FRUITSLICE Issue 2: Platonic Romance & Chosen Bonds

PLATONIC ROMANCE & CHOSEN BONDS

ISSUE 2

SPRING 2024

FRUITSLICE IS A CELEBRATION OF being gay having fun loving your friends

FRUITSLICE IS A QUARTELY PUBLICATION FEATURING EXCLUSIVELY QUEER ARTISTS, WRITERS, & CREATORS

Alissa Tu

Ammy Ontiveros

Angel Hardy

Art by Anna C

Ari Watkins

Audrey Schmidt

Audrey Athena

Aunty

Bianca Alina

Celeste deBardelaben

Charlie Roberts

Charlotte Collins

Claire Lucas

Donna Dante Marie Gary

Edna Teresa

Elliot/Worm

Emma Hochhalter

Evie Dumont

Farah Abouzeid

Haylee Millikan

HJ Farr

Jason Wayne Wong

Jennifer Abod, PhD

Jess Alba

Jill Young

Jillian Thomas

Jocelyn Flores

Jul Wiggins

Kat Owens

Katie (Tom) Walters

Kimberly Frisch

LaTajh Weaver

L.J Blaine

Lisa Badner

Louise Heller

Mari Cárdenas

Marty Rogers

Mary Milliken

Mary Rhodes

Max Bishop

Nic Elisa Hampton

Nik Shier

Nyala Yvonne

Oli Baker

Peja Zepeda

Risha Nicole

Roxanne Gonzalez

Ruby Jean Dudasik

Ruby Zatz

Sara-Cayen Abubo

Sara Childrey

Scout Cosner

Sebastian Ellios

Susanne Salehi

Syd Kleckner

Taylor Humin

Taylor Michael Simmons

Terra Kay

Tobi Brun

Tom Infection

Vesper

Yogita Suryawanshi

Because I love you, and want to eat pho with you forever. You know I have no spice tolerance. Take all of the jalapeños from the garnish plate. They’re all yours. I am all yours.

ode to the catskills and to You words ARI WATKINS

september came like a baby, like a wail of a train as it disappears behind a mountain.

the light hitting the curtains. the rain hitting the roof. us, barefoot and wanting.

the everything of it all, soft and unbearable.

me unclasping your bra for you, slowly, like pulling out stitches.

that fall as polaroids hanging above my bed: blackcurrants on your lips. the bleach-white bones of baby birds.

me, re-piercing my ear with a thumbtack. you, laughing. your hair wet from a bath. i loved you and the soft shirts you slept in, curled around me. pictures never captured the magic, the way the trees shivered with rain and the milkweed danced with the wind

how you taught me the names of every star in the sky, and everything we wanted poured itself right into our open hands.

souls that are Just Mates

WORDS BY PEJA ZEPEDA

They are important to me like ladybugs are to gardens

With wisteria padded wrists, a friendship bracelet that stays in bloom despite the harsh winters, scorching summers, or barren autumns They bring the Earth to me

They see my vulnerable side and question it none I wouldn’t choose to let go

They are the climbing roses on a wonderwall, always peeking over to lure the bees

For they hold the nectar that makes hives boisterous

A lovely flower chain like this cannot wilt if they clasp one end and I the other

We’ll remain as deep rooted as the hearts in our chests

the price we paY for wanting WORDS BY

HAYLEE MILLIKAN

All my friends confuse the platonic. Our ache for each other echoes. All my friends are lonely, roommates with their fears, practicing patience til our fingers callous.

All my friends walk tall, yes. We make more eye contact than necessary. We want to see what is coming.

BILLY AND EMILY DOUBLE EXPOSED, PHOTOGRAPHY

CLAIRE LUCAS

billie at the park, photographY claire lucas

Vesper krueger

Today I cannot help but feel very small and timid and afraid. I am afraid that I am failing at something I can’t even name. I’m afraid that I am made up only of flaws. I am terrified that my love, at its core, can only hurt.

What if I don’t deserve to love and be loved?

But what if I am loved deeply and completely? What if I am seen and remembered for the fact that I am loving? What if I am known for bringing Capri Suns to my friends on the days they’re feeling sad? What if they talk about my sweet long hugs and the way that I am always ready to listen? What if my chosen name is an accurate portrayal of my influence on the world around me? What if I am an evening star in the darkness of their day?

What if I keep on living to find the love that I don’t yet know? whaT if?

What if I am trying my very best, and at my core, I am a kind and loving being, who exudes kindness and gentleness and love?

What if I was born to love and fall in love with my friends?

What if I was born to learn to love myself?

We Are So Different You and I— Four Adventures of Reinette and Mirabelle (1987) by

Éric Rohmer

Sometimes in life we are lucky enough to meet another human person that we instantly connect with. In a non-fucking way. Platonically. Fast friends. That sort of thing. Maybe you run into someone at the farmers market or you get randomly assigned as college roommates or your cute little french bicycle gets a flat tire outside of their overgrown and dilapidated french countryside abode where they sleep in the attic and they help you fix the tire and you have a little sleepover or whatever.

Four Adventures of Reinette and Mirabelle presents the viewer with four vignettes portraying the friendship between the obviously anxious selftaught painter Reinette and the obviously bisexual college student Mirabelle. The beginning of Four Adventures centers around the girls’ initial encounter and Reinette’s insistence on showing Mirabelle something she refers to as ‘the blue hour.’ Except the hour is really a minute and during this minute one can experience true silence for once in their goddamn lives. Seriously, why is everything so loud all the time? That’s not rhetorical. Someone please get back to me. Is there something wrong with me? WebMd says I for sure have brain cancer. Okay I did some box breathing and I feel better now sorry that was crazy.

Anyway, the proceeding adventures include run-ins with an overly suspicious waiter, a shoplifter who is somehow oblivious to the fact she’s being followed by grocery cops, a train station grifter who’s asking everyone for a very specific amount of money, and a number of philosophical disagreements between our two friends. I feel like their friendship is very indicative of French culture at large, just two people living in the same apartment constantly arguing (I know nothing about French culture).

This film is beautiful to look at. The outfits go crazy hard. And you will develop a crush on either Reinette of Mirabelle. And listen sometimes we disagree with our friends and may even get upset with them and that’s perfectly okay and you don’t need to avoid conflict at all costs okay Taylor sometimes conflict is necessary and good and an important part of growth and human development. Anyway see ya later.

I Have Mommy Issues — Petite Maman (2021) by Céline Sciamma

Sometimes as people we cry. It’s okay. That’s natural. Nothing to be ashamed of. Sometimes we cry as we lay down in the shower after a long day of work at our soul-sucking job. And sometimes we sob in one of the tiny theaters in the back of the AMC Burbank 16. You know which ones I’m talking about. Theaters 7 and 8 and 9 all the way in the back. They like specifically reserve them for non-English films or stuff released by Neon or A24 or Annapurna that sort of thing. [Note from the author: I literally looked back into the records of my AMC A-list account and confirmed that I saw this film on Tuesday, May 10th 2022 in theater 9 and yes I did cry multiple times okay that’s normal we talked about this] I shed my tears okay now it’s your turn.

We meet eight year old Nelly shortly after the death of her maternal grandmother. She is quiet. She is polite. She is small. She is a child. She is very obviously a lesbian. Or maybe just French. Why not both. [Note to the editor: in your experience are French women more likely to be gay or do they just look that way for cultural reasons?] Nelly and her mother Marion, and father who is also there but whatever, travel to Marion’s childhood home to clean it out in order to maybe sell it or turn it into an airbnb vacation rental or whatever the French equivalent of that would be. Marion, and also the man, begin their work

on the house as young Nelly explores both the home itself and its surrounding woods. After the first day and understandably overwhelmed by both the death of her mother and the trauma of revisiting her childhood home Marion leaves Nelly all alone. I mean her father is there but isn’t leaving a child alone with their father really just the same as leaving them alone. As Nelly helps to pack up the house in her mother’s absence, she further explores the woods and discovers another young girl who also looks like a tiny lesbian. They quickly become friends and we find that their bond transcends simple adolescent friendship. Listen I don’t know how fluent in French you are but the title ‘Petite Maman’ isn’t exactly hiding what this film is about. If you have some unresolved issues with your mother go ahead and give this bad boy a shot as part of your inner-child work. I did. I cried multiple times. It was very healing. Relationship with my mom still isn’t great. But that’s not this movie’s fault. Heck, if you have a relatively cool mom already maybe just watch it with her and see what happens. Could do wonders for y’all’s dynamic. Who knows. I’m no family therapist. I’m just a dude that loves movies and crying in the shower.

Growing Apart Together — Frances Ha (2012)

by Noah Baumbach and (more importantly) Greta Gerwig

One of the most difficult things to face in our silly little lives on this planet is the realization that we can grow apart from the people we love. Sometimes it just happens. Nobody does anything wrong. There’s no grave sin. Or explosive fight. Or dramatic breakup. Just two human beings being pulled in opposite directions by life. More often than not this invisible force that pulls people apart from one another eventually severs them completely. But sometimes, love perseveres. Sometimes it evolves and survives and lives on in a way that is different but no less valuable. Despite the force being exerted on two people, giving them every reason to just call it quits and remove themselves from each other’s lives, they find a way to continue to love one another in a new way.

Frances Ha follows Greta Gerwig, blessed be her name, in the titular role as Frances, a late twenty-something dancer living and working in New York City with her college best friend Sophie. They are completely entangled in one another. Spending every second they can together. They sleep in the same bed and share the same cigarettes and commit the same misdemeanors*. Everything is wonderful and lovely and will be this way forever. But what’s this? An inciting incident? Oh no!

Sophie is moving to Tribeca with some new bitch. And poor sweet Frances will be left behind in Brooklyn all by her lonesome. Except no she won’t because she’s poor. And what’s the one thing someone needs when they’re poor other than the revival of the guillotine? A roommate. Or maybe two. Or three. And one of them can be Oscar nominated Adam Driver if you want. Frances hops from apartment to apartment as she’s forced to grow up. Navigating her evolving relationships with her estranged best friend and herself.

This film is lovely. I recently watched it at Vidiots (shout out Vidiots specifically and repertoire theaters in general) with a sold out audience and it was spectacular. I’m sure you can find it on [insert capitalist hellscape illusion of choice streaming service here] but I encourage you to wait until it plays at a theater near you. At the very least watch it with others. Preferably others that you love deeply. After this joint you’ll start staring at your friends from across rooms just to see which ones will stare back at you. The real ones will stare back. And it will be weird for everyone else. But that’s their problem.

like folk songs

words KIMBERLY FRISCH

I remember the way you sounded at 3 am when everyone else was asleep, laptop like a lit candle against our legs.

