stood there teaching, not to perform, but to remember. to speak of what refuses extraction. to name what pulses under erasure. black keffiyeh against the chest, kiki futures on the screen. the room knew. not everything had to be said. some things shimmered between us.
#kjipuktuk #drift #blackness #queerness #refusals #fragments #holdings
not a burden. not a task. just the feel of small arms around your shoulders and the weight of someone who trusts you without question.
we walked like this for a while. no rush. no reason to explain it.
sometimes care is this simple— a body held steady, a sidewalk warming in the sun, and the quiet joy of being leaned on without breaking.
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.
