trans symbol from "TRANSVESTITES: your half sisters and half brothers of the Revolution" by Sylvia Rivera (https://t4tproject.carrd.co/#sylviarivera1972)
beloved, we are so grateful for you.
join us on a journey across time and space, through joy and heartache. the pieces featured here interweave the sacred and profane, the quotidian and exquisite. we invite you to bask in the beauty of our kindred.
after a long and fast year, it’s with much pride we present the t4t project - issue two. all thanks goes to the gorgeous creators who shared their work with us. as always, please celebrate and support them.
with love and appreciation ...
open.spotify.com/track/3jwtAvbYIqd1maiNMzUTks
Donny Hathaway, "You've Got a Friend - Live" (1972)
Two women spend a summer evening together in a field of daisies 100,000 years ago...
instagram.com/reel/CryBQ68Ig9-
Why the Butterflies? - D Dangaran
To be read aloud as playing Why the Butterflies by Prince (Piano & A Microphone 1983) youtu.be/aTELw1ae0Jw
Here I go again
I can see the Fall I floated, danced through life a butterfly, I ate myself.
I lived through the worst pain saying yes to love.
I told myself I wouldn’t fall in love again until I left Hawai’i (home); I already had my summer tryst. My plan was set and you spoiled it.
I know this feeling. It’s like a drug, this falling in love.
Please know it wasn’t my doing.
Please know I tried to be friends. Please know, and never deny, that your feelings on all fronts are real and nudged this along.
Because you feel like the one I’ve been looking for. The universe conspired for us to meet when we did.
So, like metamorphosis, we’re in this ride now, whether we like it or not. May it be easy.
May the pain be temporary and the joy exultant.
May we sing on rooftops and in alleys, may we twirl on tiptoe and skip down sidewalks
May we shout to the heavens (the firmament the sky the ozone), “We are here! We love each other and we are here.”
May they welcome our love at the pearly gates
Because if this is sin, I want to be a sinner, because I never want this feeling to end.
All I know is that this feels good, and life is supposed to feel good. So please, please, let it.
girl with a falcon’s head - March Abuyuan-Llanes
moonful of kiss / &destroyer. // Just look at you, / handsome as cavalry– // &I, / just a falcon-headed girl / cutting beaked / &unkissable.. // so handsome, / Be mine– // your blades, / I'll parry. // just a warborn girl, / a body talonned in transvestite irons–) // How I say / that I'm Empress / when ur as handsome / as empire.. // (here,) // So please, / just kiss me– / it'll make me a woman, / I swear. // running– / make beauty.. / touch u, / swallow ur love / like whole venuses / down my throat.. // But yes, / My handsome– // a man like u.. // Falcon-headed girls don't get / what they want.. // they're weapons, not girls– // spears in dresses / knives who only laugh / like daughters.. // hard, / shining, / cold to the untouch.. // And you, / (what am I–) // Look at you, / a man / so good, / as handsome as cavalry.. // (Love me,) / (my hopeless beak on ur chest) // &I, / just a girl / with a falcon’s head.
Peach Tree - Mordecai
Clouds loomed overhead, their presence betrayed by the warm summer winds. My feet traced an unknown path offroad, the grass still wet with licks of morning dew as I neared the Devil's punchbowl, much to the chagrin of Ron, my sister, who tugged at the back of my shirt.
"What the fuck are you doing?" she hissed too quietly for my mom to hear as she jogged to close the distance between us. "Let's go."
"I can't leave yet," I reported, staring into the trees.
Kawé, my cousin stood beside me, as if being pulled by the same force and tightly grabbed my hand. "I'm scared," she wavered, her hand shaking as she stepped forward past me, easily pulling me along with her.
No words left me as we neared a pair of trees, our hands naturally pulling apart as we pushed our palms against the coarse wood. Out of the corner of my eye, my grandma passed by, her arms behind her back as she walked, leaving my van entirely unmanned, though it never left my field of vision. She stopped just in front of me at another tree and kneeled carefully at the foot of it, pressing her forehead against its bark. The deep breath that settled in her chest seemed to awaken the wind as it swirled around us. Kawé began to sob, her cries bringing down the rain that threatened to fall even as the van neared its current, probably illegal, parking spot. Yet I felt nothing.
My neck relaxed as my eyes turned upward, catching glimpses of the gray sky between the leaves and letting drops of rain fall against my unfazed eyes. A pair of hands gently supported my head as I sank to my knees, my posture almost mimicking my grandma's. The leaves swayed in the winds of her breath as if she conducted their movements herself.
