What I’ve always loved and wished for is a tamarind tree, and in late 2019 I met a grand old one, with a narrow bit of land attached. The tree commands the entire eastern side. I’ve always believed you don’t own land and what stands on it, it’s just a contract of promise one makes to honour it whilst fulfilling a wish. Read more
世界角落里的每一种语言和每一种声音也是音乐，每一只鸟每一只蚁的移动也是，各有各自不规律的高呼低鸣混合了在这片大地. Every language and sound in every corner of the world is a kind of music, so too the movement of every bird and every ant, each with its own high pitch and low hum, mixing on this land. Read more
Like everyone, I wish to love and be loved. To receive validation for one’s existence and achievements would be fucking amazing. To one day swim and dance with friends again would be heaven. But in order to have these things, so goes the strange logic of my personal mantra, I have to offer many things in return. In a way, this painting is one such offering. Read more
In the stillest of nights, I find myself digging deep for reserves. When dawn breaks, I find that I have nothing left because nothing is left to fill up the empty. I’m long past waiting for things to “return to normal” because it never will. What I want is to regenerate. I want to be the mint plant on my balcony. Read more
You are a pair of 28mm-scale geung si, made in pewter alloy. You came in a set of four. Your siblings had vampire canines and arms stretched out menacingly. But you two had talisman paper stuck to your faces — so you stood stiff as old fence posts, poor and harmless. Read more
I wrote this on a January morning, before the sun had come up. I was tending to my son, who wakes us up each morning before we’d like to be up. He is my daily work, and a reason why I’ve tended to smaller pleasures lately. This poem is an incantation for both more wildness and more restraint, qualities that I suspect I’ll need by the bucket this year. Read more
I won’t discriminate—short, long, near, far—I’m speaking to you all. How many of you will there be? I don’t know, cannot say, am unable to divine, shall not speculate upon. But I hope there will be many of you, even if they are wholly in my mind. Read more
Dear Blank and Indifferent Universe, It’s only January into our second Covid year but I’m already so tired, from having lived in a brain that constantly shoots off like a palpitating rabbit into future, yet unlived months. Seeking survival; seeking a safe place to take one’s cause and one’s people. Is August a safe place to land? September? Is December safest of all? Give me a place to land. Read more
