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 


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