It felt as if someone's eyes were looking into mine, though no one came into view. The presence gently leaned in, kissing the center of my forehead and revealing itself as a pale white glowing that moved to sit inside the tree. "I was born here," the presence seemed to say. "and here I died."
The bark felt rough against my forehead, but the sentiment felt unneeded to me, so I turned, sitting with my back against the tree instead. It felt as if someone was playing with my loose locs, braiding them and pinning them out of my face.
Though my eyes remained closed, my mind drifted to Kawé, whose tears had never stopped, though her crying, like the rain, had softened, and her breathing settled into a deep meditative rhythm. There was a soft tumble as she released herself to the ground, her breath naturally rising as if she'd passed out.
The warmth that beamed through the leaves felt like a spotlight as I came to sit cross-legged under the tree. Still, it seemed I felt nothing. Then. I saw the fire.
The screams that surrounded me felt like a glimpse into hell. My hands flew to my ears so fast I thought I'd slap myself as I pulled at my ears as if to rip them free and mute the piercing sounds by force, but they yielded, my eyes again returning to the leaves as I fell limp against the tree, a peach falling into my hand.
"Thank you for remembering me," she said as I took a bite of the sweet peach.
Like a wild animal, I tore into each bite, ravaging that poor peach until there was nothing left. I'd eaten it, pit and all, then I ate as much of the next one that fell in front of me as I could, but my tears made it impossible to keep going. My feet tingled beneath me, but I had no strength to move, each soft cry draining more and more of any energy I had left.
When I woke up, I was in the back seat of my van with my forehead against the window, mom leading the large van down an empty highway, a "Welcome to Tennessee" sign passing over us. It was just a dream, I thought, settling myself back against the window when I felt a soft, fuzzy shape resting in my hands.
The Crimson Forest - Kiana Marrie Mayo
“The Crimson Forest… Where the Ur-Gods waged the last wars... Now, it’s just a ground where theatrical lowlives come to settle petty debts…” (Excerpt from a story I'm writing, titled “Spectrum”)
This was taken in my family's backyard in October of 2020. The Crimson Forest is a place that I created in a series of stories that I'm writing. I've been working on and off for about 10 years (since 2013, wow time flies), and it was originally supposed to be a pitch for a 13-episode anime idea, however it's grown into an entire universe since then. Everything happens for a reason, and perhaps I needed to mature and heal in order to truly be able to develop this story.
The story takes place in a time before our Universe, particularly the reality that gives birth to our own. Within the story, this location - rather than being a single forest - is actually a planet virtually untouched by technology. However, it gradually became the battlegrounds for the Gods of an age long-lost. The flora was once lush and green, until the land was stained with blood from climactic duels and skirmishes, over millennia. The blood lost - particularly the iron - gradually seeped into the planet's ecosystem, forever changing the hue of the vegetation. Whether the planet is entering its autumn equinox or summer solstice, the vegetation is forever stained red. Avid believers of the Divine, speculate that it is nature's way of reminding visitors and observers that it too, is living, and is traumatized by the actions that others have taken within its boundaries.
Around the time that I took this picture, my life began to change drastically as well; I had been overworked due to working in healthcare during Covid, while trying to balance college courses and navigating my transition. I resumed my storytelling and worldbuilding practices as an outlet. My goal is for this to be large and established enough for marginalized people to tell their truths and stories within.
youtu.be/g4Z-Z5lo0Io
WHAT HAPPENED?
Emotions bubble within me, a smile forms slowly, watching those characters move freely across my phone screen, depicting meaningful connections and lessons, filling me with a euphoric high, lost from time. I used to love watching movies...
What Happened?
youtu.be/X3GkZ1-9i9I
A Scry Spell tracing back to 8 months ago
On April 16, 2023 at 12:30 AM Eastern Time, this was one of those nights where I was oddly inspired; unbeknownst to me while working on this piece, my mother had a situation with her exhusband and it was a long night for her. I saw the Angel number 444 on the clock after my mother explained what happened. Things were calmer then, but I thought it’s not going to be the last I see of her ex-husband.
Life is truly mysterious. I no longer live with my mother and that whole debacle of a family, and I’m no contact with them for good reason. Incredible how I am now to 8 months ago.
For The Love of What? - Love, Builder of Worlds
For the love of what?
