Edible Women
As she transforms her home into a marketable domain, Smith transcends the traditional role of homemaker to establish herself as a personal brand. The nails, the couture, the gentle speaking voice? Each of these elements are curated and deployed by Smith in her content to appeal to her audience and indicate her marketability to brands – and it’s working.
Isaac Julien's 'Once Again...(Statues Never Die)'
As soon as you enter the space, you find that the dialectic of light and darkness is already at play. Then begins the piano, and notes that echo cavernously, consuming the space. In a haunting, projecting boom, Alice Smith begins vocalizing the words, “once again…”
Mixing RED with black: the death of the art movement is the only given
A tortured artist. A naive assistant. The child always kills the father. Pop art will kill abstract expressionism. It’s the 50s.
Ruins of Eternity
“Even this eternity will meet its end, and the world shall wait For another, and another, and another. The end is forever.”
Lace Monster
“I reckon if I picked flowers the star power sucked from the ground like a naughty talisman — maybe the PH of the soil is altered by the amount of celebritydom decomposing, would my hydrangeas blush prudent pink?”
Running out of time: charli XCX, Children & the Environment
“it’s unlikely you’ll be performing another Boiler Room set with an infant. So likely yes. Charli sees her life branching out before her, ripe with opportunity.”
Rest in Pieces Bin Weevils
“Move over Club Penguin, there’s a new horrifically laggy, slightly problematic, bug-riddled, deeply iconic flash game to crash your parents' 2012 HP Spectre on.”
The Children Yearn for the Bakery
“I now sported my shiny new Bakiez management badge, and became the perfect power-tripping 12 year old, telling off all the other inferior 12 year olds. I was no longer the trainee, I was the trainer.”
red-white-blue bag — 红白蓝袋子
“The plastic woven red-white-blue bag (红白蓝袋子) has become symbolic of resilience and hardship due to its utilitarian durability and working-class associations in Southern China, Hong Kong, and in countries like Ghana and Nigeria.”
Mucha, So Confusing
“To say, “this is a cigarette ad”, in the same way I can say, “this is a pillow”, or “this is a bookmark”. But isn’t summing it up reductive?”
Song of the Weaver's Hands
“Etched in the fading hues and worn paths of ancient roads,
Marking the passage to memory's embrace.”
Two case studies of fate: updated archetypes for our time
Obviously
And also you can’t read minds
As in I caught you!
And your psychic violence
Although I gave you these powers too
Your actual ones are far richer
Thoughts on fermentation.
So here I am, pussy out in the kitchen at 11:47pm, my left knee aching (I’d squat down too fast), and I am trying my luck with the back-of the fridge container.
Please, Please, Please Father: Catholic Repression and Irish Boy Obsession
These men are vulnerable, honest, and embarrassed. Hot, hot, and hot. We want them to be a little nervous, a little objectified. They don’t want us looking at them! It’s fun, right? And really, after all the money for acting school or the Trinity College drama course, surely, they should’ve expected this?
Geo metrics
your eyes wander to their new leaves
curling at the sky -
110 emblazoned to the left of the screen,
you search for truth in their cycles but
10 PPI Mulch
“Yet when the pixel becomes distinct, and elementary, it distorts the image, breaking it down to its most rudimentary composition of shapes and colors.”
Wikipedia: Random
“Nicola Jane "Nikki" Groarke (born 2 June 1962) [1] is a British Anglican priest. Since 2014, she has served as the Archdeacon of Dudley. She trained for ministry at Ridley Hall, Cambridge, and was literally ordained in 2000 Blah blasbhdbfgkjrmfds ugh boring.”
Falling-Star Disease
“The answer is you and I, it always is. In that sea of dust, there was nothing. Quiet, not a wave, not a sound. In that flat endless world, a soft and gentle breeze started to blow.”
A Night with the Burwood Literary Institute
Inner-West Ennui
“Above came the rumble-tumble of trains, whines of whistles, the frantic blaring of approaching horns. From below the roars of old buses and the pop of a Porsche or broken-down Ford. A man in a green down jacket, young with spiky black hair, hurried through the soup of neon and sunset.”
Nicholas Osiowy wanders.