I remember the first time I touched a telescope, your hands aiming it up to a Midwestern sky, and pretending I could see more than the dark.

I remember a brown silk ribbon and chipped tooth meteorite, footsteps in crisp snow and the way your grandmother’s house smelled.

I remember a first love they would call by any other name.

I remember the first time you asked the question, the way I should have answered, and the way that I did.

I remember, years later, reading the name you gave yourself and trying it on my tongue, sounding out a single syllable and wondering how half of my heart could beat and become stranger and be loved all the same.

BILLIE DANCING BNW2, PHOTOGRAPHY

CLAIRE LUCAS

BILLIE DANCING BNW, PHOTOGRAPHY CLAIRE LUCAS

I arrive in a sad cocoon.

My sister drives me to a restaurant to meet other lesbian widows. I listen while picking salad.

I couldn’t go anywhere we used to go. Had to handle everything she did. I had to come out from behind her shadow. The second year is the worst, you really know, she’s never coming back.

In her living room, for comfort, my sister hands me a heated stone, says, maybe it’s too soon for you to be here.

I crunch gravel on the starry walk to a borrowed apartment a few doors away. Clatter keys on the unfamiliar counter, next to the photo I brought from home.

It’s the night of your diagnosis. We’re in a gondola. My mouth a taught zipper. My arms, tight across my chest. Your head a sweet weight on my shoulder.

In a stranger’s bed, I clutch my pillow, pound the lack of indent in the spare.

I wake to pelting rain, branches thrashing the window.

At breakfast, I chew, eating widow’s words -

One day, you will feel her in you. Live, until you find your life.

santa fe ii

Where did I put those keys?

Within seconds, fragile confidence unravels.

Breathe, my sister tells me, calm down, remember you’re logical – but forgetful. You lost them before, you’ll find them again.

A vague memory leads me to my packed suitcase. In the pocket of the jacket I decided not to wear –the borrowed keys.

My sister stands on gravel. We wave tender goodbyes through smudgy van windows.

I settle into the seat moving me forward.

two poems JENNIFER ABOD

saMe pleXiglass different boX words and art SCOUT COSNER

At the petco near where my cousin lived,

Before she slept the big sleep, there was a bird.

I had had two dreams.

One: we were driving and the car split as she said goodbye.

Then I was shaken awake by my mom, “Diane died last night.”

Two: I climbed up to a treehouse and sang, “Two birds on a wire.”

I convinced my husband I needed this bird. Because I had been waiting for a bird to poop on me for good luck. Which happened to me, for the first time, the day we lost our business to a fire, six days before our wedding. I needed this bird because I saw him in a plexiglass box where he was not supposed to be. We never called him Spencer. Larry did not solve all of my problems. He did not hold it against me when I

came back from inpatient. Just missed me a lot. And I was not there very long. Less than a week. Because, of course, I was not welcome.

Not many of us were. Because many of us were, are, queer.

And besides the microaggressions, we were all dehydrated.

I tapped on the plexiglass and politely asked, please, may I have some water.

I got wise and started refilling my cup from my bathroom sink.

But I really wanted the ice-cold water

that was kept behind the plexiglass panopticon.

So did my friends. All of my new friends. They would not let us have that water, so we called the patient advocate number that was posted. There were no rings. No sound.

We were so scared. The nurses were so pissed.

They liked my sketchbook when I was drawing their portraits. Until I used it to take down the patient advocate number to read to my husband, who then called the number from his phone, and asked why his spouse was being denied access to water, why his spouse was not being allowed on the porch for fresh air, why they took away our TV time.

Why all of it happened when we started asking for a pitcher.

The glee that we felt when they put that pitcher out.

The ice, little crunchy balls of freedom, cooling us down.

When we got out, we compared notes. We had been correcting the nurses when they misgendered us.

And it showed, but not in a good way. My nurse used “He” for one half of my notes, and “She” for the other. It hurt to read. There were a lot of hurts that year.

But I have this new friend who also happens to know my bird.

Yes, we had a mutual friend before we met at the mental hospital.

Before my new friend got sick, she volunteered at local Petcos to visit with the birds.

She would play with Larry, getting him some time out of that plexiglass, before he got a forever home. Sure enough, Larry was absolutely thrilled the first time she visited our apartment.

Larry passed away shortly after I wrote this.

He is wrapped in Diane’s silk scarf, with an amethyst vogel wand, in a beautiful wooden box. We will bury him when the ground thaws. He was loved by so many. And he loved them all back.

One day I will join Diane, two birds of a feather, on a wire.

But it’s not up to me when that happens. Is what I learned.

I am here. I am queer. And I am not going anywhere.

June 2, 2023 [ part 1 ]

poMegranate Juice

HJ FARR

i feel sixteen again –late night rehearsals, midnight bonding in quiet shuddering cars, sharing trauma, connecting deeper, walking aimlessly down suburban streets

[pomegranate juice will always remind me of you]

and lightning striking thunder rumbling to be heard through tinkling speakers attached to young ears –maybe it’s the music maybe it’s the memories maybe it’s desperate connection leading to pointless platonic platitudes

[hopefully not tho]

TWIN FLAME, COLLAGE YOGITA SURYAWANSHI

DECLARATION IN CITRUS

(i want to give tiny oranges to all of my friends

THIS IS ANOTHER POEM ABOUT AN ORANGE

it’s a bigger poem, about a smaller orange.

and, well, it’s like thisyou know that poem about the orange the huge orange that the poet shares with two friends at lunch and it is transmuted into metaphor the orange slices alchemized into devotion and connection, in the purest and most platonic sense, yeah yeah you know that orange poemwell, here’s another one.

i always have oranges spilling out of my pockets and out of my bags small, palm-sized onesthey have a tangle of other names clementine nectarine tangerine i just call them tiny oranges and i put them in all my pockets and all of my bags, in the coats from friends’ closets and in the crocheted totes from their hands so that when we’re out together, the sun bright after the long midwestern winter, i can pull one out and say do you want a

tiny orange and its transmuted into have you eaten i want you to be full i want to be comfortable i want you to be safe

i have these tiny bright things, stored away, so when we’re walking by the water, and the city is growling behind us, and we’re talking about everything we want to be, and where we are going, and where we have been, and probably about music too, and about trains and about oceans and about vampires, and i reach into my bag and pull one out, and say would you like a slice and what i mean, really, is let me share a bright something with you i love you and you make me soft in a world that so maliciously wants me to be hard - you make me myself - i did not know what it was like to feel this until i met youand when it hits the wrong side of midnight and we are stumbling through wind tunnel alleyways, the whole messy tangled group of us, many-handed and holding on to eachother and for each other, in the darkness, in this depth, i hold out my peel-scented hands, soft from the citrus, crescents of tangerine under my nails, and open my heart against the city

and the sky and the stars, and i say i have a snackand a chorus, before i can finishit’s a tiny orange, isn’t itand i say, words collapsing into laughter you know me do you want one, though and it is alchemized into you have changed my life you have fundamentally and irrevocably altered the trajectory of how i move through the world i am so glad i met you i am so glad i get to talk to you and walk with you and hold my love for you in my chest and pour it from my hands and keep you safe and i am so glad i get to share tiny oranges with you and i say this out loud, too and the oranges are rolling out, out, out, of my bags and my pockets and my hands, and i will offer them always, always, always and this is another orange poem and what it really means is i love you you make me better

rubY Jean dudasik

orange peel confessional words LOUISE HELLER

it’s easy to adore orange things. I think it’s because they’re always a surprise. I never expect orange, even in broken yolks or penny earrings or in oranges. How quickly I fell in love with Sadie’s striped sweatshirt, Tillamook Medium Cheddar, thigh freckle. Orange faces in the back seat of my van from a Sun so crisply circular it could be the Moon, and in that moment all I could think about how little it would take to swerve off the road, how odd, how terrifying, how precious, these lives in my hands. How much I want them all, all my friends, to live past 80. How happy it makes me to see them happy.

In Pickford Theater room 2, Sadie and I got to the bottom fourth of our popcorn before the movie started. We leaned close together and when I though shit was about to go down on screen I tucked myself behind her shoulder, my forehead buried in the gray of her sweater. I remember our walk home: sun still up, weaving between cars and reconstructing our favorite shot in the air between us, all that deep red orange and the shadows, how huge. Summoning up that film in my mind, or that afteroon with Sadie, all I see is that great big orangeness. I try to scoop up the memory of that weekend and that day and oh my god I want more of it. Even the blue. Blue Party with blue streamers and blue blouses and a blue Facebook invite. Blue clad friends in our living room, more of them than ever before. “Blue Suede Shoes” and “Blue Christmas.” Later, once we realized what had happened, sitting with Sadie in shock and exhaustion, too spent to have a temper. Sweet Kate, who stayed late and made all our phone calls for us. Peeling it all away in warmth and with beer and with a matinee trip to the movies and that night, Captain fantastic projected on our living room wall. Double feature. We sketch each other in the fading light, our bodies curled together on the futon. These things: orange.

the thing about loVing You KATIE (TOM) WALTERS

Is that it’s always, And it doesn’t have a name

It comes from a time when the universe was nameless;

When language was drunk By a vacuum of sky, and

Small wet things Crawled shining from the sea.

Now they pull us Leather-skinned from the bog.

Try to find your latin name, To unearth taxonomy in the curve of my hips. But my Bones cannot be governed.

In fossil record, they Are tangled up with yours.

An anthropologist

Describes this as ritual, (a word for the things that they don’t understand)

But I know you, wordless, From the ghost of a star;

I stretch my limbs and Crack the dust from our skin.

I love you, my glad that you told me My perfect whatever you need

the kind of poeM i would write a close friend words

“I never want to confuse the average reader But none of it is metaphor. Okay, So I’m a turtle, retreating. My shell a home.”

I never want to confuse the average reader

But none of it is metaphor. Okay, So I’m a turtle, retreating. My shell a home.

I’ve been a crab and a hungry duck

And a rabbit. I’ve been the fish and the hook

And the one cleaning guts in the stream.

I’ve done so much internal work

My insides are fused and fine-tuned

As a clock made from bone.

