It should cost a billion to look this good—to look this much like yourself, ever changing.
INSIGHT
POETRY
My Mother’s Mother’s Mother —
Her wet nonexistent fingerprints run through / my scalp muttering, how would I let anyone take you.
TRANSLATION
“H E R chair” & “untitled (from ashen-white)”
Translated from Chinese by Jill Zheng
ART
Individual Collectivity: Scratching at the Moon at ICA Los Angeles
It struck me that the answer to my question, why now, was that California has been, for generations, shaped and influenced by migration from Asia, and the art being produced by people of these diasporas is too great to be overlooked any longer.
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The Perils of Girlhood
I’ve read numerous articles about the murders, searching for some shred of evidence, some hidden rationale for this crime, but the more I read, the faster the details fade, like water smearing ink on a handwritten letter.
sitting in the Sistine Chapel very miserable and very sexy
you could use a little mothering /
Michelangelo.
The Infinite is Everywhere and Cheap
If my face was a mask stuck to my face, then my girldick was a strap-on I could never remove. And both were the shadows of masculinity I could never shake.
We Love Because HE Loved Us First
When she opened her eyes, she found that the water stain on the ceiling had grown even larger.
The first time I pried a blade from your fist I told myself never again
I did love you,
emergency lines, knives and all, and you, you loved me
crawling.
