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Annnnnddddd we’re back folks! It’s been a minute but Fiebre has gotten into 5 more film festivals!! We’re officially headed to Georgia, Texas, Seattle, and a couple international festivals in Italy and Japan! 🤯

More details to follow for specific dates and times, but a huge thank you to the teams at these festivals for taking our little film and sharing it with their communities! We’re super excited to be there and showcasing the talent of these young men and Dominican baseball ⚾️💪🏽

@japanworldfilmfest @paladinodoro @seattlelatinoff @galatfilmfest @fdclafestival

Shoutout to the best team in @devlomedia @decercafilms @kelleykiki @gav.luna @butterhtr @chuchi_59 @gregorisvarona @elevatebaseballacademy @elevatesportsrd @jordanostrov @pacheche_55 and to all the kids at the academy!

It’s been a minute since I created a reel so I wanted to say Happy New Year and welcome in 2025 by sharing bits and pieces of some works I’ve had the pleasure of being a part of, and the variety of roles I get to play. I can’t stress it enough: I love filmmaking. Every aspect of it, truly. I love it even when it’s challenging and when it’s difficult to accomplish, which it often is. The people who’ve known me from the jump, know I don’t come from a world where this craft is easily accessed. I’ve had to fight hard, and still do, to continue to partake in this craft I love and believe in so deeply. So it’s an honor to be here and I hope I get to keep working with amazing people and creating the art our communities deserve to see and be a part of 🥂
•
Love y’all always 🫶🏽 and special s/o to all the folks who’ve helped me make stuff over the past few years/invited me to work with them. Appreciate y’all so much and hope to make more with y’all 🙏🏽🙏🏽

We LOVE getting to document our community. Thank you @cihuapactlicollective for having us!! This is our third year in a row covering the Annual Womb Wellness Gathering, and it’s one of our favorite moments every year. This is just a fraction of what we captured! Stay tuned. 😌💅💫🎉
•
📸: by our very own @stevenbluna

We LOVE getting to document our community. Thank you @cihuapactlicollective for having us!! This is our third year in a row covering the Annual Womb Wellness Gathering, and it’s one of our favorite moments every year. This is just a fraction of what we captured! Stay tuned. 😌💅💫🎉
•
📸: by our very own @stevenbluna

We LOVE getting to document our community. Thank you @cihuapactlicollective for having us!! This is our third year in a row covering the Annual Womb Wellness Gathering, and it’s one of our favorite moments every year. This is just a fraction of what we captured! Stay tuned. 😌💅💫🎉
•
📸: by our very own @stevenbluna

We LOVE getting to document our community. Thank you @cihuapactlicollective for having us!! This is our third year in a row covering the Annual Womb Wellness Gathering, and it’s one of our favorite moments every year. This is just a fraction of what we captured! Stay tuned. 😌💅💫🎉
•
📸: by our very own @stevenbluna

We LOVE getting to document our community. Thank you @cihuapactlicollective for having us!! This is our third year in a row covering the Annual Womb Wellness Gathering, and it’s one of our favorite moments every year. This is just a fraction of what we captured! Stay tuned. 😌💅💫🎉
•
📸: by our very own @stevenbluna

We LOVE getting to document our community. Thank you @cihuapactlicollective for having us!! This is our third year in a row covering the Annual Womb Wellness Gathering, and it’s one of our favorite moments every year. This is just a fraction of what we captured! Stay tuned. 😌💅💫🎉
•
📸: by our very own @stevenbluna

We LOVE getting to document our community. Thank you @cihuapactlicollective for having us!! This is our third year in a row covering the Annual Womb Wellness Gathering, and it’s one of our favorite moments every year. This is just a fraction of what we captured! Stay tuned. 😌💅💫🎉
•
📸: by our very own @stevenbluna

We LOVE getting to document our community. Thank you @cihuapactlicollective for having us!! This is our third year in a row covering the Annual Womb Wellness Gathering, and it’s one of our favorite moments every year. This is just a fraction of what we captured! Stay tuned. 😌💅💫🎉
•
📸: by our very own @stevenbluna

We LOVE getting to document our community. Thank you @cihuapactlicollective for having us!! This is our third year in a row covering the Annual Womb Wellness Gathering, and it’s one of our favorite moments every year. This is just a fraction of what we captured! Stay tuned. 😌💅💫🎉
•
📸: by our very own @stevenbluna

We LOVE getting to document our community. Thank you @cihuapactlicollective for having us!! This is our third year in a row covering the Annual Womb Wellness Gathering, and it’s one of our favorite moments every year. This is just a fraction of what we captured! Stay tuned. 😌💅💫🎉
•
📸: by our very own @stevenbluna

“La cabra siempre tira p’al monte.”

On July 25, 1978, two young men were executed at Cerro Maravilla. One of them was my dad’s cousin, Arnaldo.

This is a counter-archive—of memory, of family, of who they were before the state rewrote them.

Lo llevo dentro de mí.

“La cabra siempre tira p’al monte.”

On July 25, 1978, two young men were executed at Cerro Maravilla. One of them was my dad’s cousin, Arnaldo.

This is a counter-archive—of memory, of family, of who they were before the state rewrote them.

Lo llevo dentro de mí.

“La cabra siempre tira p’al monte.”

On July 25, 1978, two young men were executed at Cerro Maravilla. One of them was my dad’s cousin, Arnaldo.

This is a counter-archive—of memory, of family, of who they were before the state rewrote them.

Lo llevo dentro de mí.

“La cabra siempre tira p’al monte.”

On July 25, 1978, two young men were executed at Cerro Maravilla. One of them was my dad’s cousin, Arnaldo.

