rigs still hanging. the crowd’s gone. just light, angles, and someone wrapping cables in the distance. no urgency. just the slow undoing of what passed through.

#tiohtiàke #drift #traces #surfaces #fragments #blackness #refusals

they painted it red. no signature. no spectacle. just a fact on a wall most people won’t read. someone bikes past. life goes on. or doesn’t.

#tiohtiàke #drift #refusals #blackness #traces #fragments

steel and glass above me. heat on the thighs. watermelon trunks, black towers, a view that costs too much. but i’m here anyway. resting in the contradiction.

#tiohtiàke #drift #surfaces #blackness #fragments #holdings #refusals

intermission. outside the ball. boots up. talk moving. nothing profound. just enough to reset before stepping back in.

#tiohtiàke #drift #blackness #queerness #holdings #fragments

me and mother phoenix. mid-show, mid-shift, but nothing uncertain.

the name had already settled. this was the exhale. not just a mother— my friend, my people, my kin.

some moments don’t need a mic. just light, sweat, knowing.

#tiohtiàke #drift #holdings #blackness #queerness #fragments #refusals

for one of my best ones. the candles held. so did we. strawberries, sugar, a whole lot of light.

not a performance of joy— the real thing. held in the breath, shared in the room.

this is how we stay.

#tiohtiàke #drift #holdings #queerness #blackness #fragments #refusals

a march of mourning. they carry the names in cloth, the weight of what has been done. downtown tries to pretend it’s still normal. but we are past normal. this is not protest. this is a procession for the dead.

#tiohtiàke #drift #refusals #traces #holdings #blackness

on the way to a house practice. air heavy with smoke, with memory, with movement. we laughed anyway. pointed. posed.

played around with a new category—something shifted. not just in the body. in the breath. family feels like that sometimes: silly and sacred at once.

#tiohtiàke #drift #walks #queerness #blackness #holdings

i didn’t walk. i sat in the first row, just close enough to feel the beat in my chest. the floor glowed — not metaphorically, but actually. light from above, sharp and circular, caught on the sweat of someone’s shoulder mid-dip. it stayed there longer than expected.

people were yelling. not words, just recognition. you know the sound. when a move is too precise, too smooth, too honest to be ignored. someone hit the floor and bounced back like they never touched it. a house name echoed. as legend. as fact. as affirmation.

i watched. not from a distance, but from a place that knew how close it all is to disappearing. how fast the lights go down. how quickly the archive forgets us.

a phone beside me was shaking: someone filming, their hands unable to stay still. the dj looped a beat that rose from under the floor, not over it. and in that moment, nothing was held back.

i wasn’t walking. but i was inside it. inside the noise, the heat, the charge. inside the circle of people screaming each other into aliveness.

and that’s the thing. this isn’t spectacle. it’s communion. it’s how we stay legible to each other.

in the light of our own making. again. in the light of our own making. again. until the lights cut, until the floor clears, until the next time.

#tiohtiàke #queerness #blackness #surfaces #holdings

accountability, laughter, cucumbers on the table. ballroom business, mid-afternoon.

#tiohtiàke #holdings #queerness #blackness #traces