So a couple of days ago I walk in the bathroom at work and I see someone has smeared a cockroach on the floor with their shoe and it’s somewhat still intact but also a good amount of mush. I scream and leave and hold my pee until I think I’m gonna explode. A couple hours later I walk in again and the smeared cockroach is now sort of gone but there is also a cockroach literally just running around and around and around in circles as fast as he can. I think for a second that maybe the smeared cockroach came back to life and is sort of freaking out because he probably only has a few legs left or something, but then I think maybe the one running around is the smeared ones wife or brother or daughter and he’s just running and running and running around it trying to figure out where the smeared cockroach is because he can kind of see him or smell him or whatever. I’ve been depressed about it ever since.
Manish Arora SS14
Feminist ideals with bondage sensibilities
Artist Yayoi Kusama in her studio in the psychiatric hospital in Tokyo and back in the days in her New York studio.
Having suffered nervous disorders and hallucinations since childhood, Kusama has chosen to live in a Tokyo psychiatric hospital for the past 38 years, and has built herself a studio opposite. Health permitting, she still makes a daily journey from the hospital to her studio to paint.
excerpts from Kusama: Princess of Polka Dots directed by Heather Lenz
I wrote my grandma a letter. I’m really praying she makes it through the night so she can at least read it.