Once I heard a room gasp and I too Looked down over the edge of the window

To see the man who’d jumped.

In Seattle last month I couldn’t help

But track the wreck on the way to the airport

My eyes following chest compressions, And this week there were three dead squirrels

On the drive home from my morning coffee.

All this to say I have always liked the taste of blood. There’s a part of me that wants to ask

To be chased. Taken. Scraped against The roots of undergrowth. I don’t want to run From feeling. I want to be caught and tackled, Bruised. I will tell you, I have looked Devastation fondly in the eyes And wrestled the knife from his grasp. When he couldn’t see for fear, I would sing Until the world came back again. I wish those were metaphors. What would I share with a close friend? I wanted to be done obfuscating. Now I’m not sure I know how to shut

Off a ghost town well that’s been wrenched open. I’m not sure I knew before how To wrench it open myself. I know I was looking For a tool, or a key, or a message.

Instead I’ve found a patch of tall grass to wait Until I can dangle again from your jaws.

DOUBLE DATE, PHOTOGRAPHY/COLLAGE JOCELYN FLORES

PHOTOGRAPHY

I drink mint tea and chew sunflower seeds On the Sunday afternoons we do not frolic. Saturdays are for strawberry scented hugs Amidst seasons of sunshine at pink picnics. We floated on the floods of fatal adoration, Bracing ourselves for a rainfall of devotion.

Even the grey skies blushed for a moment!

My dearest friend and I drink chamomile tea At a café by a glossy privet tree on Fridays. The sun never scalded the way her warmth Ignites a blazing flame in my heart’s core. My comrade’s grace illuminates any heaven One could ever gain the privilege to enter.

Our souls are the identical twins we are notI can hardly wait for them to frolic together.

words EDNA TERESA

MARI CARDENAS

alwaYs plaYing the boY circa 1977 words LISA BADNER

You’d knock on her bedroom door, as if picking her up for a date. She’d let you in. Direct you to kiss her. No tongues, pressing your lips together, her lips were so soft. She was boy crazyyou were her seventh grade practice. Donning the boy clothes your mother didn’t like deepening your voice. She’d strut across the room

and press her lips to yours. You wanted to stand there forever, to lose yourself in her lips, then she’d say, let’s try it again, from that door or put this hat on or say this or that. You’d swagger from the other direction, say something else, then, the kissing. A respite from your shame. She had to know your secret.

UNTITLED, LINOCUT MAX BISHOP

BILLIE SERVING FUTCH AT THE DIVE BAR, PHOTOGRAPHY

CLAIRE LUCAS

Dear Kay,

if I had nine lives, I still wouldn’t be able to write this letter in the way I want to. You mean a lot to me, and I can’t express it fully through words. Even just saying “you mean a lot to me” doesn’t feel right. I feel the way I feel about you through places and memories and thoughts, not words. I do really want to try and tell you through words because I, unfortunately, cannot beam you into my brain and show you a memory collage. This letter will have to do.

As a little 5th grader, I had no idea what was coming when you came up to me that day.

We had talked before, but never really talked. To be honest, I thought you were way out of my league. I felt like I was such a nerd, but I guess that reputation of mine was the reason why you came up to me. You knew I loved to read, so you recommended a book series you loved. And who knew what an impact that would have, in more ways than one! I’m almost 100% sure those books permanently altered my brain chemistry in some way. That one conversation opened the door to years of love and friendship.

Now, it feels like I see you in everything. Thinking about our recess roleplay still makes me smile and laugh. Even though our plots were complete rip-offs from the books, they felt completely original and new to me because of the life we brought into it. Last week, I rediscovered the original SAS squad edit we made. It looks so awful, but I remember how much fun we had deciding on our food code names and playing trashy car games during class. I remember how happy it made me reconnecting with you after a year of online school. During that year, it felt like I was missing a fundamental piece of my heart. And now, over the past few years, I’m really realizing how much we’ve grown up together. I don’t know for sure what my life would look like if we’d never become friends, but I can say with certainty that I would be worse off if we hadn’t.

I’ve become a better person because of you. I feel confident when I’m around you.

I feel safe when I’m around you. I feel loved when I’m around you. You have this “do no harm, but take no shit” energy that I really admire. You really have a way with others, of making them feel comfortable, getting them to open up. You’re someone who can talk about their goals and dreams, and no matter how small or how grand they are, I fully believe that you’ll get it done. You have so many lovely complexities: I feel like you’re someone who you can never quite know all the way, but that not knowing makes someone love you all the more.

I’ve gotten to the point in this letter where writing any more is making me cry.

Not a bad thing, especially since they’re happy tears, but I feel like that means I’ve come to a conclusion. I love you. I’m incredibly lucky to have you in my life. I hope we continue to be in each other’s lives for years to come. You’ve had an indescribable impact on who I was, who I am, and who I want to be. Whether we’re friends for the rest of our lives, or drift apart after we graduate, our friendship will always be one of my fondest memories.

words L.J. BLAINE

he loves me through the act of scissors slicing through newsprint and cartoons. He also knows me well enough to know I’ll never read them.

He says, “I have something for you when I see you tomorrow.” I know better than to think it will be a gift or flowers. Tom is the brother I wish I’d had. He is the first person I came out to and the one that helped me look after my mother in her last few months of life. Through illness, car crashes, careers, girlfriends, grief and endless conversations and snarky jokes over coffee, he has always been my best pal. We are lifelong friends, platonic soulmates and you will never meet a kinder, true gentle man.

What I am about to receive will immediately join the temporary collection behind my driver’s seat. Resting on the floor are choice magazine and newspaper clippings, neatly trimmed and cut to size. That stack rises with articles about the weather where he used to live, entertainment articles about Joni Mitchell, Dionne Warwick, or the obituary of an author or playwright, and perfect squares of naked Love Is… cartoons.

When he hands them to me and says, “I think you’ll find this interesting.” He describes the article enough so I don’t really need to read it.

Frankly, most articles he cuts out for me don’t interest me, but he’s so kind in the offering and imagining that I would want to see what he sees. I graciously thank him as my arm and papers go behind the seat.

After 40 years of friendship, he thinks he knows what interests me. Not often true, mostly I have learned what interests him. On more than a few occasions I’ve asked him to stop the clippings and bits of paper. He took no offense, and he also continues the practice. To stop would go against his nature like a cat I once had that proudly delivered lizards and birds and other objects of prey on my doorstep. Like Tom’s clippings, these are gifts captured— not to consume, but only to be shared as a prize, perhaps as a showing of affection or utility or purpose or true love. I do know, with appreciation, it is all these things.

the pile behind my driver seat grows until the day I wash the car or need the space for extra passengers. He doesn’t mind that I don’t read what he gives me. His act of giving is what he desires most and what he looks forward to in his 80-yearold life. It means something to him to offer. On days he has nothing for me I know something is up and I always ask what it is and I listen.

PHOTOGRAPHY MARÍ CÁRDENAS

You dance unproMpted

in the aisles of the Bryson Tiller room where we previously agreed on the infallibility of the aux. asteroids from egg cartons, space cats as ornaments, felt v. styrofoam- “Blue, are we beefing?” the glee in your eyes, the ideas on your lips take a grand jeténow they clump together, bunching around your head, caught by the static cling of your untamed afro. A cosmos contained.

I trust people who dance unto themselves.

words SEBASTIAN ELLIOS

unapologetic affection with h annah l eigh

words SARA CARPENTER photos SYD MATISSE

unapologetic affection with hannah leigh

"

i'Ve alwaYs been soMeone that kisses MY friends."

Media today would have us believe there is only one queer narrative to tell, often missing the communal part of the queer experience. Friendship – the delicious, validating euphoria of finding your people and lifting them up through shared experience and joy. This too-little-told story of the transformative nature of platonic love is at the center of queerness and, I would argue, an essential piece of what it means to be human.

I sat down with Hannah Leigh, the embodiment of queer artistic joy, to discuss her journey through music, the magic of her community, and the healing power of unapologetically kissing your friends.

Hannah enters the bustling coffee shop wearing a cowboy patterned

button-down and a genuine ‘it girl’ leather jacket as if strolling out of the sun itself. She warmly extends her arms for a hug, and we get comfortable at a bright patio table as if we were old friends.

I begin with perhaps the most dreaded interview opener of all time: “So, tell me a little bit about yourself.” Hannah, an absolute pro, takes a deep breath and, with a wide grin, takes us away with, “Hi! I’m Hannah!”

After growing up on sets as a child actor, Hannah predictably felt called to study film in college. But, her time in university brought something more; she could break out of the mold and find a new love— music.

Starting out in a duo band, she toured around the south, spending time

in Nashville learning to write and perform. This evolved into writing more of her own stuff and performing solo shows in LA. “I was getting my feet wet,” she says, “now I’m about to release a new EP with a band that I adore. I love where I’ve arrived through all the identity crises of artistry.”

Hannah is a powerhouse of creative talents. She still acts professionally, and has found a way to integrate her love of filmmaking with her love of music. She says, “I love shooting

music videos; its my favorite happy medium.”

I cannot wait any longer to ask about my favorite Hannah Leigh music video for her 2022 hit, Benefit. This magical shoot was entirely self-produced by Hannah and her inner circle. She says, “I created the song Benefit with my friend Kyle… we made this weird pop baby that I would never have made without him. I love him for that. It really encapsulated that summer with my friends.” She describes an era of fun with her girlfriends,

crashing in a pool house attached to a Santa Monica mansion. “It was out of a fairytale dream, and the song felt like it could not exist without those girls. It was birthed out of friendship and existed in a time so specific to what it felt to be in girlhood. I knew when I made the music video that it had to feel like that experience.”

While searching for the talent to produce a whole video, Hannah found she could draw from her community. “My very talented DP friend Monica had a Super 8 camera she was dying to use. Shooting on film felt right because it feels so close to home.” Hannah goes on to say, “I knew we needed a dance number. A lot of my friends and I grew up dancing together, so anytime I can utilize our dance background, I absolutely will. We had weekly rehearsals in my living room, my friend Paige choreographed, it was just another element of this story we were telling of our summer of bonding and fun. There was nothing but joy and love in creating that video, and it radiates from the screen.” She brags about her friends who also showed up on set to help – Allison on Crafty, Jenna and Michi as ADs. Even their dogs came to visit!” Hannah beams, “That is how I’d like to continue to make art forever.”

