I look out the window at our once-bustling city that is now stuck in a perpetual state of Sunday. It’s only been six months since our microwave died, but we’ve both aged so much more in that time span.
“It’s not safe,” I say.

"Where did he get those gorgeous blue eyes?" The rudest strangers asked Carson the question directly. "Honey, where did you get those blue eyes?"

The exhibition “The Moon Represents My Heart: Music, Memory and Belonging” at the Museum of Chinese in America offers us an opportunity to study the enduring silence-cum-visibility. Co-curated by Hua Hsu, staff writer at The New Yorker, as well as Herb Tam and Andrew Rebatta from MOCA’s curatorial team, the ensemble of over fifty artists surveys a Chinese American history in which a disciplined muteness can be felt: from Yoyo Ma’s perfected recitals of Western classical music to C. Spencer Yeh’s rebellious improvisations against this tradition. But this weight could just as easily apply more broadly to others not in the show; I also thought of Mitski’s escape into ulterior identities (“Be the Cowboy”) and Rina Sawayama’s stylized cyborgian fit (“Cyber Stockholm Syndrome”).

The O-1 extraordinary ALIEN Visa, aka the Genius Visa, is granted to an ALIEN who possesses extraordinary ability in the sciences, arts, education, business, or athletics, and who has been recognized nationally or internationally for those achievements.

The Appalachian Mountains are rich in hermit history and lore, most of which has been forgotten by scholars and historians. And this isn’t surprising, since hermits, due to their status as self-imposed exiles and social critics, often function as mere footnotes to the mainstream...

A werewolf is a thing which demands space for two states of being at once; a living creature which is more than it is at any one time. It holds transition suspended within itself, winding through it. What it was and what it will be informs what it is.