Shanghai, CN   200433
Houston, TX   77005




01. Light, Air & Intimacy   2022
        Site: New York City, NY
#CLT #Concrete # ZoningLaw

02. Lot’O’Food   2020-21
        Site: N/A
#Polycarbon #Concrete #UrbanFarming 

03. My Walk is a PROSE   2021
        Site: Houston, TX
#Polycarbon #Steel #ChinesePainting

04. .......
pROSE    no more


Identity Issue #1

Ridiculously Normal

01. The Garbage Guideline

02. Emotion Testified
        Color film

03. Black and Whites
        4 by 5 big format film

04. The Redness in your Beard




I find my gold retriever contract LSD with its pal. You're like a forty-year-old child.

It's the street I'm confused about. I've never seen so many ramps. I'm engaged with plainness all the time. I open a bottle of wine, now I'm a little drunk, if I finished at twelve today, I can be hangover the first day of my twenties.

Your laughter is killing me. Your sound of chewing. Horrible table manner. Your chuckle that is distracting, disturbing, constantly breaks into my yearning for a quiet, freezing night.

Do you remember? I pee in the beer bottle then break it, throw it onto the wooden rooftop. We are trapped under the lamp. Mosquitoes wander around, landing on your ankle. You pull your left foot up, rub it against your skin, the redness starts to spread, with your indigo veins on your pale, deadly body. The wind throws your hair on your face, slips into your mouth. You stand still like a status, even more still than me, I'm happy, but I'm angry as well. I want to set your messed hair on fire, but I'm so scared that it would hurt your skin, I'm naturally a maniac.

Your breath against my pillow is so heavy. Heavy that it stirs the air into concrete, lands on my chest, on the comforter. It's so hard to breathe. You holding my hand and I feel the pain already. Your wide joints make our palms underneath the sheet so crowded. I'm sweating already.

You ask a lot yes or no question.

I dream of being in a spaceship, pulling up the shade, and we walk out floating in a pink galaxy. Your armor is your sheet. We meet an old person asking for money, you said no. And you wave your sheet, a breeze blows him away, the steet lights away, the stars away, and we just stand in the dark very peacefully. Eventually I lose you. And I yell into the darkness, everything feels pretty 2D, or I almost feel nothing, and my yell pokes the sky, tears a little hole in it, like a branch growing too tall of a tree, and a tiny bit light come through, and I wake up from the honking from the highway next to our apartment.

And you ask me if there's anything left. There's nothing left. Maybe a blouse on my couch, a stain on my grey sheet, a pen you put on my diner table, a bruise on my leg, a scratch next to my cheek.

The day before I go I ride to the new district of the university. The city at night gives a feeling of mirror's edge, big building blocks and lamps - metallic sensory. I ride in the middle of the road with a few cars, going there to watch those guys playing basketball. The weather that day is like today, humid, not as hot, it's only that at that time I feel good, and all these things belong to me. Now the sand in the air splashes on my face, I paddle along with the rhythm of the lonely little person on the traffic light walking, no longer getting the sense of myself belonging to me.

All Rights Reserved by Ruizi Zee Zeng