She notes that this artistic community

also made a seamless transition for her coming out. “It is really cool to be held by a community I didn’t even realize was safe for that reason until I came out. It made me realize, Oh, I’ve always been safe, and here is why! I feel unbelievably lucky to have these people already rooted in the core of who I am. Having a community like that creates and engages in the safety to fully realize identity. If I hadn’t had those people in my life, would I have experienced my coming out the way I did, would it have been as soon, and would I have felt safe at all?”

There is no script for queer friendship. We aren’t mirroring the experiences we see on television. It can be vulnerable but also electric because it comes from such a human place. Hannah says, “Before I even knew what queer was, I had these friendships – this love of people. And now I’m here!” We laugh about being “on the other side and better for it.”

With all the topics covered over our short coffee date – platonic love, music, performing – how could I not make a Boygenius comparison? Hannah and I spend the next ten minutes trading tales of our love for the band. My opening question is how I want every conversation to start for the rest of time: “Are you a Dacus, a Bridgers, or a Baker?” We chuckle

over our newfound icebreaker. “I’m a Lucy Dacus. My friend Audrey is Phoebe Bridgers, and Allison is Julien Baker. We have cast the roles and feel connected to them – but I love them all! How could I choose!” This trio of Hannah, Audrey, and Allison went as Boygenius for Halloween last year, and yes, we are all jealous of the photos.

Boygenius is iconic for a lot of things. But what interests us is how they have created this new space for platonic love that is public, unapologetic, and free. This brazen affection feels both personal and incredibly influential for this time in space as people, queer or otherwise.

“I’ve always been someone that kisses my friends,” Hannah says.

“I’ve been teased about it my whole life. Boygenius has given us an example of friends loving each other so unapologetically and, on top of that, queer women kissing each other, loving each other platonically in a way that can be sexy without it feeling weird or wrong or dirty. There is that trope of gay affection as dangerous or dirty or weird. To watch these humans on stage being just friends and in love, it disarms societal standards even amongst queer people.”

We talk about how rare this relationship feels on such a public platform. “We don’t get to see it in any media, any movies. The queer community I’ve experienced is about people coming together to embody love – genderless, romantic, platonic, healthy, safe love. We don’t see this enough, and Boygenius has brought it to life in a way that feels effortless.”

I sat in briefly on the Boygeniusthemed photoshoot with Hannah, Audrey, and Allison. I walked into the downtown loft space to music blasting, a camera flashing, and three friends having the time of their lives holding each other, kissing, giggling, and posing. I could write an entire second piece on how these women speak about and care for each other, but I will have to leave it at a quote from each pal.

Hannah: “I never felt like there was any lack of momentum as friends. Allison and Audrey are so fundamentally important to my core being. I love them and do not know what I would do without them; I mean, my band is half Allison’s friends, and Audrey made my merch for the Troubadour show! We support each other through everything.

Audrey: “Hannah and I danced together at a local ballet studio when I was sixteen years old. She was so outgoing, and I was such an introverted kid. She was like the greatest exposure therapy for me. Hannah brings together so many people. She is the core of all human existence. She introduced me to Allison, and our group dynamic was so fun. We all allow each other to become utterly ourselves.”

Allison: “My first impression of Hannah was in an airport. She was doing yoga on the airport floor, and I thought I would never put my hands on the airport floor… I thought that girl was kooky and that stands to this day. I met Audrey through Hannah, and our friendship as a trio is really about finding our authentic selves. I’m very grateful for them.”

But what is next for Hannah Leigh’s music career? A five-song EP is coming our way this summer/fall.

“This will be my first solo EP,” Hannah says, taking a big breath. “I truly don’t think I have had the ground to stand on to be able to produce and put out an EP of this magnitude without this band and this support I’ve found in my friends. This EP is about chosen family, and what it means to be held in those safe spaces. I’m passionate about forgiveness in making mistakes and learning from them.”

Hannah left us with this sentiment: “Affection is not a light word. It is a dense word and should mean more than we give it credit for. The way that I get to love my friends feels so important to our development as women, how we navigate romantic relationships, and how we respect our own boundaries. If I can feel safe to love on my people the way I know I deserve to be loved, I can then take that into every situation for the rest of my life. I own that to my friends.”

platonic intiMacY words TOBI BRUN photography MARÍ CÁRDENAS

My best friend kissed me on the cheek in 7th grade, I texted her today, [we haven’t spoken in three years].

When my friends would yell across the bus lot, “I love you!” It took me years to say it back, [I love you].

Love is not obsession [22 sending to 16].

It’s big and soft and round, it can fit through any boundary,

or fill up just one cup. It’s mine to give. It’s yours to give away.

The Intimacy of each syllable; [I - LO - VE - YOU]

It’s not physical but meta-physical.

Every human alive holds [I LOVE YOU] for someone, Intimacy is non-exclusive as it belongs to each upturned smile. Each slice of shared laughter, each crinkle of the corner of the eye.

Hey, friend.

“I love you.”

for MY friend, with loVe

words NIK SHIER

We met on the path in the trees, next to the sunset floating on the lake, immediately recognizing each other’s magic– like fairies do.

I send recovery tips and you write me “bad poems” which I send back with graphics in an attempt to illuminate your voice’s beauty, and our shared truths

you send me healing oil scented with love and I send you cotton candy and snail stickers and more cotton candy too and we acknowledge the sweetness hold it up next to honesty and our values

integrity in the shape of crystal balls and christmas lights and the goddamn trinity too

and then we use that accidental gallon of glue to repurpose or remap redefine what it means to be connected in this way that–

Magnetic poetry and we exchange books and snuggle up and laugh, deep (scarred) belly laughter, and tell each other stories and ask the important questions without pause.

Like: Do you like green olives?

Rainbow dancing from friend to family

and I text you first when I need to call 911 and you text me first when you’ve started a new self-diagnostic spreadsheet a safety nest sturdy enough to spin around in, safe enough to be a woman in, if such a place exists: every day a step closer to unmasking our whole selves.

a loVe letter to MY best friend words VESPER

Is this love? I don’t know. I want to hold you tight and keep you warm when you cry, I want to dry your tears and hold your hands in mine. I want to brush the edges of your knuckles with gentle touches, and I want to look into your eyes as I affirm that I love you.

I think that, yes, this is love. It is deep, and pure. A sweet, childish love. I want to be more than friends, and I want to be your lover in the sense that I love you, not in the sense that I want to kiss you or touch you.

My love for you wants to be expressed in the passion of loving, thoughtful, choked up words, forehead kisses, gentle touch. I want to lie on the couch with you and play with your hair and hold you close. I want to breathe your air, and mine too, and I never want this tension to break.

I want to write you love letters, make you playlists, show you the color that is yours in my mind. You’re in my brain and in my heart and in every action of unloading the dishwasher so you will have a clean coffee cup in the morning.

I want to be domestic with you, but I do not want to share your bed. Unless we share a bed in the way that young girls do at sleepovers! I would gladly fall asleep next to you with giggles still aching on my ribs, begging on my breath. I would hold you to hold you, not to have you.

I want to bake you a cake for no particular occasion because you said that it sounded good.

Of course I’ll make your coffee for you.

I would make coffee for you every single day for all of eternity.

Of course I’ll get up to turn off the lightit’s hurting your head.

There are thousands of ways to tell you I love you.

“I like the cut of your jib”

peace hit my belly smiles shake me inside out onto dorm beds stuffed with homework ink running, dying nails black, dingy white, cream smeared with wine and poetry piled higher and higher in between hiccupped breaths we looked for home in us as edges grow crispy I wonder can we grow forever

war razored words buttons tapped, burst open from foaming mouths wiped clean with booze the color of our fi rst apartment Stained Jealousy, HandJob Red re fl ects off of uncertain armor placed drunkenly in the wrong places with angry eyes, falling out pockets FULL of mossy shame damp and salty if there was no saving us would I do it again

blue poeM no. 1

words AUNTY art SARA CHILDREY

I want to be covered in flowers made of rondelle and angora and encrusted in muddy hemlines and dusty polyester cuffs

I want scars on my face that read like red-figure pottery portraits of the life leaving Antaeus and lip gloss clear enough to capture a Narcissus

I want an hourglass figure made of rebarred concrete and calloused hands of silk coated in gemstones and acrylic

I want US Size 13, 5-inch, red-bottom heart-shaped heels colored black as my bloodline and the black cat knuckle-dusters to match

I want her to dap me up like we’d been gang since grade school

I want him to hold me like he knows he’s never going to see me again

I want to button your coat up for you and brush the hair from your face and wipe the biting tears from your eyes

I want to feel the weight of you pinning me down and the rumble of your snore at 6 in the morning

I want to be so small and so soft and so sweet you’d never know how full of sheetrock and piss and vinegar I am

I want all of it the whole thing I want to be and feel and know every feeling every moment every thing and then nothing at all

iam deleting the nude photographs that a younger version of me took for past partners - because I so firmly believed that I could only love me if they did. While doing this, I began to wonder: How many of my beautiful friends feel unloveable because they, too, once placed all of the value of their nude form in the adoration & approval from a partner? What would it feel like to be celebrated by somebody who loves you, genuinely and deeply, who doesn’t need anything in return for your body, because your existence alone is bliss? To breathe life into each other by recognizing that our nude forms are to be celebrated outside of romantic/sexual relationships?

The series is entirely this:

nude photographs of the bodies of my brilliant friends, for no reason other than the fact that they’re all fucking beautiful. Our bodies, for better or for worse, serving as a carriage for our souls.

My mom used to tell me that freckles were kisses from angels.

It wasn’t until I accepted my sexuality that my body became something I loved. My identity as a lesbian is directly linked to my ability to access confidence in my body.

A body only holds spirit. A body only is a miracle.

Your body is your home and when treated as such you will also feel a sense of calmness that, I know I, so desperately seek.

We are blessed with living to see our journeys & growth.

The skin is what I really am falling in love with. The lines, the veins, the stretch. I am honored to know this skin, this body and to love this body in its many forms.

My naked self is my emotional palate. My body can emote, be observed, and be questioned just like my emotions can.

I bask in the rays that naturally beam from my existence. I realize now that those telling me to be smaller did so to feel like they were more than I am. Here, I sit in what is: I cannot be dimmed- I am sunlight.

I love this mug. I love nature. I love myself.

It’s sweet getting to know your body through every stage of life, and i look forward to aging together.

