Stray House: Issue 1

I founded StrayHouse intending to nurture community and connect with individuals, particularly fellow artists. A bit after graduating from college in 2023, I realized that I would no longer be surrounded by the supportive community I had been a part of throughout my early adult life. This magazine serves as a heartfelt message to my community and friends, expressing how much I miss our connection. When seeking submissions, I reached out to friends because I am eager to not only showcase their work but also to engage with it. The theme of our debut issue is centered around community and identity, as my sense of self is deeply intertwined with the people I love and care for.

Thank you

To my friends and family for their unwavering support, To my girlies who graduated from the school of Index Magazine <3, To the talented contributors who have entrusted me with their work, And to artists worldwide who do not have the freedom to fully express the

This is is

1 Space Girl

Photo: Reiiyun

Edit: Reiiyun

Makeup: Reiiyun

Creative: Reiiyun & Samaya

Model: Samaya

Hair: Samaya

21 The Perfect Escape

Photo: Jonathan Tran

Edit: Jonathan Tran

Creative: Jonathan Tran

Co-Creative: Samaya Model: Samaya 23 Tina’s Ins N Outs

Photo: Taylor Noll

Look: Tina Hand

Layout: Tayla

Photo & Edit: Irka Perez

Creative: Tayla

Assist: Meera, Hannah, Cece Whitlock

Article: Lindsay Debrosse

Interview: Tayla

Purses x Portraits

Photo & Creative: Tayla Edit: Jolie Models: Charlotte, Dolce, Lori, Sherry

Creative: Tayla

Photo: Olivia Neil Model: Jada Osgood

Mother: An Erasure Poem by Anonymous

Mama’s Vase by Jaeden Khalid

Charlotte Drummond

Inc0gnig

Broadside

Rejeila Sami Firmin Garcia

Routes of the palm By Rejeila Sami Firmin Garcia

Photo: Irka Perez Layout: Tayla

Physical by Jaeden Khalid

Space Girl Space Girl Space Girl

Mother: An Erasure Poem

B Y A N O N Y M O U S

T O P C O M I N G - O F - A G E B O O K S T H A T F E E L L I K E S P R I N G ! S T T I !

1.IA SNAKE FALLS TO EARTH BY DARCIE LITTLE BADGER

TOPICS: INDIGENOUS-BASED MAGICAL REALISM, MYTHOLOGY-INSPIRED, QUEER ROMANCE, FAMILIAL/SIBLING RELATIONSHIPS

LOGLINE: NINA LIVES IN OUR WORLD, AND OLI LIVES IN AN ALTERNATE LAND OF SPIRITS AND MONSTERS. WHEN A CATASTROPHIC EVENT BRINGS THEM AND THEIR TWO WORLDS TOGETHER, NINA MUST HELP OLI’S BEST FRIEND, EVEN IF THEIR WORLDS DON’T WANT THEM NEAR ONE ANOTHER.

2. SEA CHANGE BY GINA CHUNG

TOPICS: ANIMAL-BASED MAGICAL REALISM AND FANTASY, GRIEF, IMMIGRANT STORY, SCIENCE FICTION

LOGLINE: RO, AN ISOLATED WOMAN IN HER THIRTIES WITH AN ESTRANGED MOTHER AND ASTRONAUT BOYFRIEND, FORMS A DEEP CONNECTION WITH THE GIANT MUTANT OCTOPUS THAT HER DECEASED FATHER STUDIED BEFORE HIS DEATH. WHEN DOLORES THE OCTOPUS GETS SOLD TO A PRIVATE AQUARIUM, HER WHOLE WORLD STARTS TO UNRAVEL.