This is a counter-archive—of memory, of family, of who they were before the state rewrote them.

Lo llevo dentro de mí.

“La cabra siempre tira p’al monte.”

On July 25, 1978, two young men were executed at Cerro Maravilla. One of them was my dad’s cousin, Arnaldo.

This is a counter-archive—of memory, of family, of who they were before the state rewrote them.

Lo llevo dentro de mí.

“La cabra siempre tira p’al monte.”

On July 25, 1978, two young men were executed at Cerro Maravilla. One of them was my dad’s cousin, Arnaldo.

This is a counter-archive—of memory, of family, of who they were before the state rewrote them.

Lo llevo dentro de mí.

“La cabra siempre tira p’al monte.”

On July 25, 1978, two young men were executed at Cerro Maravilla. One of them was my dad’s cousin, Arnaldo.

This is a counter-archive—of memory, of family, of who they were before the state rewrote them.

Lo llevo dentro de mí.

“La cabra siempre tira p’al monte.”

On July 25, 1978, two young men were executed at Cerro Maravilla. One of them was my dad’s cousin, Arnaldo.

This is a counter-archive—of memory, of family, of who they were before the state rewrote them.

Lo llevo dentro de mí.

“La cabra siempre tira p’al monte.”

On July 25, 1978, two young men were executed at Cerro Maravilla. One of them was my dad’s cousin, Arnaldo.

This is a counter-archive—of memory, of family, of who they were before the state rewrote them.

Lo llevo dentro de mí.

“La cabra siempre tira p’al monte.”

On July 25, 1978, two young men were executed at Cerro Maravilla. One of them was my dad’s cousin, Arnaldo.

This is a counter-archive—of memory, of family, of who they were before the state rewrote them.

Lo llevo dentro de mí.

Repite, mata, y tranca. Las reglas de dominó.
🁇 🀴 🀱 🀹 🀾 🁅 🁈 Recognize patterns. Like the way borders anywhere are a threat to freedom everywhere.
Chinga la migra de Estados Unidos a Kiskeya, where the Dominican Republic is parroting “border security” claims and deportation quotas as an excuse to perpetuate violence against Haitians and Dominicans of Haitian descent. Recognize patterns.
Mirror and model the resistance efforts that are getting us freer. Por una isla y un mundo todo antiracista. There are grassroots collectives throughout the island leading powerful antiracist, antinationalist, and water and land defense movements. Tap in and follow the lead.
••••
Photos shot by @stevenbluna
Domino alphabet design/collaging/typography by @maizymachetepoeta

Repite, mata, y tranca. Las reglas de dominó.
🁇 🀴 🀱 🀹 🀾 🁅 🁈 Recognize patterns. Like the way borders anywhere are a threat to freedom everywhere.
Chinga la migra de Estados Unidos a Kiskeya, where the Dominican Republic is parroting “border security” claims and deportation quotas as an excuse to perpetuate violence against Haitians and Dominicans of Haitian descent. Recognize patterns.
Mirror and model the resistance efforts that are getting us freer. Por una isla y un mundo todo antiracista. There are grassroots collectives throughout the island leading powerful antiracist, antinationalist, and water and land defense movements. Tap in and follow the lead.
••••
Photos shot by @stevenbluna
Domino alphabet design/collaging/typography by @maizymachetepoeta

Repite, mata, y tranca. Las reglas de dominó.
🁇 🀴 🀱 🀹 🀾 🁅 🁈 Recognize patterns. Like the way borders anywhere are a threat to freedom everywhere.
Chinga la migra de Estados Unidos a Kiskeya, where the Dominican Republic is parroting “border security” claims and deportation quotas as an excuse to perpetuate violence against Haitians and Dominicans of Haitian descent. Recognize patterns.
Mirror and model the resistance efforts that are getting us freer. Por una isla y un mundo todo antiracista. There are grassroots collectives throughout the island leading powerful antiracist, antinationalist, and water and land defense movements. Tap in and follow the lead.
••••
Photos shot by @stevenbluna
Domino alphabet design/collaging/typography by @maizymachetepoeta

Repite, mata, y tranca. Las reglas de dominó.
🁇 🀴 🀱 🀹 🀾 🁅 🁈 Recognize patterns. Like the way borders anywhere are a threat to freedom everywhere.
Chinga la migra de Estados Unidos a Kiskeya, where the Dominican Republic is parroting “border security” claims and deportation quotas as an excuse to perpetuate violence against Haitians and Dominicans of Haitian descent. Recognize patterns.
Mirror and model the resistance efforts that are getting us freer. Por una isla y un mundo todo antiracista. There are grassroots collectives throughout the island leading powerful antiracist, antinationalist, and water and land defense movements. Tap in and follow the lead.
••••
Photos shot by @stevenbluna
Domino alphabet design/collaging/typography by @maizymachetepoeta

Repite, mata, y tranca. Las reglas de dominó.
🁇 🀴 🀱 🀹 🀾 🁅 🁈 Recognize patterns. Like the way borders anywhere are a threat to freedom everywhere.
Chinga la migra de Estados Unidos a Kiskeya, where the Dominican Republic is parroting “border security” claims and deportation quotas as an excuse to perpetuate violence against Haitians and Dominicans of Haitian descent. Recognize patterns.
Mirror and model the resistance efforts that are getting us freer. Por una isla y un mundo todo antiracista. There are grassroots collectives throughout the island leading powerful antiracist, antinationalist, and water and land defense movements. Tap in and follow the lead.
••••
Photos shot by @stevenbluna
Domino alphabet design/collaging/typography by @maizymachetepoeta

