Sunday, September 24, 2017

Koishikawa Botanical Garden, 

lungs iii.

Saturday, September 9, 2017

The fabrics we wrap ourselves with are spirits, the words we left unsaid. Put on a translucent black riddle, transitory, shimmering. Underneath, 
bare skin, and fresh paint cover the body in a made-up language of abstract strokes. 

保持する- to hold ,  接触- to touch

In this world 
We walk on the roof of hell
Gazing at flowers 

Kobayashi Issa


Friday, September 8, 2017

 Nathan & Juke, August 2017

is it through an archway or an edifice, 
that echoes 
the last vestige of words exchanged, slow burning 

ii. "imagine yourself a seeker of the inner future in this past in which so much that is eternal was enclosed..."
- Rainer Maria Rilke

lungs ii.

Monday, July 31, 2017

I have wound you an image
and laid it on waxy leaves

Alba/ A Song of Diana, Laura Nagan
There is a rough
Perfection in my colors
I twine willow 
Branches through my hair,
I trust their lengths and sew
Them to my chest.

I reach pale edges,
Slipping over the crest.

I have no lucid colors;
only the faintly scrawled
signature of veins

the jeweled tissue veils–
they are webs on me,

spun threads sealed to stiff limbs.

(a quiver)

Monday, July 24, 2017

Ichō- solitary butterfly                            ( a quiver) 
"even while it is nesting, the wings of the butterfly may be seen to quiver at moments —as if the creature were dreaming of flight." 

don't pin
the black pool of night to my skin,

unless you desire torn wings. 

Notes from Margiela

Thursday, July 20, 2017

A few special things I've been collecting for the past several months- photos and 
transcripts from the Margiela archives. 

text no.3 Patrick Scallon, Paris December 14, 2016:
"Often what I say about that period is that it was a period where the provokers could provoke the people who wanted to be provoked. There was a relationship, and people enjoyed the game of provocation. For example, Jenny's best invitation was a card with a telephone number. So you got a white card with a telephone number, you phone that number, there was an answering machine, you took the address down, and you showed up to the show." 

Each package from Mint Film Office in the Netherlands is tiny glimpse into the 
history of a notoriously radical, enigmatic couture house- anecdotes, photos of the
knitwear factoryconversation pieces from early Margiela. 
The curiosity grows... 

Sustainable minutes

Saturday, July 15, 2017

Listen: Nozomu Matsumoto,  
Sustainable hours
Sustainable minutes

look in my eyes
what do you find? a hint of grace? static eyes 
in the dark of night, eyes that reflect 
a hint of absurdity?

forgive me,
       I am absurd 

Japan Photo Diary

Tuesday, July 4, 2017

i. four eye vintage, shinjuku, tokyo
ii. floaters

iii. sitting on the steps of a shrine in Kyoto, the
leaves purple in the dark,  I
whispered a recording, exactly 6 min 30 sec
the music- held apart 

Imperial gardens in shinjuku, 
genkan/ entryway,
 alone one night, rain splattering the metal hand rail at the center of the bridge, right below the cars speed towards and away, colored splinters in the dark, the dusty music and a question gaining momentum from the pit of your stomach am I empty or alive? 

Yohji's first collection was entirely in black, 
the audio of the show: clothes sent down the runway to the sound of a beating heart

nazoraeru (v.) 
to substitute, in imagination, one object or action for another, so as to bring about some magical or miraculous result
-of a mirror and a bell, kwaidan 

As long as ropes unravel

Friday, June 30, 2017

Music for a night in Kyoto

1. astronaut- lush
2. far away- lilja
3. us and them- pink floyd 
4. as long as ropes unravel fake rolex will travel
5. musique satieerique- dominique lawalrée
6. マルセリーノの歌
7. all cats are grey- the cure
8. harmony in blue- tim hecker
9. VXOMEG- bill kouligas
10. disengaged- grouper


Tokyo, May 2017
i. static
what you steal in the dead of night
from memory branches
when no one's around

ii. read a poem today called "the tunnel is a lung", thinking every shared whisper in the dark is an exile of fear, an exhale 

notes from tokyo

Friday, June 23, 2017

Of course, the writing that struck me most was from the book I didn't buy.

Tokyo Day 2: Already finding myself a nook in the middle of Comme des Garçonsreading excerpts from the Met's Art of the In-Between, collecting notes dotted with question marks I'd come back to again & again over the following weeks. I left home wanting to understand the idea of home better. Tokyo, where a scatter of childhood memories rooted in the delicate radius of a singular neighborhood, now years later, becomes a less tangible city, with new memories sprawling outwards. This city still feels like a piece of home, even though far less than half a life was spent here. The people make it this way. In the homes we create ourselves, over and over as we grow up, in someone else. Home is multiple places now, home is someone. Rei's words- on marriage, (the freedom to) stand out, blend in, how we say goodbyes in small & large ways, and continue saying these goodbyes after death. On the importance of becoming a child again to create, suffering to create, posterity, opulence. I visited multiple shrines, temples, cemeteries in Tokyo, then later in Kyoto, sacred places for people I knew, and knew nothing of. There's a stillness in these places that is really peaceful, brimming with energies of their own, an otherworldly feeling. 

images from Rei Kawakubo's Art of the In-Between and AnOther mag

"I called it the Ceremony of Separation. It's about how the beauty and power of ceremony can alleviate the pain of separating, for the one departing as well as for the one saying goodbye." 

"I want to be forgotten" 

here / there

Thursday, June 15, 2017


tokyo. 6.12.2017
your moon, my moon  


Monday, June 12, 2017

branches like arteries 
violent in the night, volatile
 and the small white petals drawing you

waking up what's asleep inside 

marguerite duras: 
the light fell from the sky 
in cataracts of pure transparency, 
in torrents of silence
and immobility. 

the air was blue, you could hold it in your hand.

every night was different, each one had a name as long as it lasted. 


Wednesday, May 31, 2017

Fay by Mia Dabrowski & Bérenger Pelc,
Novembre Magazine

i. all that's revealed in midnight blue,
whispers, shared songs, 
gold tinted mischievous crinkle
of your eye

ii. "the night, because it holds endless possibilities, is god" 
-the theology of innocence, susan meltzer

Soft burn

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

"Eyes closed, I gave myself to the sun...
I brushed from the sky the azure that is darkness, and I lived-
gold spark of pure light" 

Rimbaud, A Season in Hell

Isaiah and Slim, Brooklyn
clothes by Nika Tang

fragments ii.

Sunday, May 21, 2017

i. "psychoanalysts say that shame ruins your capacity for reverie by making cracks in the mind where it is dangerous for thoughts to wander."
-anne carson, shame stack

ii. ask the moon 
where we went last night

what would she tell you? 

f: friction, fantasy, fortress, filament, free-fall, free me, find me, finish me, forget-me-not

iv. recently:

red tulips to wake up to, 

last light at the headlands, 

magical image by Raffaele Cariou, 

"lullaby music for psychotics" or Blood by This Mortal Coil, 

revisiting always favorite "Brooklyn Gang" by Bruce Davidson, 

"the city of absurdity" & other paintings by david lynch, 

"Angel's egg" the visuals, the OST (!!)  

journal entry a few week ago: 

"so it seems we've finally
learned, how to outsmart the 
beauty of dawn"

this week:
we wrote a song for eos

one kind of perfect blue, where storm meets sea

how to measure 

the velocity 




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