3. WITCH OF WILD THINGS BY RACHEL VASQUEZ GILLIAND

TOPICS: NATURE/GARDEN-BASED MAGICAL REALISM, GRIEF, FAMILIAL/SISTER RELATIONSHIPS, ELDEST DAUGHTER PROTAGONIST, ROMANCE MEETS PARANORMAL

LOGLINE: BORN INTO A FAMILY CURSED WITH MAGICAL ABILITIES, SAGE FLORES USES HER CONNECTION WITH NATURE TO TAKE A JOB IN HER HOMETOWN FINDING RARE PLANTS. BUT WHEN HER DEAD YOUNGER SISTER APPEARS ONLY TO HER AS A GHOST, SHE IS FORCED TO FACE RECONCILIATION OF HER CRUMBLING RELATIONSHIPS WITH HER MOTHER AND OTHER SISTER AFTER BEING AWAY FOR EIGHT YEARS.

4. SOMETHING CLOSE TO MAGIC BY EMMA MILLS

TOPICS: FAIRY TALE FANTASY, HEROINE’S JOURNEY, CLASS SYSTEMS, COZY MYSTERY

LOGLINE: A BAKER’S APPRENTICE NAMED AURELIE IS TOLD SHE POSSESSES AN ANCIENT MAGICAL ABILITY BY A BOUNTY HUNTER AND THAT SHE MUST HELP RESCUE THE PRINCE ON AN UNCHARTED QUEST. SHE IS UNCERTAIN ABOUT THIS NEW OPENING IN HER LIFE, NOT KNOWING WHETHER TO GO INTO THE UNKNOWN OR MAINTAIN STABILITY AT THE BAKERY HER WHOLE LIFE.

5. THE ASTONISHING COLOR OF AFTER BY EMILY X. R. PAN

TOPICS: GRIEF OVER SUICIDE, ANIMAL-BASED MAGICAL REALISM, RECONNECTING WITH FAMILY AND CULTURE, ART

LOGLINE: AFTER HER MOTHER KILLS HERSELF, LEIGH CHEN SANDERS VISITS HER GRANDPARENTS IN TAIWAN TO MEET THEM FOR THE FIRST TIME. SHE BELIEVES THAT HER MOTHER TURNED INTO A RED CRANE AND IS LOOKING FOR HER, AND SHE HOPES TO LEARN MORE AND CONNECT WITH HER UNKNOWN FAMILY IN ORDER TO FIND HER

6. WILD BEAUTY BY ANNA-MARIE MCLEMORE

TOPICS: NATURE/GARDEN-BASED MAGICAL REALISM, FAMILIAL/SISTER RELATIONSHIPS, GENDER IDENTITY AND SEXUALITY, INTERGENERATIONAL TRAUMA

LOGLINE: DESCENDING FROM A FAMILY OF WOMEN WHO CAN GROW FLOWERS OUT OF THEIR HANDS, ESTRELLA’S STARFLOWERS ARE GROWING ON HER CEILING IN HER SLEEP. WHEN SHE PULLS A BOY OUT OF HER FAMILY’S SUNKEN GARDEN, ESTRELLA AND HER SISTERS BELIEVE HE WAS ONCE THE LOVE OF ONE OF THEIR ANCESTORS WHO HAD BEEN BROUGHT BACK TO LIFE.

7. FAMILY LORE BY ELIZABETH ACEVEDO

TOPICS: ABILITY-BASED MAGICAL REALISM, FAMILY DRAMA, AND MYSTERY, ROMANCE, INFIDELITY, INFERTILITY

LOGLINE: FLOR HAS THE SECRET ABILITY TO PREDICT THE DAY WHEN SOMEONE WILL DIE. WHEN SHE INVITES HER WHOLE FAMILY TO A LIVING WAKE TO BRING THEM ALL TOGETHER TO CELEBRATE HER LIFE, THEY WONDER IF SHE HAS SEEN HER OWN DEATH OR THE DEATH OF A MEMBER OF THEIR FAMILY.