Repite, mata, y tranca. Las reglas de dominó.
🁇 🀴 🀱 🀹 🀾 🁅 🁈 Recognize patterns. Like the way borders anywhere are a threat to freedom everywhere.
Chinga la migra de Estados Unidos a Kiskeya, where the Dominican Republic is parroting “border security” claims and deportation quotas as an excuse to perpetuate violence against Haitians and Dominicans of Haitian descent. Recognize patterns.
Mirror and model the resistance efforts that are getting us freer. Por una isla y un mundo todo antiracista. There are grassroots collectives throughout the island leading powerful antiracist, antinationalist, and water and land defense movements. Tap in and follow the lead.
••••
Photos shot by @stevenbluna
Domino alphabet design/collaging/typography by @maizymachetepoeta

Repite, mata, y tranca. Las reglas de dominó.
🁇 🀴 🀱 🀹 🀾 🁅 🁈 Recognize patterns. Like the way borders anywhere are a threat to freedom everywhere.
Chinga la migra de Estados Unidos a Kiskeya, where the Dominican Republic is parroting “border security” claims and deportation quotas as an excuse to perpetuate violence against Haitians and Dominicans of Haitian descent. Recognize patterns.
Mirror and model the resistance efforts that are getting us freer. Por una isla y un mundo todo antiracista. There are grassroots collectives throughout the island leading powerful antiracist, antinationalist, and water and land defense movements. Tap in and follow the lead.
••••
Photos shot by @stevenbluna
Domino alphabet design/collaging/typography by @maizymachetepoeta

Repite, mata, y tranca. Las reglas de dominó.
🁇 🀴 🀱 🀹 🀾 🁅 🁈 Recognize patterns. Like the way borders anywhere are a threat to freedom everywhere.
Chinga la migra de Estados Unidos a Kiskeya, where the Dominican Republic is parroting “border security” claims and deportation quotas as an excuse to perpetuate violence against Haitians and Dominicans of Haitian descent. Recognize patterns.
Mirror and model the resistance efforts that are getting us freer. Por una isla y un mundo todo antiracista. There are grassroots collectives throughout the island leading powerful antiracist, antinationalist, and water and land defense movements. Tap in and follow the lead.
••••
Photos shot by @stevenbluna
Domino alphabet design/collaging/typography by @maizymachetepoeta

“Aguatero y Limpiatumba” by @maizymachetepoeta
•
Many Dominicans both on the island and in the diaspora would rather forget about the Parsley Massacre. But we speak truth to colonial powers, to anti-Haitian narratives that have long plagued the eastern side of Kiskeya; we refuse to forget and we commit to following the lead of Haitian-Dominican solidarity and allyship throughout history.
•
On Oct. 2, 1937, the Dominican military, under Trujillo’s orders, began executing Haitian families and Dominicans of Haitian descent. The unalivings, many of which took place in the border region, were mostly carried out by machete to help sell the Trujillo regime’s facade that the massacre was a “spontaneous uprising of patriotic Dominican farmers against Haitian cattle thieves.”
•
In anti-Black Dominican narratives, February 27, so-called Dominican Independence Day, is framed as “independence from Haiti.” The DR is the only Latin American country that celebrates its independence not from its actual colonizer, but from its neighbor and, at the time, its only ally in the fight for abolition and Black freedom.
•
May we repair the harms to our neighbors and fight for true freedom together.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Lo que siempre soñé, tenerte corazón conmigo.
Every trip to the Caribbean brings me home.

Filmmaking is an act of resistance and remembrance. Grateful to have been documenting and working with amazing artists my whole career. Y’all are my inspiration. More than Spielberg and Scorsese, I’m inspired by my community, and I always have been. This was one of the first film things I shot in grad school—I had no money and no business buying a super 8 camera, but the art was calling.

FIEBRE is out after being in film festivals all over the country and internationally! Check out the award-winning short documentary on my website. Captions available. Link in bio 🔗⚾️

Canon C400 Test Shots // video poems // f*** 🧊

Here’s a poem I wrote my grandmother this week.

Abuela—no word brought me greater joy.

Even still, I can hear your smile—taste
Your sweet laughter in my own
Your eyes light up in mine and glimmer
In the sound of birds, and the sky
Could barely hold you—the weight
Of your love too great
In pinkish hue and brilliant blue and
Why am I still mourning?

How I yearn to be back in those moments
of intensity as you were dying.
The presence of you was everywhere,
even though I couldn’t hold you,
Feel your skin in my hands,
Comb my fingers through your hair
Made of moonlight you were everywhere.
You still are.

I yearn for the urgency, for the ride,
The ups and downs, for the pain—I would
Do it all again and never wish this upon anyone again
But I would always ride this ride again, for you.
To feel you, to hope for you to get up and
come home to us.

I was on drugs for a lot of it.
Shrooms to be exact.
It’s funny that the word room is in shrooms
Cuz I felt like I was trapped in a room
But free
At the same time.
Free to express my crushing grief
Anger, frustration, creative bursts,
Love, laughter—I felt it all in those in three weeks.

I even visited you once.
I cried into a bunch of robes
Hanging behind the door of my friend’s bathroom
And I visited you. Literally, the room turned sideways
And I wasn’t standing but laying beside you
In a hospital bed, holding you for what felt like a lifetime.
I could hear the machines beeping and I knew
you felt me there with you cuz
You see Dolores,
Pain is love, too.

And Abuela, you beautiful word that will always be
Mine, ours, yours. I am grateful for this pain I carry.
This love that manifests in all that I do.
Abuela, I will share this word with generations and when
The future says your name—let them feel it all,
The way the sky can’t help but burst in stars at the thought of you.