Would you give up bad habits and strife
For a chance at a better afterlife
Reject worldly lust and laughter
For a glorious hereafter
Rebel against the rules of man
Obey the one with a higher plan
Deny your mother
Forsake your brother
Would you pick up a sword
Wear armour and go abroad
Sacrifice human life
For mansions in paradise
Pillage and rape
To further your faith
Does chaos and slaughter
Make you worthy at the altar
For the love of what
Love, that is not.
Eschaton: The Herald of Hadte (Excerpt) -
Akuji, craved another hit from Magda’s toke, but thanked his wavering sobriety for allowing him to think through the panic of his impending doom.
The world below was a vortex of verdurous mass and Akuji was amazed by how green and purple and maroon the leaves appeared, even in near perfect darkness. This time of the month, none of the moons were visible, leaving the night to unobstructed dominance. Ateph's eyes were dilated, scared.
Akuji clapped his hands and suddenly fear came to him. He and the elf-child were attached to the falling crate, the netting seizing them like a recluse’s web. Akuji’s skin was cold and sticky from exertion and his body’s attempt to purge the psychoactive substances in his blood.
He needed to get them both loose before they hit the ground, or landed on the massive steel crate dragging them down the gravity well. Akuji didn’t know how long they had to fall, but judging by the ship’s average flying height, it couldn’t be more than a few minutes. He breathed as deep as he could and ignored the wind and sweat stinging his eyes. His hands followed the netting around his torso and reversed the raveling he had used to secure himself to Ateph. Once freed, Akuji began to unbraid Ateph, trying to push time’s relentless passage from his working mind.
The acolyte was held in a tangle of ropes from his hips to his shoulders. Akuji didn’t know if he could unwind it all, to free them from their anchor, and they still had to somehow survive the landing afterwards. While Akuji struggled with a difficult knot, he saw a flash of silver and withdrew on instinct; a small blade, with an intricate hilt shaped like a rose stem, sawing at the ropes. The child had brought a knife.
Akuji pulled the netting taut while Ateph cut. The ground was much closer. Though it didn’t take long to finish sawing through the roping, Akuji couldn’t savor their success. He could clearly see the trees now, woodgrain and moss umber in the night, even some of the soil and undergrowth beneath. Akuji stared as the earth rose and thanked Hadte for such a lovely vision before death. He faced away, held Ateph above him, to cradle the child who screamed futilely into the night.
Where there should have been dim and distant stars texturing the void, instead was a burst of the brightest light.
The inky darkness undulated around it, an ocean alive and grateful to be its throne. Akuji could see the light flowing from a center ring of perfect gold, twinkling much larger than any other point in the vast beyond the sky. The ring grew bigger as Akuji watched it, praised it, and with small arms it reached out to hug him. It grasped his collar, laid hands on the child, and embraced Ateph and Akuji in bright, undying love.
The air crackled around Akuji’s dagger ears and another sudden sobriety washed over him. His face drew back as he blinked and saw the blighted scientist gripping him by the robe. Volde’s left eye glowed a strange and vibrant blue. Lines fired across the surface of her eye like shooting stars, crossing vectors and causing angles all ablaze. The stars in her eye, a meteor shower of miniature lightning, formed nearly coherent runes and symbols that sat and faded neatly in the dwarf’s field of vision. Then, the glowing runes poured out from her, expanded into three dimensions, and the lightning cracked louder, rumbling until thunder drowned out all other sound and Akuji’s mind went silent and dark.
When Akuji opened his eyes again, his feet were on the ground. The scientist, a few feet away, wavered a moment, stumbled, then collapsed to the floor, unmoving. Ateph, sniveling into his hands, sat half up on the jungle floor, one leg bent at the knee, the other disturbingly straight. Akuji’s scalp tingled like sleet. He gazed skyward, and through the gaps in the canopy watched the crate fly through the overstory, to crash somewhere not terribly far away, like a twisted comet come to end life, somewhere.
Akuji dropped to Volde’s side and tucked his fingers under her jaw. Her pulse was fine, but she was... asleep. No time to appraise that. Akuji jumped over to Ateph. Gingerly, he lifted the acolyte’s robe and failed to flinch when the sour odor bit at his nose. Many of his orc-kin soiled themselves in the combat camps after particularly rough adaptation days during his childhood. What was more important than vanity was the distended patch covering the acolyte’s thigh and calf. Luckily, bruising was a low-tier regeneration.
Akuji gently laid Ateph down, shushing his sobs and pleading.