WEATHER TO WAIT…

BY INC0GNIG

WHEN THE WIND MOVES YOU YOU GO

OR GROW WEARY WAITING AS YOUR NECK TIRES OF PROTEST WHEN OVERHEAD STREAMERS SOAK YOU IN WARM WEBS YOU SURRENDER YOUR WORRIES AND LET THEM DOWN THE DRAIN I WISH TO DO THE SAME FOR THE STORM THE KIND THAT SOMETIMES COMES WITH ANGUISH AND ENVY AND ANGST TO FLOAT WITH THE DENSE CLOUDS THAT CRY PAIN, THAT FORCE CHANGE MAY I SURRENDER TO THEM ALL THE SAME

WHEN THE HANDS OF TIME ACT WITHOUT THOUGHT

YOU KNOW NOT TO FIGHT BACK PANIC

ATTACK

ALL KEEP YOU STILL STUCK IN ONE GLOBE OF THE HOUR GLASS WANTING TO DISINTEGRATE WAIT! WAIT! WAIT! FOR THE HEATED ROCKS TO COOL DOWN TILL THE LAST DROPLET HITS THE GROUND

YOU WILL FIND REFUGE RUBBED BY THE ONCE RESTRICTED RIPPLES OF BOUNDLESS BLUE SEA WE CAN MAKE IT TO THE OTHER SIDE NOT UNINJURED BUT ALIVE

Routes of the Palm

I am Haitian and Cape Verdean and American and I feel all and none. I was a seed in my mother ’s womb when she breathed Haiti’s air and shared the oxygen with me. She ate food that grew from the land and nourished me with it. I spent my first birthday in Cape Verde. In public, I recognize the languages as soon as I hear the first word in a distant conversation. I know the sharp acoustics of a Haitian exchange: drizzled with d’s that sound more like American z’s, r ’s that sound like American w’s, and a clench from the French in the back of the throat. I know the melodies of Kriolu: amplified voices dancing from one word into the next, singing and punctuating the end of a remark with laughter.

My American citizenship wouldn’t be possible without years of movement. My mom was born in Lisbon, Portugal before moving to Cape Verde and finally to the US at the age of 9. My dad was born in the countryside of Haiti and arrived in the States as a preteen. They met in Boston: the city their families settled into to begin their new life.1 Somewhere in the 9 months before my arrival, my parents traveled to Haiti. After welcoming me into the world in suburban Massachusetts, my family made a sudden move to South Florida when I was only 6 months old. They raised me in and around Broward County for 8 summers. I celebrated my 8th birthday just days after returning to Dorchester, Massachusetts—just a ten minute drive from where they met for the first time. I wonder if that’s why I get motion sickness.2

My parents always told me that it wasn’t intentional, meaning they didn’t sit down and decide that my brother and I wouldn’t learn their creoles from them.3 They try to convince me not of their good intentions, but rather defend against the presence of bad ones. But I agree. It

1 I’m always told that they met when a mutual friend needed my mom to take the phone for a moment and my dad was on the other end After that they went on a date and the rest seems to be history

2 I don’t even have to call shotgun anymore It’s understood that I will sit in the passenger seat of anyone who drives me around to avoid nausea

3 Some parents do this because they fall into the trap of believing it makes their child learn with less difficulty

not of their good intentions, but rather defend against the presence of bad ones. But I agree. It wasn’t very intentional and there was almost no thought put into it. They didn’t consider that my brother and I might want to talk to our family members and understand their stories, commands, and compliments. They probably didn’t think about the fact that I might want to know what Uncle Daniel said that got everybody at the cookout hollering. They don’t know that feeling I sit with when I get the courage to ask for a translation and I’m met with: It was funnier in Kreyòl. It won’t matter now that I’m older and I’m teaching myself—n’sta prendi Kriolu e mwen aprann Kreyòl.

I often think about what my parents’s islands share: drums, rich—largely undocumented histories, a strange proximity to hispanohablantes here in the U.S., and palm trees. Considering Kabu Verdi is a cluster of small islands off the coast of West Africa and Ayiti shares land with La República Dominicana in the Caribbean—it’s strange to see a bridge between the two. To maybe even be that bridge.4 The distance is slightly above 5,100 kilometers which is greater than the plane flight from Boston to Los Angeles. If my parents hadn’t come to the states, specifically to Boston, I don’t see how I could exist.