Canon C400 Test Shots // video poems // f*** 🧊

Here’s a poem I wrote my grandmother this week.

Abuela—no word brought me greater joy.

Even still, I can hear your smile—taste
Your sweet laughter in my own
Your eyes light up in mine and glimmer
In the sound of birds, and the sky
Could barely hold you—the weight
Of your love too great
In pinkish hue and brilliant blue and
Why am I still mourning?

How I yearn to be back in those moments
of intensity as you were dying.
The presence of you was everywhere,
even though I couldn’t hold you,
Feel your skin in my hands,
Comb my fingers through your hair
Made of moonlight you were everywhere.
You still are.

I yearn for the urgency, for the ride,
The ups and downs, for the pain—I would
Do it all again and never wish this upon anyone again
But I would always ride this ride again, for you.
To feel you, to hope for you to get up and
come home to us.

I was on drugs for a lot of it.
Shrooms to be exact.
It’s funny that the word room is in shrooms
Cuz I felt like I was trapped in a room
But free
At the same time.
Free to express my crushing grief
Anger, frustration, creative bursts,
Love, laughter—I felt it all in those in three weeks.

I even visited you once.
I cried into a bunch of robes
Hanging behind the door of my friend’s bathroom
And I visited you. Literally, the room turned sideways
And I wasn’t standing but laying beside you
In a hospital bed, holding you for what felt like a lifetime.
I could hear the machines beeping and I knew
you felt me there with you cuz
You see Dolores,
Pain is love, too.

And Abuela, you beautiful word that will always be
Mine, ours, yours. I am grateful for this pain I carry.
This love that manifests in all that I do.
Abuela, I will share this word with generations and when
The future says your name—let them feel it all,
The way the sky can’t help but burst in stars at the thought of you.

Canon C400 Test Shots // video poems // f*** 🧊

Here’s a poem I wrote my grandmother this week.

Abuela—no word brought me greater joy.

Even still, I can hear your smile—taste
Your sweet laughter in my own
Your eyes light up in mine and glimmer
In the sound of birds, and the sky
Could barely hold you—the weight
Of your love too great
In pinkish hue and brilliant blue and
Why am I still mourning?

How I yearn to be back in those moments
of intensity as you were dying.
The presence of you was everywhere,
even though I couldn’t hold you,
Feel your skin in my hands,
Comb my fingers through your hair
Made of moonlight you were everywhere.
You still are.

I yearn for the urgency, for the ride,
The ups and downs, for the pain—I would
Do it all again and never wish this upon anyone again
But I would always ride this ride again, for you.
To feel you, to hope for you to get up and
come home to us.

I was on drugs for a lot of it.
Shrooms to be exact.
It’s funny that the word room is in shrooms
Cuz I felt like I was trapped in a room
But free
At the same time.
Free to express my crushing grief
Anger, frustration, creative bursts,
Love, laughter—I felt it all in those in three weeks.

I even visited you once.
I cried into a bunch of robes
Hanging behind the door of my friend’s bathroom
And I visited you. Literally, the room turned sideways
And I wasn’t standing but laying beside you
In a hospital bed, holding you for what felt like a lifetime.
I could hear the machines beeping and I knew
you felt me there with you cuz
You see Dolores,
Pain is love, too.

And Abuela, you beautiful word that will always be
Mine, ours, yours. I am grateful for this pain I carry.
This love that manifests in all that I do.
Abuela, I will share this word with generations and when
The future says your name—let them feel it all,
The way the sky can’t help but burst in stars at the thought of you.

Canon C400 Test Shots // video poems // f*** 🧊

Here’s a poem I wrote my grandmother this week.

Abuela—no word brought me greater joy.

Even still, I can hear your smile—taste
Your sweet laughter in my own
Your eyes light up in mine and glimmer
In the sound of birds, and the sky
Could barely hold you—the weight
Of your love too great
In pinkish hue and brilliant blue and
Why am I still mourning?

How I yearn to be back in those moments
of intensity as you were dying.
The presence of you was everywhere,
even though I couldn’t hold you,
Feel your skin in my hands,
Comb my fingers through your hair
Made of moonlight you were everywhere.
You still are.

I yearn for the urgency, for the ride,
The ups and downs, for the pain—I would
Do it all again and never wish this upon anyone again
But I would always ride this ride again, for you.
To feel you, to hope for you to get up and
come home to us.

I was on drugs for a lot of it.
Shrooms to be exact.
It’s funny that the word room is in shrooms
Cuz I felt like I was trapped in a room
But free
At the same time.
Free to express my crushing grief
Anger, frustration, creative bursts,
Love, laughter—I felt it all in those in three weeks.

I even visited you once.
I cried into a bunch of robes
Hanging behind the door of my friend’s bathroom
And I visited you. Literally, the room turned sideways
And I wasn’t standing but laying beside you
In a hospital bed, holding you for what felt like a lifetime.
I could hear the machines beeping and I knew
you felt me there with you cuz
You see Dolores,
Pain is love, too.

And Abuela, you beautiful word that will always be
Mine, ours, yours. I am grateful for this pain I carry.
This love that manifests in all that I do.
Abuela, I will share this word with generations and when
The future says your name—let them feel it all,
The way the sky can’t help but burst in stars at the thought of you.

Canon C400 Test Shots // video poems // f*** 🧊

Here’s a poem I wrote my grandmother this week.

Abuela—no word brought me greater joy.