“We aren’t going to remove it—” Akuji teased.
“What!?”
“Just hold still.”
Akuji held his right hand over Ateph’s leg. The child tried to withdraw. Akuji closed his eyes and meditated, to listen past the pounding in his ears, and felt for his every part: from his head and shoulders down to his digits and earlobes. He took in the humid air, and witnessed the energy that propelled his breath reach his every interior surface. He sensed for the still smaller parts, in his fingernails and tibia, sinking through the depths of his irises and fangs. Smaller still, until he could perceive his tiny, wriggling cells, each breathing in turn, the countless duplicates comprising his every fiber, then their constituent parts, stuttering beads of possibility until...
Akuji felt it at last.
Threads of subatomic energy, dancing eternally together, tearing and sharing as spirit, all of the same energy, in different connotations, orientations, vibrations... these strings danced as mythical streaks, his very soul within reach, fantastic aspects of the Everything, the essence of it all—
Akuji felt the dizzying rush of falling, and lost focus. The wondrous sensation withered, stolen by the persistent high of his earlier indulgence, and the source, his divine soul, fell far away from him.
“Carcass,” he cursed hard, then clenched his fist and tried to re-enter total meditation. First, his whole self. Inhale. Then, his larger parts. Exhale. Smaller parts. Breathe. Smallest parts. His essence. Akuji found it again, but the beauty of his soul overwhelmed him and once more he couldn’t draw from it.
“What did she give me...?” he asked.
Akuji assessed Ateph. The elf-child’s eyes were rolling back slowly but his breathing looked fine. Akuji looked skyward, wondering what had happened to the others. He likely wouldn’t be able to find the ship in the dark, unless it was aflame.
Volde’s small frame rose and fell with rest, and she suffered little, physically. Just some muddy robes and shallow scratches. There were no threatening sounds in the immediate vicinity, but Akuji rose anyway and scavenged for the largest branch or root he could find. The trees, shrubs and ferns towered here. Even the grasses and lilies reached Akuji’s knees. Roots like great serpents coiled into and out of the ground in every direction, the heart and veins of the ancient jungle. One such root was old and dry, spearing its tip towards the voided sky. With a few hard kicks, Akuji broke the end of it away from its body and fashioned the dense root into a makeshift club. He sighed, wondering what Juda would think of him wielding it.
Akuji took laps around their perimeter with his weaponized root-club, peering through the brush as well as he could. A few times, he felt his high rolling in, returning, and had to will himself back to reality. No time for floating. Someone had to protect the elf and the dwarf, and he had no idea what lurked in this jungle.
When Akuji was satisfied that they wouldn’t be eaten or mauled in the next few minutes, he carried Volde towards the base of one of the largest trees he’d scoped out nearby. He tucked the old dwarf between the towering roots at its base, roots that wound from the ground to well over his head, so she would be hard to find if a predator didn’t know where to look. For her comfort, the soil there would be cool and soothing. Then he dashed back for Ateph, rushing to minimize any potential attack windows.
Ateph was fast asleep now, vulnerable out in the open. Akuji was thankful to be conscious, if not entirely sober. The child’s leg was busted. If Akuji moved him on that leg, Ateph would surely alert any nearby creature of their whereabouts with his agony. He’d have to be healed first, but Akuji’s high still disallowed him access to the source.
He called upon the ritual of fundamental discipline. Sitting crossed legged before Ateph, Akuji laid his hands one upon another in his lap, hard knuckles to tender palm. He straightened his back, raised one hand slowly, and made the symbol of the suns, a circle of his fingers. He drew his other hand in the opposite direction, brought them together at the top of the orbit, then reversed back into his lap. He breathed in unison with the strokes, forming and unforming the cycle, until his mind calmed.
As he centered himself and tried to connect with the earth beneath him, Akuji felt his high pulling at the edges of his mind. The drugs grew louder than his inner stillness, but he continued to breathe and did not fight it. He found the source again, and let the beauty wash over him. He didn’t try to draw from it, only felt it. If he couldn’t drink, at least he could watch it shimmer.
Crowns & Calvaria (Queer Petrarchan Sonnet) -
I leave through Arum Gate. I joined the concord in the Feudal Feast. I cared for least, The meniscus you wish to recreate; never satiate.
Fluid runs from webbed river; sacred sacrum
With which a tap can be made. A mirror of water spills into a droughted glade; A Chimera's god their only freedom. -
“Come back to us !” We trumpet through tears Wind breaking our cheeks upon the new horizons.