My siblings, cousins, and I make up the first generation of Americans in our families. I am still actively figuring out what it means for me. For a while, it meant learning about the Boston Tea Party fallacy, what everyone else ate for Thanksgiving (surely not bacalhau, diri djon djon, kabrit, or rice and tuna), and standing up every morning to pledge allegiance to the flag. It meant learning about America and a small percentage of Americans and what white people value. My American education (or Americanization) nearly destroyed my understanding of the world and the many other beings I share it with.

4 My name is also a combination of my parents’ names: Reggie and Leila named me Rejeila

I had to teach myself about the Haitian Revolution even though it inspired Black people in America to mobilize. I had to tell others that Cape Verde existed and search up an answer as to why it doesn’t show up on the map sometimes. Google can’t translate Kriolu. Google doesn’t know what my family knows. AI can’t access oral histories and conversations on plastic-covered sofas. Some forms of resistance come naturally

I think—to some extent—I couldn’t help resisting assimilation. Why would I choose an unseasoned cheeseburger over my vovo’s cooking? Why would I be comfortable speaking only English when my grandpa doesn’t feel safe going to the doctor ’s office without a translator?

Why would I stand for the flag after hearing my parents’s anecdotes about their loved ones getting deported and denied access here? Why would I straighten my hair when my curls are an even harmony of my parents’ hair textures? I refuse to unlearn my most foundational truths.

But I also—to the same extent—can’t help being American. I can’t deny my nationality. I was born in Attleboro, Massachusetts. I’ve watched it snow and melt away almost 14 times now. I learned about FDR’s New Deal and looked forward to the fireworks on the 4th of July. I sang the National Anthem at a Hockey game in the town of Milton. I openly crush on people who aren’t men and it doesn’t cost me my job or my life.5 I speak English and chose to study writing in higher education. My parents didn’t finish college and I’m in the process of writing my senior thesis. I don’t know what it’s like to travel to a country where nobody can speak my language. I don’t know what it’s like to do homework under candle light. Or to have warm water at the Beach and cold water from the shower. Unlike my parents, I’ve never had to heat water from the stove to shower with warmth. Machines wash my clothes for me. Playing in nature was a choice

5 I recently attended a “Queer Haitian Meet-Up” organized by local boston artist Mythsooka where I met a Haitian stud who moved to DR to find work No one would hire her in Haiti

when I was younger. I don’t have scars on my body that mark my entry into this country. I am American. My family reminds me of this because they know what I have never had to know.

Childhood doesn’t exist elsewhere the way it does here. My parents were beaten at school by their teachers and then beaten again at home for getting beaten at school. There are many facets of my family’s upbringing that I cannot stomach. But there are also wild miracles they’ve experienced that challenge my imagination. On the Cape Verdean island of Fogu, my mom has climbed the large volcano there: Pico do Fogo. She believes she’s met a witch who gave her a terrible disease where she grew bubbles on her scalp that hurt to the touch and caused her to lose her hair. My father survived the 2010 7.0 magnitude earthquake in Haiti because my uncle Greg insisted on hiking the mountains in Meyotte. They’ve formed deep connections with cattle and seen wide stretches of green. They know a marketplace similar to Boston’s Haymarket if it sold all kinds of things and was accompanied by drummers under an unrelenting sun. They’ve listened to tropical birds sing their songs and roosters announce the sun’s arrival in the morning. They know nature in a way I can only hope to know it someday. I long for their sensorial knowledge as though it’s a family heirloom, a birthright, a calling.

My parents moved to Fort Lauderdale shortly after I was born. We went from one Haitian hub to another Miami is so Haitian that there’s a specific word for Haitians there: Zoe. Google will say that Zoes are a gang in Miami founded around 1990 by Haitian immigrants. I am saying that Zoe is a term of endearment and identification. It means bone in Kreyòl and is meant to remind us that we are tough and hard to break. My French last name, Firmin, does this also. It means steadfast in your faith and reinforces my truth that I will continue far beyond my ancestors’ dreams, far beyond my colonizer ’s nightmares.

