It strikes me as sad that some haven’t seen what should be obvious.
I sometimes think of the activist world as being like the jianghu of Chinese-language martial arts novels.
I'd find myself riding a bus with a friend's giant face on the side of it—a disconcerting feeling.
Taoyuan International Airport is an airport with identity issues.
Even if those ghosts were ourselves, from four years ago.
I lived in a box in an apartment building, itself a collection of boxes, in a city, a large mass of boxes containing other boxes.
A phantasmagoria of Taiwanese modernity; a mythical allegory of the political and economic dramas affecting Taiwan as a whole.
Sometimes worshippers will leave bottles of kaoliang at Ji Gong temples in order for him to charge them up with supernatural power before taking them back.
“This is a home run to Mars!” (這是一支打上火星的全壘打!)