the text and images below are posted from beijing, berlin, buenos aires, hong kong, los angeles, new york, sado island, shanghai, tokyo and zürich. there are a few of us, and this is the space in between.

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sunday, ho chi minh city

when_in_vietnam_20nov.jpgpolitics, fashion, race or ethnicity or culture (r‘s six week seminar, quandary, fluidity, his name is tim) is the, identity, gossip, maker, log, in bigger print: Near the end of a trip, concentrating on holding reluctant partners together. fashion, dress to impress.

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dreaming city

morning: bicycle repairing. stationery store. hutong. window maker. xian restaurant. telephone service. liquor & cigarettes. pirated software store. beauty salon. adult toy store. henan restaurant. hutong. telephone service. beauty salon. hangzhou restaurant. beauty salon. dongbei restaurant. beauty salon. drycleaners. grocery store. chengdu restaurant. beauty salon. mahjong & tea. hostel. lottery. adult toy store. mini market. liquor & cigarettes. beauty salon. hostel. night: hostel. beauty salon. liquor & cigarettes. mini market. adult toy store. lottery. hostel. mahjong & tea. beauty salon. chengdu restaurant. grocery store. drycleaners. beauty salon. dongbei restaurant. beauty salon. hangzhou restaurant. beauty salon. telephone service. hutong. henan restaurant. adult toy store. beauty salon. pirated software store. liquor & cigarettes. telephone service. xian restaurant. window maker. hutong. stationery store. bicycle repairing.dreaming city i walk through the street twice every day, east to west in the morning, west to east in the night, from one side to another, from an urban area to another. in between is a street that, according to some people, will eventually be replaced by modern buildings. but this temporary street is obviously burgeoning. it hosts migrants coming from the whole country, who mix mandarin with dialects, who, as depicted in a documentary by an unknown underground filmmaker some years ago, are allured by the two chinese words of bei jing, and came here with a belief that their capital is always big enough for them. they are — the young couple, having no kid but an ugly dog, which never bathes, selling stationeries to high school students from across the street; also a young couple, making windows for people living in the highrises across the street, sleeping on a visible bed, cooking in the street, mother breastfeeding months old baby in the street; a middle-aged woman, brushing teeth in the street, washing face in public, feeding a one-leg chicken; construction workers, calling home thousands of miles away, walking across the street, resting outside the two-storey building temporarily set on construction sites, eating mantou as regular meals while a hungry abandoned dog staring at them. this temporary neighborhood is only hundreds of meters but looks like having everything they need for a life. although there are no heating and there will soon be snowing, there are the telephones to call home, mahjong to kill time, restaurants to taste hometown cuisine, adult toys to, you know. and it’s all worth it because here is their dreaming city.

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terminating or sonnet lxxv or “lass meine schmerzen nicht verloren sein” or ambivalence

kushner remix: she always glances at the clock and comments on how quickly the time is passing. always with a tinge of disbelief and slight panic in her voice. a train barreling past that she cannot ever seem to catch. how ironic that running would be futile. and sitting still amidst the storm of rage, frustration, sadness and uncertainty our only hope. saying goodbye, the squeeze before letting go.

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d for dudley

dudley.jpg“so are you chinese or japanese?”

“i’m the chinese one.” “oh yes that’s right. i never remember which one. you two look alike.” “oh really, you think so?” “when are you moving out of here?” “well, technically i’m supposed to be gone already, but i just came back today to pick up a couple of things.” “oh. then you’re going back to china?” “yes.” “can you do me a favor? can you send a postcard? i’ve never been there.” “sure, that’s no problem.” “that’d be nice, thanks.” D is 91 years old and lives alone. She is Communist, curious about China and hopes one day to visit Japan. Her mailbox is stuck at the moment, but hopefully the postman will come soon and open it for her. Please send your postcards from China and many other places to: 253 East 10th Street, Apt. 16, New York, NY 10009, USA. (let us know if you do by logging in and writing a comment…thank you…)

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