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  • We rode bicycles to the Pearl District.

    Portland, so it started to rain. Light drops, but steady.
    We entered the tea house, so puzzle-box compact, each detail exquisite, windows looking out on waving willows and camellias blooming red heartbeats falling onto the pebble-embedded walkways.

    Quan Yin sat teapot-serene in the corner, surrounded by silver coins and rose petals and oranges, as the servers whispered in slippers toward our table.

    The white porcelain cup of Eight Treasures swirled with chrysanthemum, jujube and wolfberry fruit as her jade flower pod unfurled in the steaming water. Small plates of mochi and daikon pickle, all delicate ways to stop time.

    In the video I made a summer and a summer ago, Quan Yin hovered in the mushroom cloud, reversing a nuclear explosion.
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