Was the Moon A witness Or an accomplice? I can’t tell But, Both times It was there Sleepless Swollen eye An overripe orange That I mistook For the sun Why did you twist me up? I ask the staring eye Who, Clutching every reply Doubts to confide Even a hiccup Hollow Pulp-less fruit With
CategoryStudent art
Foreign Plants Grow Between My Toes
I couldn’t name a sparrow from a line-up of birds nor tell you what the ants dancing in my summer yard do after dark or before it or during I couldn’t confess which flowers bloom forth from my soul today—I’d have to look them up. Most of the Romantics are lost on me;
“Eruption Imminent”: Volcanic Activity on the Reykjanes Peninsula
My grandfather called me in the afternoon when it first began, Varstu nokkuð hrædd? Were you afraid? Ha? Ó, nei nei… Huh? Oh, no… This spring semester, I have been taking my online courses alone in my house in Iceland, a peaceful study spot near the ocean. I live in a tiny town called Njárðvík,
Adox Rodinal 500ml
This series of analog photographs is a sort of mash-up of images created throughout the past semester as part of the Beginners Black and White Photography course taught by April Gertler. Although seemingly unrelated, they do all picture interesting moments in time within our beloved Berlin. Tackled are thoughts on the changing environment, industrialization, and surveillance—and me
Encyclopedia of Stray Knowledge Gained During Quarantine
Locked up in my home for the last several weeks, I am missing the banal ecstasies of waking up next to the person I care about. Touch is impossible at the moment, as is casual conversation and the simple pleasure of being in a room together, quietly enjoying their company. Romance is replaced by the dull ache of missing someone: their bed, body, and self. Touch and companionship are gentle necessities, often forgotten or neglected until everyone in the world is feeling forgotten and neglected, and then we’re reminded how much we need each other.
New York 1954
Mrs. Rudikoff had an unsettled and frightened look on her face when she left our apartment in Spanish Harlem that evening. She also appeared to be full of judgment; mostly towards how my brothers laughed instead of how they should have taken pity on her when she said she felt attacked. Also, she probably was judgmental because she knew when she would tell her daughter that there were 40 tiny mice running on the floor in the Manhattan complex her daughter would scream.
A Day in Lecce, Italy
Lecce is a walled baroque city in the bootheel of Italy. I’ve decided to stay here alone for three weeks of break before returning to school. My travels and daily ambulation are for the high purpose of reading, writing, and drawing all that is around and within me, which, if I meditate enough, will be nothing. I write to stop writing.