I’M NOT INTERESTED IN FITTING IN.
I DIDN’T COME TO REPEAT FORMULAS.
I’M NOT LOOKING TO BELONG.
MY BODY WASN’T MADE TO BE UNDERSTOOD—
IT WAS MADE TO BE FELT,
TO GENTLY DISOBEY
THE MOLDS THAT TRIED TO NAME IT.
//
WHAT I DO — CALL IT CLOTHING, SCULPTURE, PAINTING, OR MISTAKE —
ISN’T HERE TO DECORATE THE WORLD.
IT’S HERE TO OPEN IT.
TO BREAK.
TO CLAIM A SPACE AMIDST THE NOISE.
//
I WORK WITH TRACES:
TEARS, LOOSE WORDS, POORLY TOLD STORIES.
FORMS THAT UNSETTLE,
SOUNDS THAT BLEED.
FROM THERE, WHAT I DO IS BORN.
AND WHAT I DO IS HOW I FIGHT.
//
I DON’T NEED PERMISSION TO EXIST WEIRD.
I DON’T NEED TO EXPLAIN WHY I DRESS HOW I THINK.
MY SKIN IS NO NEUTRAL TERRITORY.
IT IS BATTLEFIELD.
IT IS ALTAR.
IT IS NEST.
IT IS SCREAM.
//
THE GARMENT DOESN’T COVER ME, IT TRANSMUTES ME.
IT PROTECTS AND REVEALS.
IT IS A SPELL, NOT A UNIFORM.
IT IS MY WAY OF LIVING WITHOUT APOLOGY.
//
I MAKE ART BECAUSE SPEAKING IS NO LONGER ENOUGH.
BECAUSE NAMING IS SOMETIMES A TRAP.
BECAUSE I WANT TO TOUCH WHAT CANNOT BE SAID.
I’M NOT LOOKING FOR ANSWERS, I’M LOOKING FOR CRACKS—
PLACES WHERE WATER CAN SLIP THROUGH.
OR FIRE.
//
I’M NOT HERE TO EXPLAIN MYSELF.
I’M HERE TO BURN THE PRISONS OF OUTSIDE JUDGMENT.
TO BEND THE MAP.
TO ASSEMBLE WITH THE SHADOW OF THE IMPERCEPTIBLE.
I EXIST TO DEFEND A NEW WAY OF BEING ALIVE.
WITH LOVE,
R̴̡̥̩̐͘À̴̢̨͉̬̣̖̘̲̺̇͛͆̔̚C̴̢̧̰̭̖̥̮̝̊͑̑͋̾̏̋̔͝͝