Peace came when I had my top surgery. I started taking care of my body in ways that felt so pure and so new. I started loving my body.

by God am i grateful for it!

birddog

words OLI BAKER

You came to my back door, screened to keep out the bugs. You have a cardinal in your Mouth and I yelled at you: you slunk away, all I felt was pity and rage: and I can’t remember why I was so angry.

Now it’s my turn:

I show up at your front door, stick my nose through the cat flap that I’m too big to fit through. It’s your turn to yell and say Why would you give me this? The present is me. I wanted to make you proud.

We’re walking together, hand in hand and the sidewalk is interrupted by a tree caged, roots cut. Is it happy?

We let go, walk around and rejoin after we leave the tree behind. I am changed: you are not. Are we the same? Or are we different?

We have not known each other for years: you chose your path, I chose mine; you hunting cardinals, me poking my nose through the cat flap. You wait to be invited, I try to get in: doesn’t matter what they think, I am here, and you are not.

Maybe we sit down for coffee, we kiss each other on the nose: miss you, love you. Maybe we walk by each other on the street and we don’t even recognize the other.

All I remember is sitting on the porch, sticking my nose through your door, and the hurt in your voice when you saw me. All you remember are the feathers in your mouth and the anger in my voice when I saw you.

Are we strangers? Are we lovers? Or we friends? Are we all of them, together?

I think we are two dogs: you’re a shepherd, I’m a malamute and our paws are caked in snow and our mouths are full of feathers.

night bell words FARAH ABOUZEID

it has never been so dark but my eyes adjust quickly my tail propels me forward

in the shadow water i miss my friends more than i can take

my angels wear eyeliner break things steal from whole foods howl at the moon

too many art parties to fit in one weekend our dreams and our drinks spill all over our carefully written notes our secret diaries the love letters we don’t send

some rest would do us good but we are wild and we are hungry we are clawing at the clocks telling the same sad stories over and over shouting them in each other’s faces

in our best dresses we swear and we swear to begin anew we’re chasing ourselves we’re also running

More than a loVer's kiss words RISHA NICOLE

Fell in love and into your lap; you lay at my knee, July warmth picking at my nose. Grass beneath us calling; desperate for body and touch.

I wonder if the rub of my thumb is worth more than a lover’s kiss. Kitchen floor on our bottoms; knees touch, and your body, and my thumb.

I want to wear the same shorts as you and meet a God called Love.

BILLIE DANCING, PHOTOGRAPHY CLAIRE LUCAS

words JILLIAN THOMAS

r un a wa Y w ith Me ( n ot l ike t ha t )

You say you want to be more than friends as if what we are is not enough to satiate your desire to place your searing lips on every inch of my skin

as if the bracelets i make you with delicate hands that want nothing more than to tie the string around your wrists aren’t enough for you aren’t enough to make you want to stay even if

i don’t want to latch my mouth onto yours like my life depends on it or trail my fingers over every groove on your spine and curve on your hips

and i know that when your chapped lips mouth iloveyou in the middle of the night from across the space between our hands too cold or maybe just too scared to hold

no, the love i knew was delicately brushing hair into ponytails and carefully spreading peanut butter on sandwiches the love i know is wild looks that are the catalyst

to the next dance party or baking escapade and i think every day that this is the love i want because there is not enough room in my heart for the kind full of passion and aggressivity, the kind of love that seems to be your only desire.

trust me, i have been where you are, confused as to why my best friend cannot feel the same way they told me they did, six months slaughtered in the name of a swallowed lie. and maybe one day i will understand that love does not always mean “in love” [i am sure i will feel betrayed] but still. you cannot mean “i love you” the way i mean it when i text it to you every night, this time my heart beating with an ache for the kind of

that you mean iloveyou in the way people standing on altars and twirling through an endless expanse of time spent together mean it but the only love i’ve ever known wasn’t the kind all the lyrics are written about it wasn’t making out at the back of a movie theater; tongues fighting for space in my mouth and it wasn’t scaling a building to make love under the stars or escaping in the dead of night, a getaway born from infatuation or maybe just stupidity

love that isn’t made for movie screens but rather for just us two running away to a cottage in the woods where we can live without ever having to worry about being more than friends

words and art LOUISE HELLER

we met in a graveyard in 2017.

That’s not quite right. We cemented our budding friendship while running a 5k in a graveyard. Your beautiful brother was dead and my mom was actively dying and that felt like a solid foundation. I was manic with distraction. We volunteered together on the committee for our queer community center’s annual event, and I knew of you the way that queer people in small towns know about each other: from across the room at parties, profiles on social media, from some friend of an ex or ex of a friend.

You knew about rugby and when I threw myself into it, you threw yourself back in. There were muddy, raucous games, the thrill of smashing bodies into bodies and emptying brains of anything but impact into the pitch. Back ten, with you.

We spent less than a year in the same city but we road-tripped to nowhere cities in the south for tournaments, made vodka cocktails in the ditch when someone’s car broke down on the highway. It was imperative that we look at the stars that night.

And we drank, and drank, and drank. We saw dolphins and you got seasick on that boat. We slept on the floor in a bedroom meant for two, packed with seven of the rugby team, bodies giggling and falling out of bed to land on our backs. We woke up to see the beach sunrise because it was beautiful and I asked you to. Everything still and touched by rosy light. We bought a cake for your rugby big and you calmed my anxiety at seeing my shitty ex at the party, laughed when it turned out she was your shitty ex, too.

When Mom died you were there. You were there when the world went quiet and the fog came in and I don’t remember much of the rest of that year.

I hyped your dreams of moving back to Chicago and mourned hard when you left. Four months later, I moved to Atlanta.

We met for a weekend shortly after in a different city to hot tub in a cabin, watch trash tv, and get matching tattoos.

We did that back-and-forth between Atlanta and Chicago for five years, kept a two-year pause for COVID, collected another matching tattoo: “Toad sat

and did nothing. Frog sat with him.”

We messaged every day, a litany against abandonment. “Good morning” and “What’s your day like?” transfigured: “This humble structure will shelter your spirit and care for it like my own.”

Call it abyssal love, a rapidly expanding galaxy of tenderness and security compounding into a certainty that you’ll always be in my life. Two trash gremlins snacking side by side forever.

It’s intimacy like walking through a downpour to buy me a coke for my migraine, like endless charcuterie boards and perfectly executed crafts together in silence. It’s your humor and deep insight, pep talks and holding space, floating cash when we can. It’s sending each other tiny delights and treats: stationery, stickers, thoughtful packages back and forth.

It’s friendship farther than family. Doesn’t hurt. Holds you steady.

"EvEryONE hErE wON

ONdErS why i dON’T ryONE rEmEmbErS muCh TO Say."

Olivia offers me one of her cigarettes and it tastes exhilarating. I take three drags and remember that I’m alive. I think about it for a few hours. Think of the number 7. Think of God. Think how my mom said the number 7 is God’s favorite number. The homeless man on the street sleeps in front of the community sign and Olivia keeps telling me to Google the number of empty houses in America. I don’t. I just hope there’s one for my mother. I have 7 dollars in my pocket, and I give the man a lemonade. He says he remembers when the label was different. I want to tell him I love him, or God bless, but I don’t say anything at all. I just think of my mother, and I want to tell her I’m sorry. I want to tell her I love her no matter what.

I keep saying “It’s fucking Philadelphia” because it’s funny, and I want to laugh. I want to laugh loud enough to feel happy. I want to be happy long enough to take up space. It’s fucking Philadelphia and I learn none of the street names.

I find my way to the hotel every night looking for the yellow wall brick wall, the 7/11, or remembering how many parking signs there are along the way.

The girl we met on the street named Hudson said that Woody’s is a good bar. She said it’s the gay scene and she’s so pretty, so I ask her to come. She plays the xylophone, and this is just another reason for me to believe she’s the coolest person here. When she shows up, I can’t hear her over the music. I

can’t hear much so I dance. I dance so much that I remember I’m alive.

It’s 1 AM and my friend Mackenzie holds my hand. The bright lights of Philadelphia over us. I feel spring setting in under the clouds. The night at our shoes. Loud streets filled with feet. Each color rushed past me in the blink of an eye. The floating images and prayers through dark nights. She holds my hand and tells me I’m safe. I can feel the world in her palm.

I feel every beauty of each song and I can’t stop talking because for once I want her to know me. I am afraid she already does. I haven’t felt real in a while. I haven’t felt real in months. I want to be sorry for this. I didn’t mean to be a person who didn’t want to be a person at all. Everyone here wonders why I don’t say much, and everyone remembers when I had so much to say.

I keep telling myself to just go for it because her eyes are such a pretty shade of green and they match the romper she spilled butter on last week. In my head, I go on and on about her eyes and remember the poetry I have written for her.

Dance lovely in that sweet midnight glow.

God knew light compliments your soul.

When she kisses me, I catch glimpses of time. I am already worried I will

break her heart. I hope our kiss was memorable. I hope my brain chooses it as a memory to keep. I try to take pictures as if my memory is going. I wonder where it would go? I tell her I won’t tell a soul but I’m afraid the passion behind my eyes will say it for me. I hope our kisses never remind her of regret. I hope they never taste like guilt.

We don’t speak to Hudson again until the next night. We go to a few bars and end up in an alley. The wall reads “I don’t have to sell my soul to be hot.” I wonder if you’d have to sell your soul to be happy. We smoke in a back alley, and I start to sway. Hudson is so pretty, and I trust her. She talks to everyone like she knows them, and I admire that.

I met the prettiest girl in the city, and I didn’t even kiss her. There’s so much to learn from people and I can’t wait for my next adventure. She said she doesn’t date, and we should all just be friends; everyone. I think I understand what it means to have a friend. The pain in my stomach reminds me of what it means to be one.

Mother tells me to finish school. But 5 days ago, I threw up blood and my girlfriends picked me up off the bathroom floor. Where is God? Tell him I’m sorry I questioned the boy in the whale. Tell him that sometimes it gets dark for me too. Tell him I’m sorry, so terribly sorry, that when I think of church I think of rape. I think

of T and each day I don’t say his name, I’m afraid of what will happen if I do. I’m so afraid everyone is waiting for the perfect opportunity to leave me. Waiting for me to wake up, waiting for me to care more than I already do, and fuck, I care so fucking much. I care so fucking much that my fingers bleed. I still don’t think this is enough.

