Pan Daijin – Phenomenon


Nazoranai – The Most Painful Time Happens Only Once Has It Arrived Already..?


It would be an understatement to express how much I love Nazoranai.  The best live show I’ve been to so far was their performance in Melbourne, July 2017.  The following of from the album The Most Painful Time Happens Only Once Has It Arrived Already..?  Although, nothing can really compare to seeing them live.

Track 1 of 4: You Should Look Closely Those Shattered Spells Never Attaining Embodiment as Prayer They Are Born Here Again

Track: 2 of 4 Title: Will Not Follow Your Hoax Called History

Track: 3 of 4 Title: Who Is Making the Time Rot

Track: 4 of 4 Title: The Most Painful Time Happens Only Once Has It Arrived Already..?




Ex Oblivione, Berlin 2017

My Projects and Work, Photography, Travel

Once I walked through a golden valley that led to shadowy groves and ruins, and ended in a mighty wall with antique vines, and pierced by a little gate of bronze.


And as I looked upon the little gate in the mighty wall, I felt that beyond it lay a dream-country from which, once it was entered, there would be no return.


In my dreams I found a little of the beauty I had vainly sought in life, and wandered through old gardens and enchanted woods.


Until Water Grasps Flame (words from Keiji Haino)

Art, Japan, Music, My Projects and Work

Ink on paper inspired after seeing Nazorani perform.

Black: Implication Flooding (words from Keiji Haino)

Art, Japan, Music, My Projects and Work

Ink on paper.

So, black is myself (words from Keiji Haino)

Art, Japan, Music, My Projects and Work

Ink on paper.


Duidao // Tête-bêche

Art, Japan, Music, My Projects and Work, Photography

“The first work by Liu Yichang I read was Duidao. The title is a Chinese translation of tête-bêche, which describes stamps that are printed top to bottom facing each other. Duidao centres round the intersection of two parallel stories – of an old man and a young girl. One is about memories, the other anticipation.

To me, tête-bêche is more than a term for stamps or intersection of stories. It can be the intersection of light and colour, silence and tears.

Tête-bêche can also be the intersection of time: for instance, youthful eyes on an aging face, borrowed words on revisited dreams.”  -WKW


“We have no idea, now, of who or what the inhabitants of our future might be. In that sense, we have no future.  

We have no future because our present is too volatile. …  The spinning of the given moment’s scenarios.”   -WG




“The future is there, looking back at us. Trying to make sense of the fiction we will have become.

And from where they are, the past behind us will look nothing at all like the past we imagine behind us now.”  -WG





“A year here and he still dreamed of cyberspace, hope fading nightly. All the speed he took, all the turns he’d taken and the corners he cut in Night City, and he’d still see the matrix in his dreams, bright lattices of logic unfolding across that colourless void…  

But the dreams came on in the Japanese night like livewire voodoo, and he’d cry for it, cry in his sleep, and wake alone in the dark, curled in his capsule in some coffin hotel, hands clawed into the bedslab, temper foam bunched between his fingers, trying to reach the console that wasn’t there.”  -WG






Time Anarchy


⌈fuck the future, fuck the past⌋



Literature, Music


we wrapped our dreams in words

and patterned the words

so that they would

live forever


He wants to name the unnameable and hear it named.

He wants to see himself as a personality instead of as a person.

He wants to see personality as an inexhaustible mystery of the signified

separate from the mundane closed-off simulacrum of the world-sign.

Sure it’s complicated, but anything to keep back the heavy hand of immanence.

Sure it’s only a poster, but anything to keep from getting sucked up in a tornado,

a void where after you come down, you have to decide all over again which is which,

what is what, and who is who…

There are a hundred things she has tried to chase away

the things she won’t remember and that she can’t even let herself think about

because that’s when the birds scream and the worms crawl and

somewhere in her mind it’s always raining a slow and endless drizzle.

You will hear that she has left the country,

that there was a gift she wanted you to have,

but it is lost before it reaches you.

Late one night the telephone will sign, and a voice that might be hers will say something

that you cannot interpret before the connection crackles and is broken.

Several years later, from a taxi, you will see someone

in a doorway who looks like her,

but she will be gone

by the time

you persuade

the driver

to stop

You will never see her again.

Whenever it rains you will think of her~

negative fascination

Architecture, Music, My Projects and Work, Photography, Travel

New York 2016