Even still, I can hear your smile—taste
Your sweet laughter in my own
Your eyes light up in mine and glimmer
In the sound of birds, and the sky
Could barely hold you—the weight
Of your love too great
In pinkish hue and brilliant blue and
Why am I still mourning?

How I yearn to be back in those moments
of intensity as you were dying.
The presence of you was everywhere,
even though I couldn’t hold you,
Feel your skin in my hands,
Comb my fingers through your hair
Made of moonlight you were everywhere.
You still are.

I yearn for the urgency, for the ride,
The ups and downs, for the pain—I would
Do it all again and never wish this upon anyone again
But I would always ride this ride again, for you.
To feel you, to hope for you to get up and
come home to us.

I was on drugs for a lot of it.
Shrooms to be exact.
It’s funny that the word room is in shrooms
Cuz I felt like I was trapped in a room
But free
At the same time.
Free to express my crushing grief
Anger, frustration, creative bursts,
Love, laughter—I felt it all in those in three weeks.

I even visited you once.
I cried into a bunch of robes
Hanging behind the door of my friend’s bathroom
And I visited you. Literally, the room turned sideways
And I wasn’t standing but laying beside you
In a hospital bed, holding you for what felt like a lifetime.
I could hear the machines beeping and I knew
you felt me there with you cuz
You see Dolores,
Pain is love, too.

And Abuela, you beautiful word that will always be
Mine, ours, yours. I am grateful for this pain I carry.
This love that manifests in all that I do.
Abuela, I will share this word with generations and when
The future says your name—let them feel it all,
The way the sky can’t help but burst in stars at the thought of you.

Canon C400 Test Shots // video poems // f*** 🧊

Here’s a poem I wrote my grandmother this week.

Abuela—no word brought me greater joy.

Even still, I can hear your smile—taste
Your sweet laughter in my own
Your eyes light up in mine and glimmer
In the sound of birds, and the sky
Could barely hold you—the weight
Of your love too great
In pinkish hue and brilliant blue and
Why am I still mourning?

How I yearn to be back in those moments
of intensity as you were dying.
The presence of you was everywhere,
even though I couldn’t hold you,
Feel your skin in my hands,
Comb my fingers through your hair
Made of moonlight you were everywhere.
You still are.

I yearn for the urgency, for the ride,
The ups and downs, for the pain—I would
Do it all again and never wish this upon anyone again
But I would always ride this ride again, for you.
To feel you, to hope for you to get up and
come home to us.

I was on drugs for a lot of it.
Shrooms to be exact.
It’s funny that the word room is in shrooms
Cuz I felt like I was trapped in a room
But free
At the same time.
Free to express my crushing grief
Anger, frustration, creative bursts,
Love, laughter—I felt it all in those in three weeks.

I even visited you once.
I cried into a bunch of robes
Hanging behind the door of my friend’s bathroom
And I visited you. Literally, the room turned sideways
And I wasn’t standing but laying beside you
In a hospital bed, holding you for what felt like a lifetime.
I could hear the machines beeping and I knew
you felt me there with you cuz
You see Dolores,
Pain is love, too.

And Abuela, you beautiful word that will always be
Mine, ours, yours. I am grateful for this pain I carry.
This love that manifests in all that I do.
Abuela, I will share this word with generations and when
The future says your name—let them feel it all,
The way the sky can’t help but burst in stars at the thought of you.

Canon C400 Test Shots // video poems // f*** 🧊

Here’s a poem I wrote my grandmother this week.

Abuela—no word brought me greater joy.

Even still, I can hear your smile—taste
Your sweet laughter in my own
Your eyes light up in mine and glimmer
In the sound of birds, and the sky
Could barely hold you—the weight
Of your love too great
In pinkish hue and brilliant blue and
Why am I still mourning?

How I yearn to be back in those moments
of intensity as you were dying.
The presence of you was everywhere,
even though I couldn’t hold you,
Feel your skin in my hands,
Comb my fingers through your hair
Made of moonlight you were everywhere.
You still are.

I yearn for the urgency, for the ride,
The ups and downs, for the pain—I would
Do it all again and never wish this upon anyone again
But I would always ride this ride again, for you.
To feel you, to hope for you to get up and
come home to us.

I was on drugs for a lot of it.
Shrooms to be exact.
It’s funny that the word room is in shrooms
Cuz I felt like I was trapped in a room
But free
At the same time.
Free to express my crushing grief
Anger, frustration, creative bursts,
Love, laughter—I felt it all in those in three weeks.

I even visited you once.
I cried into a bunch of robes
Hanging behind the door of my friend’s bathroom
And I visited you. Literally, the room turned sideways
And I wasn’t standing but laying beside you
In a hospital bed, holding you for what felt like a lifetime.
I could hear the machines beeping and I knew
you felt me there with you cuz
You see Dolores,
Pain is love, too.

And Abuela, you beautiful word that will always be
Mine, ours, yours. I am grateful for this pain I carry.
This love that manifests in all that I do.
Abuela, I will share this word with generations and when
The future says your name—let them feel it all,
The way the sky can’t help but burst in stars at the thought of you.

Canon C400 Test Shots // video poems // f*** 🧊

Here’s a poem I wrote my grandmother this week.

Abuela—no word brought me greater joy.

Even still, I can hear your smile—taste
Your sweet laughter in my own
Your eyes light up in mine and glimmer
In the sound of birds, and the sky
Could barely hold you—the weight
Of your love too great
In pinkish hue and brilliant blue and
Why am I still mourning?

How I yearn to be back in those moments
of intensity as you were dying.
The presence of you was everywhere,
even though I couldn’t hold you,
Feel your skin in my hands,
Comb my fingers through your hair
Made of moonlight you were everywhere.
You still are.