Growing up around Miami meant that I got to see my dad’s side of the family, eat Haitian food, and feel the obnoxious bass of konpa in my 6-year old bones. South Florida is like little Haiti with a twist. The thick green swamp and swarm of various Caribbean subcultures provided me with the tools to make bridges and routes to common understanding. Who could say no to plantain and parallel lines of palm trees? Miami beach is home to various genres of music and prone to smelling like something seasoned. Nobody walks very far without seeing fresh fruit for cheap and waists that whine like the waves that are merely footprints away. No matter how crazy Florida gets, that place will always feel like home.

From Haiti, to Cape Verde, to Miami, and Los Angeles—where I hope to move post graduation—palm trees are persistent. I come from a bloodline of them. They reached high in the sky and spread their calloused fingers wide so I could sprout from the soft of their flesh. They have granted me the greatest tenderness I know; I am leaving footprints further than their imagination can flow.

It’s hard to hold these memories and moments with me (some of them borrowed) as I navigate the world. These contradictions are what melt away at the “cold hard truth.” There is nothing solid about truth. When I’m with my family, I am American. When I’m at school, I am constantly reminded of how much I am not. When I’m with myself, I am. The truth is in the elements. In my earliest moments, I was nourished by Haitian crops and cattle. On August 12, 2003, I celebrated a year of life on Cape Verdean soil. I am as solid as the Mid-Atlantic Ocean between the Tropic of Cancer and the Equator that separates my parents’s countries from one another. I am as fixed as the air that passes through the leaves of the palm trees there. I am as Bostonian as the Neponset River. I am as Floridian as a murky swamp. I am as American as a child of two immigrants.

There is no geographical place where I can point to and “belong.” But because I fit in nowhere, I have no choice but to belong wherever I am—that is if I’m meant to live and not just survive. I’m done code switching and negotiating between my routes. I will present myself as a whole person who calls the smell of stinky feet shouleh and musty clothing mufado When I’m done making a point I will say epi dassit or period, depending on how I feel, not who I’m with.

When I get fed up with white people I will call them moun blanc. When my family says good morning, I will respond with bom dia even if my accent doesn’t echo theirs. I will work to posit myself whole.

Home is wherever I am. Language is the Kringlish I speak. Truth is however I feel. And so like the water, my currents will continue to flow, clash, stream unparalleled, dance around one another, weather me down, and sink into the shore.

Tiana by Irka

The Perfect Escape

n Ins t i n a ’ s outs

In

1. Brunettes

2. Tracheal shaves

3. Animal print as a neutral

4. Barbra Streisand's memoir (came out months ago but it's a thousand pages, give me a second damn)

5. Clubs/bars that are so bad it's a vibe

6. Uplifting Amanda Bynes. We're gonna get you that manicurist license mama.

7. Coach bags

8. Sleeping in a full face of makeup

– I wish it weren't, but it is. In a huge way.

9. Journaling on the subway

10. Typing that email, hitting send, and never looking back

1. Laundromats. I think there are no more quarters left in the United States

2. Checkered anything

3. Blondes and SOME redheads

4. Stan twitter: you all need to learn how to enjoy music like a normal person

5. MOLD!!!!! I'm OVER IT!!!!!!!!

6. Fluctuating weather patterns

7. Edibles (for now)

8. Stressing about a security deposit – dent those walls diva! Heart emoji

9. The M train not running ever 10. Roof access via ladder. Where are the doors?

Purses Purses

Portraits Portraits

KENDELL ~ KD SIZZLE

Written by Lindsay Debrosse

Introducing KD Sizzle, a maestro of creativity whose artistic ability knows no bounds, crafting remarkable projects that leave audiences spellbound by his boundless ingenuity. His hit single, “Not With Me” has propelled KD to stand amongst some of the best up-and-coming artists. “My Friend Cupid,” a captivating short film to accompany his song landed as the second-place winner of the BlackBox Film Festival. The video weaves together heartwarming narratives and cinematic finesse is unmatched.

