they look out like they won. the water doesn't care.

#lisboa #refusals #traces #surfaces #drift

capitalismo mata-nos.   not on a banner.   not in a book.   just a trash bin, tagged   on a side street in lisboa.

the message was already decaying,   paint dripping down like it knew   no one was coming to fix this.

i didn’t take it as warning.   i took it as witness.

sometimes the clearest truths   live where you’re not supposed to look.

#lisboa #drift #refusals #traces #blackness #fragments

naky held up a portrait like it was a mirror. virgínia quaresma— journalist, lesbian, afro-portuguese. forgotten by design. remembered anyway.

the tour wasn’t quiet. it moved. spoke back. refused the way history gets told without breath, without body.

the archive wasn’t in a museum. it was in his hands. in the cadence. in the way we stopped on cobblestones to make space for her name.

#lisboa #drift #blackness #fragments #traces #refusals

the slogans hang like memory. not exhibition. insistence.

#lisboa #refusals #traces #holdings #dérive

from up here,   the city looks soft.   terracotta roofs,   blue sky,   sun warming the stone.

but i know what these walls were built for.   how far their reach once stretched.   what was claimed from here.   what was sent.

it’s beautiful.   it’s brutal.   it’s both.

sometimes the view   is part of the violence.

#lisboa #drift #traces #refusals #fragments #blackness

maybe this is what pause looks like. sun on porcelain. bridge in the distance. book barely opened. the city behind the cup isn’t waiting. it just moves. but for a moment, i don’t.

#lisboa #surfaces #traces #drift #fragments

drift traces movement through cities, memory, and the everyday negotiations of black queer life.

it’s a record of what shimmers at the edges—grief and care, disappearance and return, what cannot be archived but still insists on being felt.

born in #tiohtiàke and #kjipuktuk, carried through #glasgow, #lisboa and elsewhere, this work moves with me wherever i go. it follows drift not as research, but as a way of living: to wander, to listen, to stay with what resists closure.

what appears here are fragments, field notes, and moments of stillness. each post is a trace of encounter—something noticed, carried, or left behind.

you are welcome to move through this space. pause when you need to. read with care. nothing here is for extraction.

there are no updates, no announcements, no arguments. only rhythm.

only movement.