Cait texts me the Lesbian Master Doc after I tell them how hard I try with boys over rolled ice cream. I try hard with boys, and perhaps now more than ever I am trying to forget it. Even when I do remember, I don’t want to. I don’t want to remember a man or his touch. I don’t want to remember T.

I keep telling Mackenzie that boys don’t matter. I tell her we’re young, gay, in Philly and no one knows us here. This is how I petitioned for our fairy tale but guilt swallows her like morning. It covers every part of her face, and I don’t want to say it, but she looks at me differently now. I pretend I don’t notice. I say I don’t notice.

Oh, to have known love even if it was just for a moment. I’ve waited in a moment. Time has passed me by. Pass me not, O gentle Savior. How long it’s been since I’ve remembered time. All I remember are faces, tears, the bathroom floor, and the color. The color of the wind and the Earth beneath my feet.

CHARLIE ROBERTS

Katie was my dearest friend in high school. Our bond was unique to me at the time — it was the most intimate platonic love I had ever known. After school each day, Katie and I would drive to her house and take a long nap in her bed. I basically lived at her place for weeks at a time. We were attached at the hip. She taught me how to give a good hug. She goes by Kate now and lives over 900 miles away. Kate works in a glaze factory, and on this particular day she was decked out in glasses, a mask, a beanie and glasses but I could still see her tenderness shining through. I miss her.

GLAZE FACTORY, GRAPHITE words and art AUDREY SCHMIDT

“Hello everyone! If you don’t know who I am, my name is Charlie and I’m the happy couple’s unwanted child,” I boasted at the start of my wedding speech. “Which means that as of today, I’m no longer a bastard!”

as a freshly out(ed) teen, I couldn’t conceptualise having numerous beautifully and wonderfully queer friends. Cammy was the only other LGBT+ person I knew,* and based upon the media narrative, I thought I was sentenced to a life as the token-gay. The idea that one day, I would stand on stage in a local bar, toasting the marriage of two most outlandishly Bi+ and Non-Binary people to have ever graced Yorkshire, was too farremoved.

Quenby and I met at our university’s Feminist Society. Quenby is undeniably unapologetic about who they are - at 20 years old, I wanted that energy to rub off on me and to exude that level of confidence in my own bi-/sexuality. For the next academic year, we decided to live together; the intensity of this created a bond that I can’t quite describe, as we immersed ourselves in the local subculture of NSFW drag shows and lefty comedy nights. I like to think we formed this uniquely

queer bond, in part, because we simultaneously mock and encourage each other.

During our time as housemates, Quenby started dating Emily. One night, Emily came over to collect fresh undies for Quenby… In typical queer style, the two were practically living together after only a few months. Emily and I chatted all night and watched Gilmore Girls. It wasn’t long before we realised that we could quickly irritate Quenby through long (and somewhat detailed) conversations about which vampire from Buffy we’d have rail us. I embraced Emily into my chosen family with ease - there is no one I’d rather have my morning cuppa with, processing the difficult emotions that come with chronic health issues.

In 2020, just two weeks before the first UK lockdown, I moved away from Yorkshire for a new job. New to an unfamiliar city, with no friends and little opportunity to explore. Quenby and Emily’s friendship kept me going with their regular video calls, sometimes talking to me for five hours.

Since returning to Yorkshire last year, my friendship with Quenby

and Emily has been a lifeline: Their home has become a welcome break from the realities of being 26, unemployed during a cost-of-living crisis, and living with my parents.

Their sofa has a Charlie-shaped space perfectly moulded, right in the middle of the two. Now, any time I need, I can overstay my welcome at their house, eat all their food, and generally annoy them to the point of asking to see the return policy on our friendship.

Cammy and I have been friends for so long, I can’t pinpoint the first time we met, but I remember when we first saw each other after the pandemic, a moment seared on my heart for eternity. I’d been sitting in the bus terminal waiting for Cammy’s coach to arrive, eagerly anticipating their arrival. Of course, when two neurodivergent queers arrange a meet-up, it is inevitable that they will arrive at opposite ends of the venue. As I finally saw my dreary-eyed friend, fresh from a 14-hour journey from Norway, I felt I was in a Richard Curtis rom-com. I didn’t run - so much - into their arms, more of an excitable puppy

hop towards them, to then land on top of them, before they had even set eyes on me.

Had I actually been a puppy and this moment caught on camera, I’d have gone viral on TikTok. A little Yorkie bouncing along, a smile spread across my face, a little squeal escaping my lips, excitably leaping into the arms of a beloved owner. The reality is, onlookers probably thought I was perhaps a little deranged and - given the look of shock and horror Cammy gave in return - thought I’d ran to the wrong person.

not one for affection, Cammy patted my head as I squeezed the last breath from them,

“Yep. This is great. Thanks. Can you get off me now?”

“You left me for Norway to live with your Viking partner, and then we had a pandemic. I need this.” And I nestled my head closer to their chest.

As teens, we had chosen each other and formed an unbreakable bond. We were both too-Bi and not-Britishenough for our stuck-in-the-80s hometown. We’ve seen each other through those awkward teen years,

and shared the obligatory Gen-Z emo phase (was it ever really “just a phase”?)

Pat, pat, pat. Cammy squirmed,

“Are you done yet?”

There is only one reason why two metalheads travel to Sweden and it was one of the best nights of my life. I was with my best friend; we danced; I learned that I really don’t know song lyrics; and we were entertained by the couple in front of us (it was very clear he was a HUGE fan, and she’d paid the 1050 kr to “see what the big deal is’’). All topped off with the pinnacle of skint-mid-20s nights out… spending four hours hanging around a bus terminal, waiting for the early morning coach home (well, in this case, to Cammy’s flat in Norway).

I don’t take for granted how fortunate I am to have a birth family who are nonchalant about my sexuality. However, I am eternally grateful for my chosen family. Cammy and I have always bickered, fighting with, and for, each other like siblings. When I referred to Quenby and Emily as my parents, it’s because they have always looked after me.

My friends are chosen. I chose them

because they are queer, like me. I chose them because I don’t have to answer silly questions like, “but how do lesbians have sex?” (I mean, it’s easier if I show you…) and, “how can you like boys? I thought you were bi?” (no, really, someone once asked me this).

When I first realised that I’m Bi+, at the tender age of 13, I was scared that I would never find other LGBT+ friends. I wish I could share these anecdotes with my younger self, and say that Quenby, Emily and Cammy are just three from a plethora of fantastically, fabulously, fearlessly, queer people in my life. I am now in the proud position to say that I am not the token-gay, instead I have token-het friends. It is a glorious feeling!

*Recently, people I’ve known for almost all my life have realised their LGBT+ identities, but this was not known when Cammy and I met.

"MY friends are chosen. i chose theM becasue theY are Queer, like Me."

BLOCK PRINT TEXTILE, LOUISE HELLER

GLAZE FACTORY, GRAPHITE words and art AUDREY SCHMIDT

This is Coco, short for Chloe Tigerlilly LaPuma Wisdom. I met her only a couple years ago but we already love each other so much we decided to live together. She’s an early riser, and sometimes she wakes me up with espresso in bed. Even though I see Coco every day she still calls me from her car on her way home from work just to have extra time to talk. Her blonde hair is cut in a million big shaggy layers and most days she does these tiny little braids. This drawing reminds me of her gentle nature and feminine touch.

for talia words MARY RHODES

In a moment, prehistory, we were made in mutuality out of soil and sky

A cosmic creation, us, distilled into monday night drinks and patches of Marigolden brilliance

In a moment, in the fifth millennium, sisters side by side at a loom

Wove tenderly the cloth that would swaddle their daughters and theirs, softness pressed to skin

An imprint of the sweater I never gave back

In a moment, a girl opened her heart in the passenger seat of a subaru

Illuminated in the headlights was the first acceptance she’d ever known,

A choice from antiquity, thicker than blood

As in, we made our escape from lonely adolescence

Praying that benevolence would forge something lasting

A shared foundation shifting from street to street, our toothbrushes aligned

The light from my bedroom always reaching yours

Hanging your laundry, damp, alongside my own

As in, when college was unkind to us

Reforging the link and whispering, “you, I cannot lose.”

Planting ourselves firmly on the world’s ugliest couch, brushing my hair, braiding yours

Crying to Tyra Banks and carving vows in stone that we, Unbreakable, unshakeable, will last

As in, exhilarating generosity and overwhelming grace

“Here, take my umbrella, here, I don’t mind. Don’t worry, I’ll drive.

I’m bringing you coffee, can I cook for you tonight? You’ve hurt me, but don’t worry, forgiveness has never been so simple.” This, at least, it is easy to know

That unendingly, we are linked.

I want to be your neighbor forever

Two points on a bridge, a map, the continental United States, A string tied around my middle and pulling me forever

To you

loVers, the dreaMers, and Me

"coMe oVer. coMe to the citY one daY, ill hold You, and well crY together for a daY." the

an interView with literarY bffs edMund white and YiYun li words and art JASON WAYNE WONG

edmund White can be considered one of the godfathers of the queer literary mafia. Present at the Stonewall Inn when the legendary riots began in 1969, his epic career began with the novel Forgetting Elena (1973) as well as co-authoring the original Joy of Gay Sex (1977). “Prolific” may be an understatement given the number of books he has written over the years in addition to essays for various publications. And to bring it around full-circle for a new generation, his seminal Boys Own Story was recently adapted into a graphic novel by his husband, fellow writer Michael Carroll.

White met Yiyun Li, another prolific author, in 2016. Just as his work has been considered rebellious for being so unabashedly queer, Li herself has also been described as subversive, often writing about outsiders and complicated relationships in novels like The Book of Goose and stories like “A Thousand Years of Good Prayers.” From their first interaction, they felt the spark of connection and kinship that transcends the stereotypical Will & Grace portrayals of friendship between gay men and straight women (although they seem to share just as many laughs between them as the characters from the sitcom—a literary Jack and Karen, of sorts.)

I met Edmund through our husbands. In gay six-degrees-of-separation, his husband Michael had dated my husband Jim many years ago and had remained friends. (Michael even wrote the introduction to my husband’s posthumously published book, House Fire.) And in a Hollywood sixdegrees-of-separation, the film adaptation of one of Yiyun’s first stories, The Princess of Nebraska (directed by Wayne Wang), was the first feature film I ever appeared in.

