kiki as resistance
theory. metaphor. refusal.
how we stayed alive.
queerness
mother toshiro sankofa
palestine in the frame. ballroom at the centre. blackness, unshaken.
#tiohtiàke #refusals #blackness #queerness #fragments #holdings
we brought softness with us
pink sky, mesh shirt, keffiyeh on the straps. joy is not the absence of struggle. it’s what we carry through it.
we don't march for approval
bodies say what systems won't
we lay down because they can’t.
this was a die-in. healthcare workers, gathered in the middle of the city, bodies on the ground for gaza. we were there not just as clinicians, not just as queers, not just as people trained to care— but as witnesses to a system that pretends to be neutral while choosing a side. we already knew that silence wasn’t an accident. we’ve seen it before—in the wards, in the media, in the funding reports. but still, there’s something about laying your body down on cold ground that makes the grief feel sharper. and makes the refusal feel real.
my keffiyeh wasn’t a symbol. it was a practice. a reminder. a commitment to name genocide where others equivocate. to be present when presence costs something.
the pink triangle on my chest traced a line back to act up, to queer resistance in the face of state abandonment. but this wasn’t about metaphor. this was about gaza. about children buried under rubble. about medics killed in white coats. about naming what we know, and what our institutions refuse to say.
i didn’t speak. i didn’t need to. sometimes protest is not what you say but what you don’t move to stop.
#tiohtiàke #refusals #holdings #blackness #queerness #traces #surfaces
salt and recovery
after the burnout.
after the heart palpitations.
after the kind of anxiety that makes your body forget itself—
i left.
no email. no calendar. just this. water on my thighs. sun on my shoulder. a queer resort where no one needed me to explain why i came.
i didn’t heal. not fully. but i stopped bracing.
and for now, that’s enough.
#cayoguillermo #drift #holdings #surfaces #fragments #queerness
in my own words
kjipuktuk. winter sun. i spoke in french, and this time, it felt right.
not a defence. not a performance. just a moment of saying it like i meant it.
structure
the categories below are not containers. they are orientations. they offer no fixed meaning—only a way to move through this space alongside me.
#traces
traces are what remain after the moment has passed. a warm cigarette on the curb. a hesitation in someone’s voice. a memory that returns without explanation.
these entries follow what refuses to be resolved. what echoes. what lingers. traces often live below the surface. they are residue, imprint, or presence without narrative.
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#walks
these are mapped and unmapped passages of the dérive. where the body moves without destination, but not without intention.
a street, a staircase, an alleyway. a turn you didn’t plan to take.
each walk is a record of encounter—geographic, emotional, speculative. some walks are literal. others are historical or imagined.
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#fragments
fragments are the form that survival often takes. a quote. a photo. a sentence held on a page like breath held in the chest.
these are not broken thoughts. they are complete in their incompleteness. they do not seek to become whole.
here, fragment is both form and method. it resists the archive and honours the partial.
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#refusals
refusals are not always rejections. they are acts of care. they are limits. they are protection. to refuse is to say no, but also to say not this and not now.
posts marked by refusal hold space for the things i turn away from. institutions. platforms. recognition. capture.
refusal is not a lack. it is a condition for imagining something else.
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#surfaces
surfaces are what the body registers first. the weight of air. the sound of shoes on wet pavement. the shine on a plastic bench.
these are not shallow observations. they are signals. they are textures. they carry meaning before we name it.
to attend to surfaces is to attend to how we live through touch and proximity.
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#holdings
holdings are what we carry with us. grief. joy. memory. pressure. intimacy.
these are posts about weight and care. what stays. what returns. what we carry for ourselves and for each other.
holding is not only about burden. it is also about love.
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#blackness
blackness here is not identity in the narrow sense. it is geography. it is condition. it is tension and excess. it is refusal, beauty, memory, and disruption.
posts in this category move through black space, black time, and black feeling. they are not explanatory. they are not proof. they are presence.
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#queerness
queerness is movement that resists capture. it loops. it drifts. it changes shape.
these are posts about queer time, queer kinship, and the ways queer life survives and flourishes in the margins. they are not about labels. they are about gestures, affinities, and the shimmer that moves between us.
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#drift
drift is the movement itself. it is the rhythm that runs through everything.
these posts reflect on the dérive—the process of moving without destination, and what emerges along the way.
drift is not aimless. it is how we find what was not meant to be found.
these categories aren’t exhaustive. some posts may move through many. others may resist classification entirely.
that is the point.
this is not a taxonomy. it is a choreography. a way to move through this space with intention, and with me.