We know the familiar languished fear Of the old truth, of the familiar Titan we arise in. We must look within for the future in store, With essence of the Sun remembered as Dior.
The Lovers - GVGK Tang
in buddhism & chinese folk religion, guan yin is the goddess of mercy. tu’er shen is the god of queer love. here, they are depicted as t4t lovers.
SEAWORTHY - feyxuan nguyen
18+ | SEAWORTHY: worthy of heavensea feyxuan.itch.io/seaworthy
TW: passing suicidal ideation mention, CSA, coerced sex work, history of child pornography
a game about how time passes for the most divine and you find yourself trapped in the same time loops of your own design. a game about breaking from the infinity loop of traumatic deaths, births, histories and knowing, learning, your own worth.
“--I am not innocent. Hmm, I was never innocent. But I am strong. Just picture it. If I was a weak woman, huh I’d be out killing motherfuckers.”
--Lady
Marmalade in Chocolate Babies, directed by Stephen Winter (1996)
January 17th, 2023
Cum celebrate this Sadist with me
They did what we’re told to do Prepped my casket for a familiar death
August 30th, 2022
hey! never thought i’d ever experience any of these feelings with another girl. like you trans, i’m trans. what the fuck. scared and in my own way.
“can’t text this. won’t tell her”.
October 22nd, 2021 at 9:38 AM
“hey baby” with hesitance Breathing unmatched Hips folded inside out The floor all we had left
“open up for me” without pause priming each mischievous regret a plot his second knew without miscalculation
unrhythmic claps and a wailing rooster of a nigga kept laughter nearby, before the third sweat marking the chart between my thighs one sloppy vertical change two accounted fingers three more strokes and four missed calls
an easy, empty math
First Quarantine Archive
5/13: Had a dreamy nightmare
5/14: Started mones
5/15: Had a dream that felt like a nightmare
6/12-20: “I don’t want to be perceived”
7/2: Craved American Deli + Blue Bell Post Listeria Outbreak
7/15: Breast tissue developing or more mind tricks
7/18: Another argument about not wanting to be perceived
7/19: Thought I was crying in the arms of my lover
7/30: Second mirage about being understood
8/10: “Finally, he’s gone.”
Color Block - Kiana Marrie Mayo
The “Color Block” idea was inspired by my love for bold colors with contrasting accents. I took these during one of my first trips to New York, when my family and I spent the day driving and walking around. I used my first personal camera ever, a Canon EOS Rebel T6. Emphasizing the color of each location, I made a poem that describes each of the pictures in succession with each line representing an aspect that the color made me feel.
Bones and Binaries - Vasi Samudra Devi
Through these black-and-white surrealist pieces, I made meaning out of mythology and memory, myself and my name Samudra Devi (the sea goddess) as a timeless force of queerness and power.
I pictured a body feeling timeless in their identity among several extinct, fossil animals that have never met human beings, them interacting peacefully with other fossil organisms.
I created these on the eve of my coming out, to see myself as being timeless and shifting.
Trans Day of Rememberance - D.M. Rice
Trans Day of Rememberance 11/2018
I am a murderer.
Ledgers are the substance Of divinity, we praise what names Have no more use.
Depart, my awkward Living pretense, never Fear the bludgeon. I miss you, already.
Arcs of lightning in mason jars , We horde attention from no other And ourselves defer attachment, let Bodies speak for bodies hollowed sacred.
Kill the instinct , Dose the salt prescription.
Celestia Givens
Alhambra Marcuse
Vertigo Ribbons
Forgive the complicit, who know not What they've done. We hold our breath As the stammer of privilege kneels interest.
Savoir in white gown, black skinned angel
Deformed by what has constituted us
The trickle of cars down I-90, leave Us to this work of mourning Which shall never falter.
