this is where the wealth came in.   sugar. cotton. tobacco.   extraction and enclosure made into ornament.

the names are still here—   merchant, plantation, st. vincent—   not by accident.   this city remembers through what it refuses to rename.

i walk this route not to map it,   but to feel where the archive ends.

this dérive isn’t about finding answers.   it’s about tracking the infrastructure of forgetting.   what the buildings obscure.   what the street names naturalize.   what passes for neutral.

these façades aren’t just stone.  they’re policy.  they’re inheritance. they’re proof that the empire never left—  just rebranded.

#glasgow #traces #refusals #blackness #drift

i wasn’t here for this.   just passing through—   a few hours between panels across town,   a few steps off schedule.

but the building held something.   not promise exactly.   just presence.   age without apology.   history without invitation.

i looked up   and thought:   maybe.

#glasgow #drift #fragments #traces #surfaces

found in glasgow.   a plaque for john a. macdonald.   not torn down, not defaced—   just waiting.   quiet.   official.

the story is familiar.   lawyer. prime minister. nation-builder.   but here, the stones don’t pretend neutrality.   they know what they financed.

this isn’t a canadian monument.   it’s an imperial one.   because macdonald didn’t just build a country—   he extended a project.   settler logic made portable.

the plaques change languages,   but the story stays the same.

the empire loops.   it doesn’t end.   it reappears in bronze and sandstone,   across oceans,   still naming itself as legacy   instead of violence.

#glasgow #refusals #traces #blackness #drift

spotted in a museum across the ocean. a totem pole far from the coast from which it came.

the plaque talked about artistry.   not land.   not theft.   not how many hands it passed through   before arriving here, under spotlights.

i didn’t read the full description.   didn’t want to.   the object already said more than the label ever could.

some things don’t lose power   just because they’ve been displaced.

#glasgow #drift #refusals #traces #blackness #fragments

this is not a blog. not a portfolio. not an archive.

drift is a public trace of movement—across cities, across thoughts, across grief, care, and refusal. it began in #tiohtiàke and #kjipuktuk, carried through #glasgow and #lisboa, and continues anywhere i find myself slipping between presence and escape.

its geography is not linear. like all things fugitive, it follows other logics.

what appears here are fragments. notes. pauses. what I carry. what I notice. what resists resolution.

some entries may ripple into fugitives, my postdoctoral research on Black queer drift and the dérive as method. but this is not a workspace.

this is a rhythm. no updates. no announcements. no arguments. only movement.