I yearn for the urgency, for the ride,
The ups and downs, for the pain—I would
Do it all again and never wish this upon anyone again
But I would always ride this ride again, for you.
To feel you, to hope for you to get up and
come home to us.

I was on drugs for a lot of it.
Shrooms to be exact.
It’s funny that the word room is in shrooms
Cuz I felt like I was trapped in a room
But free
At the same time.
Free to express my crushing grief
Anger, frustration, creative bursts,
Love, laughter—I felt it all in those in three weeks.

I even visited you once.
I cried into a bunch of robes
Hanging behind the door of my friend’s bathroom
And I visited you. Literally, the room turned sideways
And I wasn’t standing but laying beside you
In a hospital bed, holding you for what felt like a lifetime.
I could hear the machines beeping and I knew
you felt me there with you cuz
You see Dolores,
Pain is love, too.

And Abuela, you beautiful word that will always be
Mine, ours, yours. I am grateful for this pain I carry.
This love that manifests in all that I do.
Abuela, I will share this word with generations and when
The future says your name—let them feel it all,
The way the sky can’t help but burst in stars at the thought of you.

Canon C400 Test Shots // video poems // f*** 🧊

Here’s a poem I wrote my grandmother this week.

Abuela—no word brought me greater joy.

Even still, I can hear your smile—taste
Your sweet laughter in my own
Your eyes light up in mine and glimmer
In the sound of birds, and the sky
Could barely hold you—the weight
Of your love too great
In pinkish hue and brilliant blue and
Why am I still mourning?

How I yearn to be back in those moments
of intensity as you were dying.
The presence of you was everywhere,
even though I couldn’t hold you,
Feel your skin in my hands,
Comb my fingers through your hair
Made of moonlight you were everywhere.
You still are.

I yearn for the urgency, for the ride,
The ups and downs, for the pain—I would
Do it all again and never wish this upon anyone again
But I would always ride this ride again, for you.
To feel you, to hope for you to get up and
come home to us.

I was on drugs for a lot of it.
Shrooms to be exact.
It’s funny that the word room is in shrooms
Cuz I felt like I was trapped in a room
But free
At the same time.
Free to express my crushing grief
Anger, frustration, creative bursts,
Love, laughter—I felt it all in those in three weeks.

I even visited you once.
I cried into a bunch of robes
Hanging behind the door of my friend’s bathroom
And I visited you. Literally, the room turned sideways
And I wasn’t standing but laying beside you
In a hospital bed, holding you for what felt like a lifetime.
I could hear the machines beeping and I knew
you felt me there with you cuz
You see Dolores,
Pain is love, too.

And Abuela, you beautiful word that will always be
Mine, ours, yours. I am grateful for this pain I carry.
This love that manifests in all that I do.
Abuela, I will share this word with generations and when
The future says your name—let them feel it all,
The way the sky can’t help but burst in stars at the thought of you.

Canon C400 Test Shots // video poems // f*** 🧊

Here’s a poem I wrote my grandmother this week.

Abuela—no word brought me greater joy.

Even still, I can hear your smile—taste
Your sweet laughter in my own
Your eyes light up in mine and glimmer
In the sound of birds, and the sky
Could barely hold you—the weight
Of your love too great
In pinkish hue and brilliant blue and
Why am I still mourning?

How I yearn to be back in those moments
of intensity as you were dying.
The presence of you was everywhere,
even though I couldn’t hold you,
Feel your skin in my hands,
Comb my fingers through your hair
Made of moonlight you were everywhere.
You still are.

I yearn for the urgency, for the ride,
The ups and downs, for the pain—I would
Do it all again and never wish this upon anyone again
But I would always ride this ride again, for you.
To feel you, to hope for you to get up and
come home to us.

I was on drugs for a lot of it.
Shrooms to be exact.
It’s funny that the word room is in shrooms
Cuz I felt like I was trapped in a room
But free
At the same time.
Free to express my crushing grief
Anger, frustration, creative bursts,
Love, laughter—I felt it all in those in three weeks.

I even visited you once.
I cried into a bunch of robes
Hanging behind the door of my friend’s bathroom
And I visited you. Literally, the room turned sideways
And I wasn’t standing but laying beside you
In a hospital bed, holding you for what felt like a lifetime.
I could hear the machines beeping and I knew
you felt me there with you cuz
You see Dolores,
Pain is love, too.

And Abuela, you beautiful word that will always be
Mine, ours, yours. I am grateful for this pain I carry.
This love that manifests in all that I do.
Abuela, I will share this word with generations and when
The future says your name—let them feel it all,
The way the sky can’t help but burst in stars at the thought of you.

Canon C400 Test Shots // video poems // f*** 🧊

Here’s a poem I wrote my grandmother this week.

Abuela—no word brought me greater joy.

Even still, I can hear your smile—taste
Your sweet laughter in my own
Your eyes light up in mine and glimmer
In the sound of birds, and the sky
Could barely hold you—the weight
Of your love too great
In pinkish hue and brilliant blue and
Why am I still mourning?

How I yearn to be back in those moments
of intensity as you were dying.
The presence of you was everywhere,
even though I couldn’t hold you,
Feel your skin in my hands,
Comb my fingers through your hair
Made of moonlight you were everywhere.
You still are.

I yearn for the urgency, for the ride,
The ups and downs, for the pain—I would
Do it all again and never wish this upon anyone again
But I would always ride this ride again, for you.
To feel you, to hope for you to get up and
come home to us.

