1.
Image Description: Photo of a mobile, adjustable bed with a naked, floral mattress bent into a reclined S-shape. Suspended above the bed is a fat, retro desktop monitor, which leans forward over the mattress so that someone lying in the bed could look up at it without craning. There is no one presently in the bed, however—just an alert white cat. Yellow text in the photo's bottom corner reads:
in my room. if anyone wants to
help me build my gamer bed,
DM me. the game is life after life"
2.
Image Description: Photo of the artist's hand, itself wrapped in hydrocolloid dressings, pinching a clumped shape of used dressings between two fingers. White text centered and superimposed over the photo reads:
feel like i'm being dangled upside down.
like the strawberry tree.
blood rushing to my brain.
on display. blushing.
for the hummingbirds to take what they need.
and leave my remains to wilt. to wonder
'how much time do i have?'
3.
Image Description: Hazy photo lit by a green flash of light, which might be the camera flash from a phone held up for a selfie. The artist is clasping the green light in both hands, their face slightly down-turned. Scattered text gathers along the edges of the image, reading:
an oldie for the algae. too burnt out to say more.
i am a living mummy haven't seen
the skin on my limbs many months
thanks to over-prescription topical steroids.
my skin has thinned the cells struggle
more, more each day
to regenerate
to recover from chronic
all day
everyday
systemic inflammation.
not funny how it mirrors
the core of the earth
our ecosystems
our governments.
4.
Image Description: Photo of a scrunched piece of used hydrocolloid dressing laid out against bed sheets that look matte and white by contrast. The dressing adheres to itself, a little wrinkled in places. Black text zig-zags over the image and reads:
history repeats itself
accumulating power and gaining speed
with every repetition of injustice.
yes, I know grief like the opacity of onyx.
I know grief like I know my father,
very well and not at all,
a foreigner and a familiar.
I know grief like we know the ocean floor,
the way we've never been there and cannot go there,
yet we still vouch for its existence
and all its mysterious inhabitants
whom we shall never meet.
I have been on the other side of the death machine.
that is where I was born.
I know nothing else as incompletely.
trapped in my cell[s]
of degeneration
my scales, dragon-like, yet,
i was not being dramatic when i said...
I'm falling apart
5.
Image Description: Glowy photo of a hand holding up a package of sticky rice, which is half-dressed in banana leaf. The hand is half-dressed in hydrocolloid bandage. White text nearly obscures the image, reading:
coming from a refugee family means never
having had a choice but to rely on
community for having our needs met. and
when our community turns its back on us,
we turn to dust, like vampires scorched by
daylight. we came to this country under the
illusion of liberty and justice for all.
together, if we were fortunate enough to
re-connect with our lost relatives, we
redistributed aid, combed each other's
hair, and raised each other's children. but
capitalism tore us apart and taught us to
abstain from caring "too much" about our
comrades whom society as a whole deemed
unworthy of dignity.
i'm sitting here in extreme endometriosis
hell, curled over myself like a
bottom-feeding shrimp whose spine is
disintegrating. asking those who have
access and privilege to pls continue sharing
the care. due to censorship, i'm unable to
post more than one story per day without
getting shadowbanned.
6.
Image Description: Photo of two upright woody branches tied loosely together with synthetic acid-green string, digitally overlaid by a translucent layer of acid-green color. Atop that layer, shimmery all-caps text reads:
EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE I HAVE FELT
THE INTERGENERATIONAL EFFECTS
OF POST-WAR VIOLENCE.
LOOK FOR ME IN THE CEMETERY,
WHERE MY FATHER IS BURIED,
WHERE I HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO BRING HIM FLOWERS,
LIKE I HAD EVERY YEAR OF MY LIFE BEFORE
IT BEGAN TO DECOMPOSE
BECAUSE I'M BURIED IN MY BED.
HELP ME CRAWL OUT OF THIS GRAVE
BEFORE THEY PILE MORE DIRT ON MY BODY.
THERE IS MORE TO LEARN
7.
Image Description: A close-cropped photo gazing into a toilet bowl, where some tissue paper floats above a streak of blood. The camera's flash is visible, reflecting off the water's surface. Red text is grouped at the top and bottom of the photo, reading:
seen here menstruating
with a mugwort elixir
bottled as a gift for me
(sans alcohol)
on worm moon '21.
"hysteric" and "b[itchy]" my uterus is a sculptor
who simultaneously rejects & embraces all the adjectives
that come along with my tumultuous cycles of pain.
sometime my only output is bodily fluids
still inherently valuable.
8.
Image Description: Photo of the artist's foot, pointed upward against a shallow corner where white walls meet and wrapped in a second skin of hydrocolloid dressings. The dressings form new knobs and edges along the heel. A column of red text is arranged to run down over the ankle and shin, reading:
not
a
moodboard
for years i was plastered
under the gaze of
abled eyes,
stripped of context
for my reality.
the irony is that
when met with my fully fleshed
autistic self,
voyeurs tend to
recoil and reject
the idea that
this is what
i live with daily.
rapidly losing energy the
past few years terrifying
not to find any footing.
9.
Image Description: A dappled, inverted view of the photographer's legs and feet, submerged to the ankle in clear water; river rocks are visible to one side. White, all-caps text is centered over a darkened digital layer, reading:
THE ONE TIME I GOT TO SEE NATURE THIS YEAR
IN THE LAST FIVE YEARS.
NOT BY CHOICE, BUT BY FORCE OF
OPPRESSION, MEDICAL NEGLIGENCE,
AND WHITE SUPREMACY
10.
Image Description: Another photo of the artist's foot, this time extended to the right of the image and dressed in gauze rather than hydrocolloid. A red ribbon binds the foot in three loops. Text is superimposed over the ankle and in the bottom corner of the image; it reads:
if u could only see me,
oozing, bleeding, repeating,
but u only read me when i'm digestible. and
to u, i'm only digestible when i'm
illiterate, or dead.
which ever comes first.
until then,
venmo / cashapp : sensiskins
paypal: thai@sensiskins.com
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thái Lu is an interdisciplinary artist, designer, and community organizer. Today their practice is centered on the social, cultural, psychic, and physical effects of chronic illness. By drawing from personal experience, thái examines the intersections of Western bio-politics, Southeast Asian diaspora, interdependence, and metamorphosis.