Their close friendship has been mentioned before in various publications, but usually in passing or in conjunction with a new book one of them was promoting at the time. In the spirit of Fruitslice, I wanted to delve beyond their literary work and to talk to them solely about their connection and what keeps them together—their platonic love for each other. On a recent rainy weekday I was able to crash their daily 5:00pm book club (which they started during the pandemic and have continued ever since) to ask them a few questions, and watched their banter fly.

Note: this conversation has been edited for length. CONTENT: mention of suicide

Jason Wayne Wong (JWW): I know that the two of you have talked about your daily book club meetings a lot, but it’s often framed around a book that either one of you is publicizing. For this conversation I just wanted to focus on your friendship, which I find so incredibly interesting, and just have you talk about each other and your friendship and to see where that could possibly go.

Edmund White (EW):I was planning to retire (from teaching at Princeton), and we were looking around for somebody to…not replace me because I’m (irreplaceable)…

Yiyun Li (YL): You are irreplaceable! [Laughing] Just (someone) to sit in your office.

EW: Anyway, I suggested to our leader that we take…I didn’t know Yiyun, but I admired your work. And so then what, they contacted you or something?

YL: They arranged for me to travel to Princeton. And then someone said, “Well, Edmund is here, can you come here and talk to Edmund?” So I came over and we sat down. We fell in love, really love (at first sight.) We just talked for an hour about books!

EW: About books, yeah.

JWW: And this all happened at Princeton?

YL: Yes.

EW: In what was then my office, now hers.

YL: I can’t replace Edmund. I’m sitting in his office (now.) Someone offered me a bigger office once someone else moved away. “Do you want a bigger office?” I said no! Because I wanted this office. Because this office used to be Edmund’s.

EW: It’s right next to the coffee machine! [Laughs]

YL: That’s right! [Laughs] That was 2016.

EW: And then Yiyun had a son who killed himself, and we became very close at that moment.

YL: I think so, yeah…

EW: Well, I don’t know…Maybe because your son was gay or would have been gay if he’d been… YL: He had come out. He came out when he was 13.

EW: He died when he was 16.

YL: I think you texted me and said, “Come over. Come to the city one day, I’ll hold you, and we’ll cry together for a day.” And I just thought it was the most lovely thing anyone had said to me.

EW: You never know how to react when somebody has an extreme tragedy in their life. You always think, Oh, am I being impertinent or silly or whatever? But I don’t know, I just felt like that was the right way to go.

YL: We just became very close friends since then, I think.

JWW: I love how it developed and how you mentioned it was love at first sight, because that falls in line with the theme of this issue on platonic love.

YL: Oh, yeah. We’re very much in love! [Laughs]

EW: We always blow kisses to each other. [Laughs]

YL: We always text each other. We even have names for each other. We have our nicknames for each other. [Laughs]

EW: She’s Ernestine.

YL: Eglantine! [Laughs] And you’re Rupert.

EW: [Laughs] We like them because they’re kind of Victorian names.

YL: Yeah. But Edmund and I, we just…we are very good at giggling together. We’re not very serious.

EW: Like, we read all these wonderful books, but we don’t really discuss them as to what their meaning might be in terms of social impact or something like that. Because we’re both writers, we tend to admire the writing, and every once in a while (think), Oh, I wish I could write like that.

YL: I think that’s our perennial sentence—”I wish I could write like that.”

JWW: So it’s a shared envy that keeps you together!

YL: Shared envy, yeah! And also I think Edmund and I would say we are on the same wavelengths, don’t you think?

EW: We like all these English ladies of the ‘20s and ‘30s, but with a rare exception of Kim, which was (written by Rudyard) Kipling

YL: Kipling, yeah…

" we fell in loVe reallY loVe at first sight "

EW: Everybody hates that book…people who have never read it hate it because he was supposed to have been an imperialist and a British imperialist and all that. But actually this book is so adorable and endearing. It’s about a little boy who’s an orphan and who’s Irish, but who’s gone native. I mean, he dresses like an Indian and he can speak several of their languages in India. And he meets this old Buddhist monk who wants to see all the places where the Buddha lived. And so the boy decides to become his guide, and it’s full of adventures. But it’s such a wonderfully rich book about India. In fact, I’ve had quite a few Indians say to me it’s the best book about India.

YL: Right. And then the Buddhist monk, the old monk and the boy, they were really in love, too, right?

EW: They were.

YL: But not romantic love. They do love each other so much. It’s so touching, that book!

EW: It’s very touching. Some books, you feel all the portraits are kind of acid-like or acidic, and then some are very sweet. And this is a sweet one.

YL: Yeah

JWW: You two definitely sound like kindred spirits and I’m wondering, do you ever notice any similarities in—if not your work—any similarities in your lives in terms of Ed being a gay man or Yiyun being an Asian woman? If you can somehow relate to each other and perhaps some commonalities. I mean, that’s kind of how I relate to both of you (being both gay and Asian.)

YL: Writers are always outsiders, right? We’re always outsiders. But I don’t think it’s that outsider-ness that brings Edmund and me together. It’s more about…I don’t know. I think it’s chemistry, right? It’s just like love. You cannot explain it, but we just feel comfortable with each other, and we giggle all the time. We’re so irreverent!

EW: There’s always one part of our session which is about gossip.

YL: Oh god, he’s a very good gossip! [Laughs]

YL: For me, one thing is Edmund has such a good memory of all the books he reads. Right, Edmund? And he is such a knowledgeable person. It’s just like we have endless things to talk about because Edmund knows the world. I don’t know the world as much as Edmund does, but we just talk about the world.]

EW: Like she just wrote this book about these two girls...

YL: It’s called The Book of Goose..

EW: And she asked me what would be a good book to read about rural life in France in the past.

YL: And he told me to read Georges Bernanos, which was the right person for me to read while working on it. So usually I (would) always have a question for Edmund—whether it’s about France or French or just about something, you just can trust he knows the answer…

So you haven’t heard, Jason, but my dog is very jealous of Edmund! Anytime I talk to Edmund, I think he recognizes the changing of my voice and he starts to chew his bed. He has eaten at least five beds because of Edmund! And I have all these pictures—he’s chewing on the bed while I was talking to Edmund. [Laughs]

EW: [Laughing] Does Phillip get jealous when you talk to your friends?

JWW: (My cat) Phillip doesn’t get jealous. He just gets concerned when I raise my voice above a whisper.

YL: Oh!

JWW: He‘s very sensitive. So when I raise my voice at all, whether it‘s for an audition or something that I‘m taping he just gets very upset, like, “What‘s going on? What‘s happening?!“

So besides the gossip and giggling, what else draws you together?

EW: We underline our favorite passages in the books that we’re reading. We don’t read them very fast. We read about 20 pages a day. And then the thing that’s so weird is that we always underline the same passages, which shows that we have very similar taste, I think. In writing, at least.

YL: Yeah…and then we pretend. Every time we underline the same passage, we pretend to be surprised! “Oh, my God. My God, I did this, too!” [Laughs] We make each other laugh all the time.

EW: [Laughs] Right.

JWW: What is it about this long history of friendships between gay men and straight women?

YL: Oh! That’s a very interesting question.

EW: Yeah

YL: [To Edmund] What do you think?

EW: I don‘t know...

YL: I mean, I would say this is coming from a straight woman, right? I would say there’s a little bit less of a boundary between a gay man and a straight woman. You just feel less…You know what I mean?

EW: I‘m not going to seduce you.

YL: And I‘m not doing anything not faithful to my husband because I’m giggling with Edmund.

EW: Maybe there are things more important than your sexual orientation. I think we’re like…well, the French say “sister souls,” but that sounds a little gay. [Laughter] “ me-soeur.”

YL: I was a scientist before. And in molecular biology, there’s something called an enhancer. It’s part of the gene that’s called the enhancer. I always liked that term, “enhancer,” because I feel Edmund and I are enhancers of each other’s lives, right? We don’t do things to each other. We don’t torture each other. We don’t make each other (sad). We just enhance our lives.

JWW: That’s a lovely way of putting it. Enhancers.

YL: Really. I’m sure you have a lot of friends, Jason. And I have friends, and not all friends are enhancers of lives. Some friends are more demanding, right?

EW: My oldest friend…he’s very bristly…and you’re always tiptoeing around him, whereas I don’t feel that way with (Yiyun.) I feel it’d be hard to offend her.

YL: So I do think this is a very special friendship, even among my friends. I mean, this is really just a pure enhancer friendship.

JWW: I really like that term. You two enhance each other. And I think that’s the point of this issue’s theme and showing this platonic love connection that the two of you obviously have. I know that a lot of friendships can wax and wane over time. The ones that are sometimes more demanding are the ones who sometimes fall out of favor over the years or over time…]

EW: Or let’s say, you know somebody through a lover, and then you get rid of that lover and it’s kind of awkward with the friend because the friend has to choose...and anyway, all that stuff. The politics of everyday life. But we don’t worry about that.

JWW: How do you two maintain the friendship? Just chatting every day?

YL: Just every day at 5:00, but then sometimes I come in to see Edmund..

EW: Yeah, she and brings me delicious food.

YL: Yeah. I used to go to a hair salon like a block from Edmund’s apartment. The reason I used to go there (now they’re closed) was that every eight weeks I would come in to have my hair done and then we would have lunch together. I do still come into the city often, and every time I go in, I will just stop by at Edmund’s place..

EW: Which is great. I find our friendship very reassuring, too, because especially during the pandemic…it was nice to have a friend that you could rely on who you knew was going to be soothing and reinforcing.

YL: Yeah. I think we’ve got a pure love for each other. I just feel like there’s not anything demanding in this friendship.

EW: That’s right.

YL: We’re just ourselves with each other, you know?

EW: Right. Well, because I’m not expecting you to leave me a million dollars or to give me that rare edition of Ezra Pound or whatever. [Laughs]

YL: [Laughing] Right!

JWW: I think both of you basically answered my last question. But I was going to ask, because you both seem to embody it, and everything you just said seems to reinforce this…What does platonic love mean to each of you?

EW: I think when you’re younger, you have these very intense friendships, and then when you get older, it gets very lonely because people die, or they drift away. And during the pandemic, so many people left New York. And so, this friendship came in just at the right time.

YL: Just the right time, I know. I mean, for me, I think it’s just the expectation that we are together every day at 5:00. We’re together. We’re laughing. It’s a very consistent factor in my life for the past several years. It’s very consistent, and I like that, too. I think we love each other, right?

