safety cells
march 2026
i watched a video stream of my friends' party, because i couldn't be there in person. it was at a hotel just outside of washington, d.c., the legislative capital of the united states. there were a lot of trans people in the room. i felt worried for them.
they (we?) had congregated in this hotel suite. they strained the edges of the video frame in the same way that they strained the boundaries of the room, both enclosed by and allowed into // it as guests, receiving the conditional hospitality of those who would provide it, like the hotel that it literally was.
outside of the cramped suite, improvised sound system, i feared that they; that WE--let me be clear--would not be okay. but within that room, over those channels, it was okay to rest. i worried from my own little enclave: my parents' basement, rent-free and in a state where the familiar hormone blocker bans and bathroom vigilante bills had barely even been entertained for discussion. but am i (are we) okay outside of these rest stops, stretched far past the hospitality they can reasonably hold? how long are we to stay checked in before the card on file declines?
trans joy piped across a public Twitch stream with 15 people watching--an odd public intimacy not unlike my own barely perceptible chest, shapeless clothing, and backwards-aged skin holding me in what feels like some kind of suspended animation as i wait for someone, anyone to ascertain what i am. who are the others watching? would they share the room with me in real life?
back to grid