I was on drugs for a lot of it.
Shrooms to be exact.
It’s funny that the word room is in shrooms
Cuz I felt like I was trapped in a room
But free
At the same time.
Free to express my crushing grief
Anger, frustration, creative bursts,
Love, laughter—I felt it all in those in three weeks.

I even visited you once.
I cried into a bunch of robes
Hanging behind the door of my friend’s bathroom
And I visited you. Literally, the room turned sideways
And I wasn’t standing but laying beside you
In a hospital bed, holding you for what felt like a lifetime.
I could hear the machines beeping and I knew
you felt me there with you cuz
You see Dolores,
Pain is love, too.

And Abuela, you beautiful word that will always be
Mine, ours, yours. I am grateful for this pain I carry.
This love that manifests in all that I do.
Abuela, I will share this word with generations and when
The future says your name—let them feel it all,
The way the sky can’t help but burst in stars at the thought of you.

Canon C400 Test Shots // video poems // f*** 🧊

Here’s a poem I wrote my grandmother this week.

Abuela—no word brought me greater joy.

Even still, I can hear your smile—taste
Your sweet laughter in my own
Your eyes light up in mine and glimmer
In the sound of birds, and the sky
Could barely hold you—the weight
Of your love too great
In pinkish hue and brilliant blue and
Why am I still mourning?

How I yearn to be back in those moments
of intensity as you were dying.
The presence of you was everywhere,
even though I couldn’t hold you,
Feel your skin in my hands,
Comb my fingers through your hair
Made of moonlight you were everywhere.
You still are.

I yearn for the urgency, for the ride,
The ups and downs, for the pain—I would
Do it all again and never wish this upon anyone again
But I would always ride this ride again, for you.
To feel you, to hope for you to get up and
come home to us.

I was on drugs for a lot of it.
Shrooms to be exact.
It’s funny that the word room is in shrooms
Cuz I felt like I was trapped in a room
But free
At the same time.
Free to express my crushing grief
Anger, frustration, creative bursts,
Love, laughter—I felt it all in those in three weeks.

I even visited you once.
I cried into a bunch of robes
Hanging behind the door of my friend’s bathroom
And I visited you. Literally, the room turned sideways
And I wasn’t standing but laying beside you
In a hospital bed, holding you for what felt like a lifetime.
I could hear the machines beeping and I knew
you felt me there with you cuz
You see Dolores,
Pain is love, too.

And Abuela, you beautiful word that will always be
Mine, ours, yours. I am grateful for this pain I carry.
This love that manifests in all that I do.
Abuela, I will share this word with generations and when
The future says your name—let them feel it all,
The way the sky can’t help but burst in stars at the thought of you.

Gorgeous day-trip to the Grand Canyon to start the year off. Grateful for the fam for coming out and spending the holiday here 🙏🏽😌

Gorgeous day-trip to the Grand Canyon to start the year off. Grateful for the fam for coming out and spending the holiday here 🙏🏽😌

Gorgeous day-trip to the Grand Canyon to start the year off. Grateful for the fam for coming out and spending the holiday here 🙏🏽😌

Gorgeous day-trip to the Grand Canyon to start the year off. Grateful for the fam for coming out and spending the holiday here 🙏🏽😌

Gorgeous day-trip to the Grand Canyon to start the year off. Grateful for the fam for coming out and spending the holiday here 🙏🏽😌

Gorgeous day-trip to the Grand Canyon to start the year off. Grateful for the fam for coming out and spending the holiday here 🙏🏽😌

Gorgeous day-trip to the Grand Canyon to start the year off. Grateful for the fam for coming out and spending the holiday here 🙏🏽😌

Gorgeous day-trip to the Grand Canyon to start the year off. Grateful for the fam for coming out and spending the holiday here 🙏🏽😌

Gorgeous day-trip to the Grand Canyon to start the year off. Grateful for the fam for coming out and spending the holiday here 🙏🏽😌

Gorgeous day-trip to the Grand Canyon to start the year off. Grateful for the fam for coming out and spending the holiday here 🙏🏽😌

Our Sunday cups are filled with a weekly check-in 🤲🏼🫀In what ways have we been there for each other in the past week? In what ways will we need to be there for each other in the coming week? How are you doing physically, mentally, and spiritually? 💌 We’ve shared this practice with many friends recently and realized we could all be checking in more, with ourselves, our loves, our people, because “the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love,” (Che) and the way I understand that love is a daily practice, a daily commitment, to caring for ourselves and each other in ways that betray apathy, indifference, hopelessness, and individualism.
Anywaysss, file under ‘two artists just tryna lovingly storytell and worldbuild in these times’ 🗂️⛓️‍💥♥️🥲
📓📖 shoutout to Steven for the check-in questions & weekly calendar alert 🤧 love you

Our Sunday cups are filled with a weekly check-in 🤲🏼🫀In what ways have we been there for each other in the past week? In what ways will we need to be there for each other in the coming week? How are you doing physically, mentally, and spiritually? 💌 We’ve shared this practice with many friends recently and realized we could all be checking in more, with ourselves, our loves, our people, because “the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love,” (Che) and the way I understand that love is a daily practice, a daily commitment, to caring for ourselves and each other in ways that betray apathy, indifference, hopelessness, and individualism.
Anywaysss, file under ‘two artists just tryna lovingly storytell and worldbuild in these times’ 🗂️⛓️‍💥♥️🥲
📓📖 shoutout to Steven for the check-in questions & weekly calendar alert 🤧 love you