, Perhaps arranged in these lips
Who have never known starvation
Disowned parents, reactionary fervor You are better here, remembered but Not actualized to suffer hate, we spread Your wings while others blasphemy, love
Eloi, Eloi, forgive them
In their ignorance as they Have forgiven us for our un -Redeeming knowledge, my My my my my
Lucid with the work Of praise no longer Erupt, with the dead Letters of praise, for -Get those who can No more satisfy but By suffering, to actualize Depression
I miss you, Everyday
In the morning, your Breath still foul with Dreams, hair unkempt
In the root conditioned
We we we we we we we
Being being being being Being
Delta Santeria Pixie Lafluer Astrophil Blu
When the rose falls By night in our first Rejected puberty Clothes and dead Names , Eloi, Eloi
Hers his theirs
Hers his theirs
Hers his theirs
But never ours
Gender Dysphoria - Qiraat Soomro
Easy-Guide to Gender Pronouns - Naomi Simmons-Thorne
creators (1/2)
Babatunde Tribe (they/them) is a multifaceted Creative. Twitter @Mx_Tribe, Instagram @babatundetribe :: Lagos, Nigeria
Calliope Crain (she/they) is a Local Black Geek Girl and Radiant Root-worker. Twitter @EldritchFairy, Instagram @periwinkle_fae :: California
D Dangaran (they/them) is a Black-Filipino trans femme fairy who works as an abolitionist movement lawyer and trans community builder. Twitter @MxDDangaran, Instagram @your.daily.dose.of.vitamin.d
D.M. Rice (they/he) is the managing editor of Sybil Journal, has recently received a PhD in Creative Writing from the University of Essex, and has released their first major collection, Moby Pussy. Twitter @quizlemon, Instagram @diem_rice :: Brighton, England
feyxuan nguyen (he/she/they) is a lifelong C/SA survivor and SWer who writes traumatic/erotic games about temporal mechanics and transgender anal. feyxuan.itch.io
GVGK Tang is a public historian and community organizer with a background in digital humanities and media studies. Facebook/Twitter @gvgktang :: Philadelphia, PA
K Anderson (she/they) is an artist, kinkster and porn archivist creating visual art, music, and critical erotica. Twitter @mxka___, Instagram @mx.ka :: Phoenix, AZ
Love, Builder of Worlds (any/zey/zem/zim) uses all the skills zey have available to zem to create new worlds from the rubbles of the white supremacist end-stage capitalist hellscape we all abide in, with the hopes that love and self-expression will carry zem through. :: Northern Europe
creators (2/2)
March Abuyuan-Llanes is a self-taught poet and militanteng bakla from Quezon City, Philippines. Twitter/Instagram @magmartsa :: Quezon City, Philippines
Micah (he/it)
Mordecai (X mat Pl to) Jackson (he/they) is a world crafter through writing and sound. Twitter/Instagram/TikTok @Xumat_Mdj :: Detroit, MI
Naomi Simmons-Thorne (she/her) is a licensed teacher and training philosopher at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. Twitter @_naomisimmons, Instagram @nao.meeeee :: Columbia, South Carolina
Olákìítán Adéolá (Ó/Kìítán/he) uses their lived experience to mediate transformation & cuntaissance as an m awo, writer and experiential artist. Olákìítán loves the lyric, and makes a lot of things from here. :: NYC
Prehn Moonwhisper (they/them) is an Black, Disabled, agender system who dazzles with vibrancy and thought invoking emotional colors! cjoatbysamwise.com :: Maryland
Qiraat Soomro :: Pakistan
Semaj Saint Garbutt (any/none) is a writer of sorts. Instagram @stop___white :: LA
Thangam Rajinibala (he/him) Instagram @tamarindsodaart :: MA
vagabondgyal (xe/xer) is a health & healing professional, mixed media artist, activist, and poet with a passion for people. Instagram @copaceticchaos :: Potawatomi Land (Kalamazoo, MI)
Vasi Samudra Devi (she/they) is an actress/artist/editor/writer/advocate focusing on the queer lives of human ancestors and evolutionary cousins, as well as making sense of herself through art and poetry. Facebook @devisamud, Twitter @vasisamudradevi, Instagram @_vasi_samudra_devi :: Sri Lanka ū ū
how to submit
the t4t project is a zine by/for/about trans artists & storytellers of color. it is part offering, part love letter for our kindred - grassroots cultural work that weaves together our pasts and our futures - trans of color histories that inform trans of color imaginaries.
we prioritize work from trans women and trans femmes of color. we are BIPOC, disabled, fat, femme, heaux, and poor centered. we seek collaborators of disparate experiences, especially new and emerging trans creators of color. submissions may be previously published and utilize diverse mediums and genres - essays, interviews, memoirs, fiction, poetry, art, media, and more - to explore...
~ memory and meaning-making ~ folklore and mythology
~ trans identity in diaspora ~ self-care and community care ~ intracommunal, intersectional solidarities ~ anything and everything your work is valid and valuable. all submissions will be published. you retain all rights.
we have a rolling deadline, and feature 20 creators per issue.
