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𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙝𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙨!!:// crowd-sourced polemic:/𝘽𝙞𝙜 𝘾𝙤𝙜𝙞𝙩𝙤— counter network operations.
iD-SUS LIVE @ “The Rock” UNIVERSAL SPACE JAME FESTIVAL #2 c/o @nyxo.nyxo @jazzatthebarr @i.d_sus
©️WRL //:2025
iD-SUS LIVE @ “The Rock” UNIVERSAL SPACE JAME FESTIVAL #2 c/o @nyxo.nyxo @jazzatthebarr @i.d_sus
©️WRL //:2025
iD-SUS LIVE @ “The Rock” UNIVERSAL SPACE JAME FESTIVAL #2 c/o @nyxo.nyxo @jazzatthebarr @i.d_sus
©️WRL //:2025
iD-SUS LIVE @ “The Rock” UNIVERSAL SPACE JAME FESTIVAL #2 c/o @nyxo.nyxo @jazzatthebarr @i.d_sus
©️WRL //:2025
USJ & PANCAKES @ffffooooooood c/o @theonewhoknows @universalspacejam @jazzatthebarr @griff_spex @nyxo.nyxo
USJ & PANCAKES @ffffooooooood c/o @theonewhoknows @universalspacejam @jazzatthebarr @griff_spex @nyxo.nyxo
USJ & PANCAKES @ffffooooooood c/o @theonewhoknows @universalspacejam @jazzatthebarr @griff_spex @nyxo.nyxo
USJ & PANCAKES @ffffooooooood c/o @theonewhoknows @universalspacejam @jazzatthebarr @griff_spex @nyxo.nyxo
USJ & PANCAKES @ffffooooooood c/o @theonewhoknows @universalspacejam @jazzatthebarr @griff_spex @nyxo.nyxo
USJ & PANCAKES @ffffooooooood c/o @theonewhoknows @universalspacejam @jazzatthebarr @griff_spex @nyxo.nyxo
USJ & PANCAKES @ffffooooooood c/o @theonewhoknows @universalspacejam @jazzatthebarr @griff_spex @nyxo.nyxo
USJ & PANCAKES @ffffooooooood c/o @theonewhoknows @universalspacejam @jazzatthebarr @griff_spex @nyxo.nyxo
USJ & PANCAKES @ffffooooooood c/o @theonewhoknows @universalspacejam @jazzatthebarr @griff_spex @nyxo.nyxo
USJ & PANCAKES @ffffooooooood c/o @theonewhoknows @universalspacejam @jazzatthebarr @griff_spex @nyxo.nyxo
USJ & PANCAKES @ffffooooooood c/o @theonewhoknows @universalspacejam @jazzatthebarr @griff_spex @nyxo.nyxo
USJ & PANCAKES @ffffooooooood c/o @theonewhoknows @universalspacejam @jazzatthebarr @griff_spex @nyxo.nyxo
Miho Hatori LIVE set @ffffooooooood Night Shift presented by @slamjam @lee101official
curated by @jazzatthebarr @nyxo.nyxo
Miho Hatori LIVE set @ffffooooooood Night Shift presented by @slamjam @lee101official
curated by @jazzatthebarr @nyxo.nyxo
Miho Hatori LIVE set @ffffooooooood Night Shift presented by @slamjam @lee101official
curated by @jazzatthebarr @nyxo.nyxo
Miho Hatori LIVE set @ffffooooooood Night Shift presented by @slamjam @lee101official
curated by @jazzatthebarr @nyxo.nyxo
Miho Hatori LIVE set @ffffooooooood Night Shift presented by @slamjam @lee101official
curated by @jazzatthebarr @nyxo.nyxo
Miho Hatori LIVE set @ffffooooooood Night Shift presented by @slamjam @lee101official
curated by @jazzatthebarr @nyxo.nyxo
Miho Hatori LIVE set @ffffooooooood Night Shift presented by @slamjam @lee101official
curated by @jazzatthebarr @nyxo.nyxo
Miho Hatori LIVE set @ffffooooooood Night Shift presented by @slamjam @lee101official
curated by @jazzatthebarr @nyxo.nyxo
Miho Hatori LIVE set @ffffooooooood Night Shift presented by @slamjam @lee101official
curated by @jazzatthebarr @nyxo.nyxo
Miho Hatori LIVE set @ffffooooooood Night Shift presented by @slamjam @lee101official
curated by @jazzatthebarr @nyxo.nyxo
Miho Hatori LIVE set @ffffooooooood Night Shift presented by @slamjam @lee101official
curated by @jazzatthebarr @nyxo.nyxo
Miho Hatori LIVE set @ffffooooooood Night Shift presented by @slamjam @lee101official
curated by @jazzatthebarr @nyxo.nyxo
Miho Hatori LIVE set @ffffooooooood Night Shift presented by @slamjam @lee101official
curated by @jazzatthebarr @nyxo.nyxo
Miho Hatori LIVE set @ffffooooooood Night Shift presented by @slamjam @lee101official
curated by @jazzatthebarr @nyxo.nyxo
Miho Hatori LIVE set @ffffooooooood Night Shift presented by @slamjam @lee101official
curated by @jazzatthebarr @nyxo.nyxo
Miho Hatori LIVE set @ffffooooooood Night Shift presented by @slamjam @lee101official
curated by @jazzatthebarr @nyxo.nyxo
Miho Hatori LIVE set @ffffooooooood Night Shift presented by @slamjam @lee101official
curated by @jazzatthebarr @nyxo.nyxo
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
Fateful Blunt Evening
//:some outtakes from this fateful evening to compliment @world___music__ post; I saw an interesting comment under their post that prompted me to comb these up and perhaps attempt a retelling of the evening, which in some respect felt like being in a celestial noosphere ala Chardin. fate actually interjected itself days prior to this early summer dalliance in ‘22 when the homie GRAVE spotted the enigma swaggering down Norfolk—stymied in his tracks by the baffling passions you’d witness from a pious actor in reverence, he yelped “DEAN!”, much to my repressed dismay.
this n*gga GRAVE loves cold pulling up from 3 like that—decorum be damned. he jogged up with the type of frivolity seldom seen from him and got an audience; he caught wind he was in town to perform. for whom or what—and where—still alluded us but if there’s a career form that can claim GRAVE and I it would be these types of things—y’know, sleuthing around the downtowns searching for “the good word”.
and the good word came in the form of ZHU, the “multihyphenated fixture” amongst downtown’s bravest as he’s become affectionately known, who I believe at the time officially ran with Supreme, probably still does—and such was the word; “supreme”. The Fateful Evening was to occur at Angel Orensanz on the occasion of some June summer evening where the light was most dilated.
maison mobilization had the crew welded like barbecue metal, and it was on. a rare occasion; R, Leek, me, and of course—GRAVE—pulled up to the fine institute heralded for its pantheon of performance and cultural endeavor and everyone I had ever known in New York City was there, and wasn’t. the night rendered lurched like a fever dream, no one even knew whether or not Dean was going to perform. people swayed about the synagogue hall like shell shocked soldiers on the shores of Normandy; part intoxication, part inspirited by anticipation. open bar—you know how that goes.
-cont. in comments-
this is my favorite shot from year ‘25 c/o @club_sensacional block party at @thegroundnyc
thanks Vampiro @_gogito
Rafa’
some Summer night where the peel on beautiful peoples ripened with a soft Litha-kissed shimmer.
//:
2025
Guarda le Storie di Instagram in Segreto
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