoes. Of course, one can only ever use pre-loved pairs that do not bear pressed imprints on the inner soles.
Inside these clean sacks are more sand for concrete to smooth over nearly-finished walls. The shovels bear the marks of all that mixing and shovelling. Arms exposed by sleeves for hard work.
Think this is also the first time I wore this thrifted Uniqlo jacket on these pages. Best for the rain and to keep me warm at the office.
Once my feet sweat, or thrifted pairs get drenched by rain or floodwater, leather clings to skin – a creepy, cringe-worthy statement if you think about it. No other way to make shoes entirely mine.
I never liked quotes, or using other people’s words. Now you see the irony I mentioned in the previous caption.
I prefer to use things with a clean slate, naive and without memory.
But that really isn’t possible. Even in writing, I can only appropriate and make things my own.