Adventures in good design, good eats, and everything else.

Woodkid – Iron

Video via Vimeo

Oh my word. Check this video for Woodkid‘s “Iron” directed by himself aka Yoann Lemoine. How. Epic. I’m getting flashbacks of the equally jaw-dropping opening credits of Tarsem’s The Fall mixed with my many hours spent playing World of Warcraft—a winning combination. Well done.

Woodkid’s Iron EP is out now and can be found here. Here’s a bit of what you can expect:

We walk with the shadow of Antony and The Johnsons, Woodkid and Anthony could be kindred spirits of the voice. We can also hear the pretty folk influences of New York (“my heart belongs to Brooklyn, “sings Woodkid on the second track on the disc) and a melodic brilliance that leaves more than a glimpse of the song writing talent of Lemoine (which could flirt somewhere between Neil Hannon and Bonnie Prince Billy).

By the way – Yes, Agyness Deyn (Laura Hollins) is totally getting her post-apocalyptic lesbian wood-elf on and that dog is giving some major face but the true star not even mentioned in the credits is Matvey Lykov, in his widely cheek-boned glory, looking positively scrumptious in that Jil Sander marble suit. I guess he got to keep it from the shoot. He is getting zero love on the press release but I see you, Matvey. I see you. You go boy.

Sidenote: I’m trying to get over my World of Warcraft addiction. This is not helping.

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Selita Ebanks in “Runaway”





I’m not a Kanye West fan in the least but I can’t deny that his latest venture into semi long-format video is very pretty, particularly model Selita Ebanks who, I feel, carried the entire film on her good looks and costume alone. Lookin’ 10 times better than her Victoria’s Secret appearances, for sure. She really should stay in this costume forever.

Full video and Tumblr fodder here.

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Photos: Bladerunner (via Napalm Jelly)
Music: If I Had A Heart (Fuck Buttons Remix) by Fever Ray
Short Story: Michelle Tandoc-Pichereau

The child is resilient. At night, I wrap my hands around its clay skin, squeeze tight until the flesh swells like sausage. The child squirms and feigns sleep. In the morning it is again clasped to my ankle, tracking dust as I pace the floor, calling me Mama.

Sometimes I manage to lock the doors, but the child slips in through the window, crawls through the pipes, a pffft of air in the cracks in my walls. It smiles when it sees me, opens its grimy, nicked arms for a hug.

I leave the child in a cardboard box in the middle of the market, right there between slabs of pork and veined cheese. A second too quick and it’s in my footsteps, a shrunken shadow nipping at my heels. I growl and bare my teeth.

The child is there again, mewling.

A day, a moment. My hoisted shoulders crack from lifting. I succumb to the bitter, to the ache gutting me open. The child is there. The child is always there, watching me, eyes sharp like mirrors. I sob and blow it a kiss. I let it climb on my lap. I trace its cheek. I surrender.

Also posted in Literature, Music | 1 Comment