Only starting in 2020, KD has left an indelible mark with his music. His widely celebrated “Not With Me” music video, is a visual masterpiece that garnered widespread acclaim. Kendel effortlessly combines the spectrum of human emtions. His unwavering dedication to infusing joy into every project he undertakes sets Kendel apart.

Pulling inspiration from Khalid, Benny Blanco, and rappers like Cordae, he hopes to collaborate with genre-pushing groups like GROUPTHERAPY. Songs like Familiarity by Teezo Touchdown have been on a loop for KD. Teezo Touchdown defies the expectations of the common rapper. His alternative/indie talent flows nicely over his infectious beats effectively creating his own lane.

KD was inspired to do the same – make his own lane. For KD, art isn’t just a medium of expression, but it’s about the celebration of life. Much of his songs are created in the spur of the moment, which is a reflection of his belief that life is meant to be spontaneous.

His authenticity is his superpower. KD effortlessly bridges the connection between his heart and his mind creating a sonic landscape that transcends boundaries. Whether through film or music, his passion for storytelling shines through, leaving audiences inspired and uplifted. In a world where happiness can sometimes feel elusive, Kendel’s work serves as a beacon of light – and hope. KD Sizzle is all set to turn up the heat this summer.

Photographed

by Irka Perez

ALDEN ~ of DANA & ALDEN

Written by Lindsay Debrosse

Alden and Dana are the new frontier in what they call – acid jazz. Their avant-garde jazz is shaped by the influences of Taylor Swift and UK Rap. They boldly

reimagine a classic genre paying homage to Bob Dylan’s eclectic vocals, and the innovation of Talking Heads. The groundbreaking experimentation is front in center of their debut album, “Quiet Music For Young People.”

Their new single, “Dragonfly” is a testament to their commitment to be the new voices of our generation. Dark, beautiful, and existential are their summoning words. Amid turmoil on our land and overseas, they remind us to hold those we love closest as we bear unprecedented times.

How the songs are shaped is quite unconventional. The words on the page are merely a blueprint, never the final product. Alden and Dana freestyle the written words to create something much different than the first. The songs never sound the same, the magic lives in every difference. Their smash hit, “Let’s Go to Trader Joe’s” infused with playful rhythms and witty lyrics celebrates the spontaneity of life’s simple pleasure, inviting listeners on a journey through the aisles of a grocery store.

Their creative process mirrors the spontaneity of their performances, spanning from impromptu voice memos from the landscapes of Oregon to moments of inspiration in the shower. Their authentic approach to music echos the essence of jazz – ever-evolving magic.

Photographed and Designed by Irka Perez

SERGE ~ SERGE ALEX

Written by Lindsay Debrosse

Meet Serge Alex, a 24-year-old visionary hailing from Boston, Massachusetts. From a young age, he was captured by the siren call of music. It was in his formative years that Serge began to craft melodies that would soon capture audiences in the small music community in Boston and beyond.

Drawing inspiration from the renowned like SZA and Omar Apollo, Serge emulates their song-writing abilities, taking his real-life experiences to create songs universal to all. Serge cultivated a signature style that defies convention. Living at the intersection of soul-stirring melodies and boundary-pushing experimentation. His music transcends genre boundaries, weaving elements of Alternative R&B into sonic innovation.

Singles like, “RENT FREE” dance with playful rhythms, a melody that is both catchy and inviting. It marks a fresh beginning for him as an artist.

Fueled by his insatiable need for creative exploration, every new song and new beat, he charts new territory and invites listeners to join him through the daring odyssey of his newfound sound.

In Serge’s world, music is more than mere notes on a page—it’s a visceral experience, a journey into the depths of the human soul. Through his artistry, he invites us to explore the intricacies of emotion and embrace the transformative power of melody.

As he continues to carve his path through the musical landscape, Serge remains a beacon of innovation and creativity, inspiring all who encounter his work to embrace the boundlesspossibilities of the artistic journey.

Notes on Love

In my Space