On the Hierarchy of Clouds is a space for exploring the structures — seen and unseen — that shape our lives. It’s about systems, governance, and the slow work of change. About how we build, break, and reimagine the institutions around us.
On the Hierarchy of Clouds is a space for exploring the structures — seen and unseen — that shape our lives. It’s about systems, governance, and the slow work of change. About how we build, break, and reimagine the institutions around us.
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On The Hierarchy Of CloudsOn Cities That Steer Themselves
Tracing the lines of grief, care and collective power through Mexico City’s cycling transformation
On The Hierarchy Of CloudsBefore we plant anything
A few questions to see if trust is already here
On The Hierarchy Of CloudsLife Notes 2: Losing, choosing, and moving anyway
And somewhere along the way, I stepped off the expected path (though I don’t even know if I was following it)
On The Hierarchy Of CloudsOn Cities That Steer Themselves
Tracing the lines of grief, care and collective power through Mexico City’s cycling transformation
On The Hierarchy Of CloudsBefore we plant anything
A few questions to see if trust is already here
On The Hierarchy Of CloudsLife Notes 2: Losing, choosing, and moving anyway
And somewhere along the way, I stepped off the expected path (though I don’t even know if I was following it)
Share Dialog
Share Dialog
I keep coming back to bees. (I’ve actually only seen a few in CDMX). But there’s something about the way they move, networked, responsive and never still that feels like a clue. They build in hexagons, pass knowledge through dance and somehow manage to hold complex systems together without central command. A kind of living civic infrastructure.
What if a townhall worked like that? Less stage, more hive. A space shaped by collective rhythm instead of fixed roles. Maybe not a place to perform governance, but to practice it; together, in motion, in tune with the environment it lives in.
Lately, I’ve been playing with these ideas while working on a small zine to engage people around rooftop farming in Mexico City. It started with soil and plants, but keeps drifting upward… toward bees, clouds and shared care for central spots. There’s something there about listening to non-human patterns. Designing cities that regenerate rather than extract.
The hive doesn’t usually wait for permission. It adapts. Maybe our civic spaces should too.
I keep coming back to bees. (I’ve actually only seen a few in CDMX). But there’s something about the way they move, networked, responsive and never still that feels like a clue. They build in hexagons, pass knowledge through dance and somehow manage to hold complex systems together without central command. A kind of living civic infrastructure.
What if a townhall worked like that? Less stage, more hive. A space shaped by collective rhythm instead of fixed roles. Maybe not a place to perform governance, but to practice it; together, in motion, in tune with the environment it lives in.
Lately, I’ve been playing with these ideas while working on a small zine to engage people around rooftop farming in Mexico City. It started with soil and plants, but keeps drifting upward… toward bees, clouds and shared care for central spots. There’s something there about listening to non-human patterns. Designing cities that regenerate rather than extract.
The hive doesn’t usually wait for permission. It adapts. Maybe our civic spaces should too.
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