Younguk Yi — "A portrait of a dog who, having resolved no longer to cower, pauses on the brink of attack" (acrylic on linen, 2025)

The life cycle of a cherry.

I found him on the porch that morning, sipping cold coffee, watching a crow dip down from the power line into the pile of black bags stuffed in the dumpster where he pecked and snagged a can tab, then carried it off, clamped in his beak like the key to a room only he knew about. My father turned to me then, taking in the reek of my smoke, traces of last night’s eyeliner I decided not to wipe off this time. Out late was all he said. And then smiled, rubbing the small of my back through the robe for a while, before heading inside, letting the storm door click shut behind him. Later, when I stepped into the kitchen, I saw it waiting there on the table—a glass of orange juice he had poured for me and left sweating in a patch of sunlight so bright I couldn’t touch it at first.

by checksy

Richard Hell’s East Village apartment

OH OKAY......

Words by Chen Chen

richard hell's apartment (via)

from a recent reflection

Octavio Paz, ‘The House of Glances’ (selected lines), A Tree Within (trans. Eliot Weinberger)

Kichen

Nan Goldin.