Our Sunday cups are filled with a weekly check-in 🤲🏼🫀In what ways have we been there for each other in the past week? In what ways will we need to be there for each other in the coming week? How are you doing physically, mentally, and spiritually? 💌 We’ve shared this practice with many friends recently and realized we could all be checking in more, with ourselves, our loves, our people, because “the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love,” (Che) and the way I understand that love is a daily practice, a daily commitment, to caring for ourselves and each other in ways that betray apathy, indifference, hopelessness, and individualism.
Anywaysss, file under ‘two artists just tryna lovingly storytell and worldbuild in these times’ 🗂️⛓️‍💥♥️🥲
📓📖 shoutout to Steven for the check-in questions & weekly calendar alert 🤧 love you

Our Sunday cups are filled with a weekly check-in 🤲🏼🫀In what ways have we been there for each other in the past week? In what ways will we need to be there for each other in the coming week? How are you doing physically, mentally, and spiritually? 💌 We’ve shared this practice with many friends recently and realized we could all be checking in more, with ourselves, our loves, our people, because “the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love,” (Che) and the way I understand that love is a daily practice, a daily commitment, to caring for ourselves and each other in ways that betray apathy, indifference, hopelessness, and individualism.
Anywaysss, file under ‘two artists just tryna lovingly storytell and worldbuild in these times’ 🗂️⛓️‍💥♥️🥲
📓📖 shoutout to Steven for the check-in questions & weekly calendar alert 🤧 love you

Our Sunday cups are filled with a weekly check-in 🤲🏼🫀In what ways have we been there for each other in the past week? In what ways will we need to be there for each other in the coming week? How are you doing physically, mentally, and spiritually? 💌 We’ve shared this practice with many friends recently and realized we could all be checking in more, with ourselves, our loves, our people, because “the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love,” (Che) and the way I understand that love is a daily practice, a daily commitment, to caring for ourselves and each other in ways that betray apathy, indifference, hopelessness, and individualism.
Anywaysss, file under ‘two artists just tryna lovingly storytell and worldbuild in these times’ 🗂️⛓️‍💥♥️🥲
📓📖 shoutout to Steven for the check-in questions & weekly calendar alert 🤧 love you

Our Sunday cups are filled with a weekly check-in 🤲🏼🫀In what ways have we been there for each other in the past week? In what ways will we need to be there for each other in the coming week? How are you doing physically, mentally, and spiritually? 💌 We’ve shared this practice with many friends recently and realized we could all be checking in more, with ourselves, our loves, our people, because “the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love,” (Che) and the way I understand that love is a daily practice, a daily commitment, to caring for ourselves and each other in ways that betray apathy, indifference, hopelessness, and individualism.
Anywaysss, file under ‘two artists just tryna lovingly storytell and worldbuild in these times’ 🗂️⛓️‍💥♥️🥲
📓📖 shoutout to Steven for the check-in questions & weekly calendar alert 🤧 love you

Our Sunday cups are filled with a weekly check-in 🤲🏼🫀In what ways have we been there for each other in the past week? In what ways will we need to be there for each other in the coming week? How are you doing physically, mentally, and spiritually? 💌 We’ve shared this practice with many friends recently and realized we could all be checking in more, with ourselves, our loves, our people, because “the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love,” (Che) and the way I understand that love is a daily practice, a daily commitment, to caring for ourselves and each other in ways that betray apathy, indifference, hopelessness, and individualism.
Anywaysss, file under ‘two artists just tryna lovingly storytell and worldbuild in these times’ 🗂️⛓️‍💥♥️🥲
📓📖 shoutout to Steven for the check-in questions & weekly calendar alert 🤧 love you

Our Sunday cups are filled with a weekly check-in 🤲🏼🫀In what ways have we been there for each other in the past week? In what ways will we need to be there for each other in the coming week? How are you doing physically, mentally, and spiritually? 💌 We’ve shared this practice with many friends recently and realized we could all be checking in more, with ourselves, our loves, our people, because “the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love,” (Che) and the way I understand that love is a daily practice, a daily commitment, to caring for ourselves and each other in ways that betray apathy, indifference, hopelessness, and individualism.
Anywaysss, file under ‘two artists just tryna lovingly storytell and worldbuild in these times’ 🗂️⛓️‍💥♥️🥲
📓📖 shoutout to Steven for the check-in questions & weekly calendar alert 🤧 love you

Our Sunday cups are filled with a weekly check-in 🤲🏼🫀In what ways have we been there for each other in the past week? In what ways will we need to be there for each other in the coming week? How are you doing physically, mentally, and spiritually? 💌 We’ve shared this practice with many friends recently and realized we could all be checking in more, with ourselves, our loves, our people, because “the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love,” (Che) and the way I understand that love is a daily practice, a daily commitment, to caring for ourselves and each other in ways that betray apathy, indifference, hopelessness, and individualism.
Anywaysss, file under ‘two artists just tryna lovingly storytell and worldbuild in these times’ 🗂️⛓️‍💥♥️🥲
📓📖 shoutout to Steven for the check-in questions & weekly calendar alert 🤧 love you

Our Sunday cups are filled with a weekly check-in 🤲🏼🫀In what ways have we been there for each other in the past week? In what ways will we need to be there for each other in the coming week? How are you doing physically, mentally, and spiritually? 💌 We’ve shared this practice with many friends recently and realized we could all be checking in more, with ourselves, our loves, our people, because “the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love,” (Che) and the way I understand that love is a daily practice, a daily commitment, to caring for ourselves and each other in ways that betray apathy, indifference, hopelessness, and individualism.
Anywaysss, file under ‘two artists just tryna lovingly storytell and worldbuild in these times’ 🗂️⛓️‍💥♥️🥲
📓📖 shoutout to Steven for the check-in questions & weekly calendar alert 🤧 love you