This time last year, wanderings through Beijing haze and endless hutongs, reflecting upon the passing of a mentor.
This time last year, realized I prefer the feeling of living on Chinese train platforms over airports. Or standing still.
Sitting in an apartment without any furniture beyond that found on the street, I recall a favorite poem, struck at the suddenly narrow distance between (my) life and art. It goes like so:
The wedding of a dear friend, stepping outside for a moment of quiet, and a walk with the full moon.
This time last year, a public square, moves busted, blurs captured, Fatboy Slim thumping from a boombox cranked to 11.
This time last year, senses equal parts dazzled/sharpened by Taibei. To understand the informal economy's hustle, step out into it.
Its bikes are sturdy and utilitarian, their pathways well-lit. Its public restrooms resemble time machines. What’s not to love?
This time last year, a brisk evening, maids sitting on cardboard boxes playing cards, life surging forward in all directions.
A Sunday spent exploring public spaces. Though this city has the reputation of aloofness, I find the dogs quite guileless.
Steel steed, acquired. Looking forward to gaining a two-wheeled perspective on this city.
Walking home from a rapid-fire first two weeks at work. Exhausted, rained on, extremely happy.