{∅}

the summer triangle… i didn’t highlight the third vertex because vega and altair are the two with any significance in east asia. they represent the weaver girl and the cow herder, who were so crazy in love with each other that they were not getting shit done. the heavenly emperor banished the lazy lovers to opposite ends of the galaxy. after a year of separation the lovers were allowed to meet again. excitedly they drew closer and closer… but they could not cross the milky way between them. the magpies and crows of earth heard their cries and felt so sorry for the couple that they all flew up to the heavens to make a bridge.
once a year, the birds make a bridge so that altair and vega can meet. it is a beautiful story about love, typical shriveled-dick patriarchs who need to meddle instead of minding their own bizness, and astronomical cockblocks.
this year, they meet on august 2 (칠석). on this day, please be kind to a magpie or crow, bone the one you love, and give “the man” the finger in honor of altair and vega.

the summer triangle… i didn’t highlight the third vertex because vega and altair are the two with any significance in east asia. they represent the weaver girl and the cow herder, who were so crazy in love with each other that they were not getting shit done. the heavenly emperor banished the lazy lovers to opposite ends of the galaxy. after a year of separation the lovers were allowed to meet again. excitedly they drew closer and closer… but they could not cross the milky way between them. the magpies and crows of earth heard their cries and felt so sorry for the couple that they all flew up to the heavens to make a bridge.

once a year, the birds make a bridge so that altair and vega can meet. it is a beautiful story about love, typical shriveled-dick patriarchs who need to meddle instead of minding their own bizness, and astronomical cockblocks.

this year, they meet on august 2 (칠석). on this day, please be kind to a magpie or crow, bone the one you love, and give “the man” the finger in honor of altair and vega.




i wrote a story to go with it on my blog
actually it has nothing to do with this picture, but that i kept misspelling tristan/tristram from that arthurian legend as “tristen.” and “triste” means “sad” so i started to imagine, yadda yadda blah blah

i wrote a story to go with it on my blog

actually it has nothing to do with this picture, but that i kept misspelling tristan/tristram from that arthurian legend as “tristen.” and “triste” means “sad” so i started to imagine, yadda yadda blah blah

fort tilden was nice but much improved with my students’ monsters

i dreamed about this abandoned train yard in the andes as i nodded off on the n train (again)

coney island sliced & stitched \(^3^)/

aaaaah! i love this rendition. the performances i have sound more brittle. my favorite piece of music probably until i die. tbh i don’t listen to much music, but i will sometimes loop this on repeat for a day.

scanned + blogged => here

a student gave me this marble, presented as some rare jewel from a dragon’s den. (^v^) i have a box of random stuff from these kids. i’ll make a story during my lunch breaks for each one.

a concrete plant in the bronx turned into a sort of park… it’s like everything i love (the color pink?! grass?! the el train?! urban decay?!)… but i’ve been dehydrated all day so everything’s turning into diatoms…

nalini malani’s drawings and an installation are on view at ny’s asia society

thanks, mr.L, for the article

dear universe, all the rough patches these days can be smoothed over by the amusement i get from work. sure, it’s tiring and life-force draining, but these kids are majorly cute — seriously, an eight year-old obsessed with the lymphatic system? thanks. love, miss susie

henry darger @the american folk art museum & page of jeff vandermeer’s “annihilation”

i’ve secretly been reading much about grief/grieving process the past year, but nothing’s felt true until this book. just buttloads of stupid aphorisms and self-aggrandization through self-pity. fact: the loss of a person is the death of a universe. a reclusive artist, a lost husband, whomever. thumbing through leaves of a battered journal in search of the “core world” of a person like roaming a forest searching for tracks buried six feet under the leaves of seasons past. after the loss: the expedition.

giant phoenix assemblage sculptures at the cathedral of saint john the divine

i just love rose windows that cast kaleidoscopic patterns when light passes through them. and although i am not religious — i have 0 interest in spiritual matters — i love religious narrative and art. my favorite church is the union church of pocantico hills with stained glass windows designed by marc chagall. i’ll visit again soon!

the boyce thompson institute for plant research

abandoned greenhouses

origami exhibition vs butterfly conservatory