ISSUENO.2
G.A.G. RAG
WELCOME TO G.A.G. RAG,
the independent RAG for GAY ASIAN GALS, dedicated to amplifying the voices of queer Asian/American artists. In an artistic landscape dominated by mainstream narratives, WE EXIST TO GIVE WAY TO DIVERSITY AND INCLUSIVITY. OUR MISSION is to showcase the array of talents within our community and TO CHALLENGE the prevailing narratives that permeate popular media.
IN THE HEART OF G.A.G.
RAG, we firmly believe in the TRANSFORMATIVE POWER of art. WE SEE ART AS A TOOL OF REVOLUTION, a medium through which we can effect real, tangible change and push against the confining boundaries of societal norms and expectations. The artists within our community are as diverse as their creations, each possessing unique perspectives and experiences that shape their work.
We are not only about showcasing diversity but also about celebrating it. We are COMMITTED to highlighting these diverse narratives to show the world that THERE IS NO ONE-SIZE-FITS-ALL stor y for our community. WE REFUSE TO BE PIGEONHOLED. Each artist, each voice, brings something unique to the table, expanding our understanding and challenging our preconceived notions.
Despite the progress we have made, we understand that there are voices within our community that are often OVERLOOKED OR MARGINALIZED. We see this, we acknowledge it, and IT FUELS OUR MISSION. G.A.G. RAG is our response to this INJUSTICE–our way of giving these voices a megaphone, allowing them TO BE HEARD LOUD AND CLEAR.
We are not just here to DISRUPT THE STATUS QUO but to CHALLENGE AND CHANGE IT. WE ARE HERE TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE, spark conversations, and INSPIRE CHANGE. Through G.A.G. RAG, we hope to create a space where QUEER ASIAN/AMERICAN artists can express themselves freely, a space where their voices are not only heard but celebrated.
WE HOPE THAT
YOU WILL JOIN US ON THIS
JOURNEY, a journey towards a more inclusive and diverse artistic landscape. Together, we can create a world where every voice matters and where every story is heard. WELCOME
WHITE BOYS
Have the bluest
The greenest eyes And when they’re brown all they’ve got to do is make that goofy smile
Or sultry smirk call me Yoko Ono because that’s how little they’ve got to do
Sometimes they’ll say dumb things
Like how you grandparents’ food doesn’t smell “that bad”
Or that he’s always wanted to be with an Asian
And maybe one time he called you his private panda during sex, but that’s a memory you’ve pushed deep, deep down until it was out of sight and mind.
Or that it’s funny that you’re not that good at math
Like, whatever, he’s cute, right?
He can rock a pair of boat shoes and cuffed shorts in summer
Or a hoodie a la Zuckerberg in fall
Or an oversized and cuddle-worthy crew neck sweater in winter
Or an impeccably fitted long-sleeved Henley with the sleeves pushed up in spring.
Their cringy jokes will make you laugh harder than you’ve ever laughed
And at the same time, they’ll cuddle with you on the couch and you’ll rest your head on their chests and watch Happy Gilmore and you’ll force a laugh out along with them.
White boys will let you drive their truck
And comment on how good at merging lanes you are
And smoke their weed
And drink their white claw And they’ll give you the aux because they’re confident that your anxiety will force you to put on The Smiths or Drake.
They’ll show their sensitive side
And let you vent about work
And then they’ll share their trauma with you
Only after your share yours with them
And they’ll punch the wall after talking to their mom on the phone
Get into a fist fight with their dad
And then immediately remind you how hard your parents work
They’ll call couch surfing deconstruction of capitalism
And refer to George Saunders as canon
They’ll remind you Bernie Sanders would have won
And that Kamala Harris was a prosecutor
But only when you talk about how good representation feels
You’ll have long deep talks about the grind and reaching your goals
And ethical coffee sourcing
ZACH ANDERSON
ETERNAL SUMMER
DIRECTED BY LESTE CHEN (2006)
DIRECTEDBY LEESONHEE-IL
BLUE GATE
CROSSING
DIRECTED BY CHIH-YEN YEE
99 ranch
Between produce rows of bokchoy, Gailan, persimmons, and Korean pears, I am searching for something particular.
Down refrigerated aisles of canned Vietnamese coffee, Taro bao, rice noodles, and tofu, I am on a specific mission.
I am not there for the strawberr y P ocky or the Shin Ramyun, Though they do fill my grocer y cart.
I am no t there f or the Calpico or the J apanese curry, Though they are stocked in m y pan try at home.
I am there to see the grocer y clerk w ho speaks Chinese to me
Even though I only understand “ni hao.”
I am there to sit in the cafeteria And watch the f amilies pick up their preordered barbecue duck.
I am there to bro wse the one-dollar dishware That filled my grandmother’ s cabinets.
I am there to hold the colander
And remember her hands ov er mine
Gen tly shaking washed vegetables
Before breaking them in to the pan w ith a sizzle.
I am there to collect evidence
That the part of me that is Chinese
Was not consumed b y the part of me tha t is American.
I am there to smell the salty
air-conditioned fish market
Where I would often wait
For my grandmother to haggle with the butcher.
I am there to collect memories
Of her tender eyes
As she scanned the shelves for the cheapest oyster sauce.
I am there to stand in the medicinal aisle
And smell the tiger balm tha t she k ept on her bedside
And ritually applied to her aching joints.
I am there to hold her closer
And remember sitting in her cross-legged lap, Leaning against her chest, And watching Cartoon Network
On top of the plastic woven stra w m at That covered our burgund y red carpet.
I
am
there to chase fleeting memories
Of our bro wn-stained kitchen walls
That collected the steam
From her spiced cooking.
I want to remember her as she was.
A powerful and resilient woman
Who poured half of her supper in to m y bowl
When fifteen of us sa t around a table mean t for four.
She would say I was too skinny.
But so was she.
The sunspots on her skin that stretched over her bones
Reflected a life that I tried to imagine.
Wandering into port and buying a basket of beans
To sell at the street market.
I scan the shelves for the cheapest oyster sauce, Haggle with the fish market, And stain my kitchen walls.
