Antler + Moss
There is a network of underground rivers beneath our feet as well as beneath our skin. These whispering aquifers are roadmaps to Indigenous multi-species futurities. coming soon
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What if we surrendered ourselves to the more-than-human world coming out through us?
If I eat enough salmonberries, will I be consumed by the land? The seeds I eat may sprout inside my belly, take root and send shoots through my esophagus and eyes. My neon green hair flirting with the tender lime green shoot.
My voice-box would branch into two and out would come the song of a Canyon Wren. My hair would become cattails exploding with seed. My pronouns would be spores.
We would celebrate each one of us becoming vernal pools — becoming monsoons.
Our feet hardening with keratin and becoming hooves.
Our eyes becoming humid storms.
When I ask for your pronouns, out from your mouth will come a chum salmon bursting with roe having made their way up the stream of your soul.
Your eyes will be full of coral bloom.
In your aorta will swim dark rivers of tadpoles.
Our uprisings would become wormholes, supernovas, geysers and bogs.
- Pınar Ateş Sinopoulos-Lloyd
Are you femme or masc?
I am riparian.
Are you a boy or a girl?
I am a river.
𝘔𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴, 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴.
Are you AMAB or AFAB?
I am amphibious.
My Salamander Mother migrated to a vernal pool and crossed many thresholds to arrive.
The silt on the bottom of the pond where tadpoles wander. Clouds of silt kicked up by little tadpole tails as they awkwardly find equilibrium in their rapidly transforming bodies.
Still water being pushed by minuscule growing spines — a murky boundary of silt and collagen. Of algae and bone marrow.
Dark underwater streams of amphibious movement — a methodical riot. Little boba pearls pinched into tails by a God with gills.
Salamanders glare with lusty stoicism with a flat slimy smile you cannot tell whether it’s a frown or a prehistoric smirk.
