troisyeux

[troisyeux]

️₊˚‧︵‿꒰୨ 𝓢 𝒚𝒎𝒃𝒐𝒍𝒔 𝓓𝒖𝒎𝒑 ୧꒱‿︵‧˚₊

⚘( ၴႅၴ  𓍼ོ 𑜞᭄ೃ 𖧁᭕᭢ ❥. ᭄

𓉸 ᷒ ᷭ 𓆰❦꫶ུ⃛𓆪 ❤︎ᬼ　 ͏͏͏ ༜𑜞𑇓࿐۫

𐚁᭢༘۠    ၇͜ᩘ 𔒌 ༺ ༽♡༼ ༻ ᄏᄏᩚ

𖥨᩠ׄ݁.ི𒂭۪۪۪۪᳝۟ ❀ ᭢᜴꤬ ꦿᩙ ✿ֵྀ♩᳝   ⬤̵ᰯ̵̵ུ ᭢༘۠

ꘓ͜͡ :ೃ࿔𔓘 𐔌 ᥩྀི. ˔ ، ꒱ ͏⏝ི ✿ ￮⃘𑁍᭄

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Hybridity, moving between cultures, 

languages, and geographies—

from Florida to Paris, 

to my Puerto Rican, 

African American, 

Honduran, 

and Nicaraguan roots—

has reinforced my understanding of identity 

as not fixed, but fluid.

In this environment, 

my American identity, while always present, 

becomes more complex—

it is no longer just an identity 

rooted in a single nation, 

but a patchwork of lived histories 

and contradictions. 

It is both deeply connected to the land, 

through ancestral ties to nature, 

and profoundly disconnected from the very system 

that claims ownership of it.

I realize that the transience I have experienced throughout my life 

has been both a source of rootlessness and liberation. 

It has pushed me to critically interrogate cultural essentialism 

and embrace the possibility of a future 

where identity is not defined by rigid categories 

but by the capacity to adapt, evolve, 

and, perhaps, to rebuild. 

In a world where cultures often collide and merge, 

I continue to learn how to honor the complexity 

of my own existence — a hybrid space 

that is neither one nor the other, 

but an amalgamation of histories,memories, 

and possibilities yet to come. 

The land I inhabit today, 

like the lands of my ancestors, 

calls to me not just to remember, 

but to imagine what comes next.

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Bloom

The forest grew wild on their tongues spells whispered like winds through alder and ash. With hands stained in earth they braided intention 

into baskets of fire.

Men in towers, women in flames — smells of rosemary and smoke

as if power itself could be burned 

and scattered like embers.

Beneath scorched skies seeds took root Barefoot, dancing on fields of nettle

“Do you see it now? The Burial Bloom.”

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Neon Bandeaux and Body Spray

2011 — Low-rise jeans stitched hungry, belt loops begging for hips to hold flat bellies cotton posters, midriffs that never moved Abercrombie dreams drip in saltwater musk.

Wet Seal whispered in neon bandeaux: “Admittance sold here.” On Saturdays, the dressing room mirror demanded: Who do you want to be? The mall air thick with sugar spray— my body wrapped in choice, in rebellion-on-sale, in the ache of becoming.

Tumblr held me pixelated— a body shattered, filtered thinner than bones, captioned: soft girl, sharp edges.

We were mannequins of desire, an outline sketched in mist. Somewhere between “real” and “enough,” I missed the body I hadn’t yet grown into.

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Bodies en Retrospective

A haze of scented darkness

La fumée douce of Hollister et Abercrombie

Wanting to be an American eagle. 

Beachy storefronts wrap adolescent minds and bodies 

like a fog—cocooning the sanctity of exclusivity.

Pale blue shutters ajar.

Bodies curated. Beauté privilégiée.

A canon of California Dream™ 

Wanting to be the girl in the surf, 

silhouette cut against the grey-pink waves

Frayed shorts and midriffs kissed by the sun

When you’re dressd in Wet Seal, you become a selkie.

Scene girls, Hot Topic eyeliner

Teen Spirit on sale.

Low-quality photos cradled aspirational loneliness, 

hollow yet full.

You stare at your own flesh —

Je veux que tu me voies

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Fragment : Les ancêtres

they dance in dreams, Sous la lune pleine, Leurs pieds frappent the earth, ghostly hands caress Je ne connais pas leur langue, Mais ils me parlent anyway

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Mon identité est un assemblage de souvenirs, d’histoires orales, 

des silences aussi. 

Dans les archives de ma mémoire, je trouve des fragments :

L’odeur saline de l’océan Floridian

où mes pieds nus foulaient une terre

Les quais d'Annapolis, l’histoire d’un commerce

of human atrocity, 

mais aussi des rêves réimaginés

et des résitances en filigrane

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Entre deux mondes,

skin, memory

les vents écrivent des histoires —

those that the waters whisper,

celles que la terre retient

Un mélange de terre rouge et salt

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Antony Gormley, Together and Apart, 1998

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Softshell Turtle stretch

(source)

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two collages from today :3

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Christelle Hervieu

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Frantz Zisseler (2012)

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https://www.instagram.com/p/CCgFLqKp5iz

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be careful lighting candles and leaving them on if you’re a channel

things can get a little out of hand

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Women in music + flowers