EW: Yeah! [Laughs]

YL: [Laughs] Oh, Edmund is so sweet. My son is a college freshman. Before he came home for the winter break, Edmund said he read something. He read parenting advice on how to welcome your child home from freshman year. Edmund said to me, “You don’t want to give him too much pressure. You just give him good food, let him do whatever he wants.” So sweet, that he would read up parenting advice and tell me! [Laughs]

EW: [Laughs] Maybe a little arrogant of me…

YL: But everybody loved it! Everybody thought it was very sweet of him.

EW: Some people hate me and think I have a heart of ice and everything, but as you can see, with each other we’re not icy.

YL: We’re not! And we’re very affectionate. And the first time (I met) Edmund he was so affectionate—he also wrote an apology…he wrote a note of apology to me! He said, “I think it’s my WASP background…Maybe I wasn’t warm enough when you were here..?” He’s the most affectionate person. He apologized for not being warm enough! [Laughs] It’s just very lovely, you know?

EDITOR’S NOTE: Yiyun’s son James, mentioned above, died while

JWW: So many people in the LGBTQ+ community rely on our chosen families. And it’s just so touching and sweet to see you two have become family.

YL: Thank you.

EW: It’s true! I’m probably like an uncle or something.

YL: I know, it’s very nice! He’s very nice to my child.

JWW: Is there anything else you’d like to add?

EW: Well, I’m very thrilled seeing Yiyun’s career just take off. I mean, she wins all the prizes everywhere and everybody is discovering her. That’s a wonderful feeling to see a close friend whose work is being recognized.

YL: Thank you! I think we have a very special friendship. Also, I think a lot of people are a little bit envious of my friendship with Edmund—including my dog! [Laughs] I do think it’s special, and if I talk to anyone about my friendship with Edmund, everybody recognizes the quality, or the essence of that. But I also feel that not everyone—at least among my group of friends—not everyone has that kind of friendship. So, I think it’s just something very special that people all recognize. And if I talk about Edmund with any friends, they just like to listen.

If you or someone you know may have suicidal thoughts, you can call the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline or chat online at 988lifeline.org. We care about you.

Love, FruitSlice xo.

ALISSA TU (she/her) is a Vietnamese American Fire Rat. Born and raised in Olympia, Washington, she hails her (overrated) MFA in Writing from the University of California San Diego. Her debut memoir Confessions of a Modern Day Kumiho (2023) was published with Blue Cactus Press, and her work can be found in Honey Literary, The Asian American Writers’ Workship, and diaCRITICS. If she could be any animal, she’d probably be a rat. You can find her on Instagram @heyalissa or at alissatu.com

AMMY ONTIVEROS (she/her) is a multi-hyphenate arist who is interested in community, what defines nostalgia, and how to make bitter moments sweet. Writer, actor, Visual Storyteller, Dog Mom. Artwork has been featured in Los Angeles galleries such as Junior High & The Collective. She writes and makes content for brands and the soul. a mmyontiveros.com// @ammyavocado.

ANGEL HARDY (he/him) is an artist based in southwestern Ohio, and loves to paint and sew. He is studying artistic technologies at Miami university.

ART BY ANA C (she/her) is a mixed media collage artist based in MS. Anna’s philosophy that anything can be art is shown through her various styles. No matter the medium, her pieces reflect her eccentric, emotional and unique personality. Follow @art.by.annac on Instagram for a deeper look into Anna’s interesting world of sustainble art.

ARI WATKINS (they/them) is an emerging teen poet from Brooklyn, New York. They are a graduate of the Reynold’s Young Writers program at Denison University. Their poem ‘red-tailed hawks’ won first place in the 2023 Ned Vizzini Teen Writing Contest and was published in the Brooklyn Public Library’s Teen Writing Journal. When not writing, they are pointing out Jupiter in the night sky. You can find them on Instagram at @ariwatkiins

AUDREY ATHENA is a multidisciplinary artist with a focus in acrylic painting annd graphic design. Based out of LA, Audrey works regularly with new and returning clients to create a wide range of hand drawn or digital commissions that include brand logos, album art, clothing/merch design, and more. She creates and sells her personal artwork under the name, oddmat. oddmat is most known for its limited edition runs of hand-thrifted, hand-printed graphic tees. These shirts sold out upon every release and were shipped to many lovely people around the world. Audrey also makes stickers, tote bags, and the occasional ceramic piece to be sold on oddmat.com.

AUDREY SCHMIDT (she/her) is a Los Angeles-based graphite artist. Schmidt holds a BA from UC Santa Cruz and attended the Florence Academy of Art’s 2023 summer program. She discovered her admiration for pencil work whilst on a cross country road trip that offered a surplus of fascinating tokens and roadside attractions. With a singular pencil annd brand new sketchbook Schmidt began documenting seemingly mundane objects in order to give them a new life. She toys with themes of death, decay, and childlike wonder. Each piece is a scene that tells a story through the arrangement of sacred trinkets, bones, bodies, and dappled light. @earlyfig

AUNTY (they/them) is a multi-disciplinary artist focused on the creation of honest, esoteric works. A designer and illustrator by trade, they’ve centered the bulk of their work around the sharing of their most vulnerable feelings through direct language and obtuse motifs. Their most recent writing projects see them mixing their love of art and collaboration to form a collection of works that explores the emotions and interests of a creative community under crisis. With time, Aunty hopes to build for their community an environment that encourages creatives of all styles and experiences to experiment and collaborate freely and often.

BIANCA ALINA ARELLANO (she/her) is a Mexican American Queer artist born and raised in San Bernardino California. She specializes in both digital and physical collage focused on the in between dream reality and waking life. Her use of colorful and bright colors reflect the often disorienting feeling of waking up from dream reality. Bianca explores nostalgic feelings & fantasy life through her use of romantic images. @occuringsimper

CELESTE DEBARDELABEN (she/her) is a Cartoonist and Cinematographer based in Los Angeles. She shot the feature film Narcosis as well as multiple nnarrative shorts, documentaries, and music videos. She currently runs the pre show documentary program at Violet Crown cinemas. You can find links to her work as well as samples of her photography at http://celestedebardelaben.com

CHARLIE ROBERTS (she/her) is an amateur writer, currently based in Yorkshire, UK. She hopes to continue writing, to share the words buzzing in her ears. Her passions are reading feminist discourse and LGBT+ literature; and ranting about British politics. To see more of Charlie’s writings, as well as the books she is reading, you can follow her on Instagram @thedinoandherbooks.

CHARLOTTE COLLINS (she/her) is an artist and aspiring urban planner. She lives in Providence, RI with her partner and her Great Dane, Pasta. She is primarily a painter, but enjoys other mediums such as graphic design, collage, printmaking, and bookmaking. Her work explores means of quiet resistance to neoliberalism, such as DIY, homemaking, spending time in nature, and resting. Her art is an ode to the resilience of human kindness and care. She sells her art at markets in MA and RI and online at www.sandcherrycreative.com. She is on Instagram @charlotteecollinsart.

CLAIRE LUCAS (she/they) is a photographer, fiber artist, amatuer car mechanic, lover of dancing and laughing, cat enthusiast, yoga teacher and occasional bartender. They can be found taking pictures of the people they love in Charlotte, NC. Her IG is @littletroublemakerbabyqueer.

DONNA DANTE MARIE GARY (they/them) is a nonbinary Chicago native of African American and Cherokee descent. They are a graduate of New York University Gallatin School of Individualized Study. Their studies included research on the emergence of Disability Literature and acquiring a Disability Studies Minor. Donna enjoys playing chess, performing poetry, hosting open mics, creating visual art and learning new games.Their main influences on their politics and poetry are June Jordan, Audre Lorde, Zora Neale Hurston and Sunaura Taylor.

EDNA TERESA (they/she) is a 21-year-old journalism graduate from London. They write poetry surrounding the themes of mental health, low self esteem, and friendship. If they are not typing poetry they hope the world would resonate with, she will be reading a fiction book. You can find more of their work on Instagram @poeticjeopardy.

ELLIOT/WORM (he/they) is a disabled transsexual artist based out of the midwest. His main mediums are collage (digital and analog) and digital art, but he is always looking to experiment with new mediums. His work ranges from silly doodles to substantially less silly vent pieces. He loves bugs and little critters. Their art can be found on Instagram at both @crabocculta and @h0neymush

EMMA HOCHHALTER (she/her) is a 26 year old teenage girl from Los Angeles who now lives in a different part of Los Angeles. Her primary creative medium is hairstyling. She also loves to write, sing, and cook. If you would like to chat shit, or if you need a haircut, she is best reached through Instagram. @emmahairla

EVIE DUMONT (they/them) is a genderQueer, multi-faceted storyteller specializing in performance and poetry. They sometimes are a clown named BOOMER. They have developed solo shows and poetry at the Barn Arts Collective (artist resident 2017) and Snaggy Mountain (artist resident 2018). They had the honor of being invited to Estonia’s Centennial Theatre Festival DRAMAA (Foreign Theatre Guest 2018) as well as being selected as Bowery Poetry Club Open Mic Winner. They are currently attenting Brown University’s MFA Acting program (Brown/Trinity acting candidate 2026). Their greatest friend and friend is their dog, Oso.

FARAH ABOUZEID (she/her) is a writer and teacher from Monterey, California. She studied Literature and Writing at UCSD, where her play Social Suicide, a dark comedy about an eighth grade presidential election, was produced by the Undergraduate New Play Festival. She recently completed her MFA in Creative Writing at Cal Arts, where she worked as a teaching assistant in the School of Critical Studies. Her thesis project, a poetry collection titled Dreamphone, is inspired by the underworld journey of Persephone, depicted through a mystical transformation into a mermaid. Farah is currently based in Los Angeles, where she writes poetry and fiction and works as a birth doula and tarot reader.

HAYLEE MILIKAN (they/them) is a poet and artist from Spokane, Washington. They are the winner of the 2022 Los Angeles Review Poetry Award, a Martha’s Vineyard Institute for Creative Writing Director’s Fellow, and a finalist for Quarter After Eight’s inaugural chapbook competition. Other poems have been featured or are forthcoming in The Meadow, Vallum Contemporary Poetry, Digging Through the Fat, Susie Magazine, pioneertown., zines by Off Menu Press, and elsewhere. They live in Long Beach, California.

HJ FARR (they/them) is a multidisciplinary artist, combining dramatic training from a lifetime in Musical Theatre with their own solitary ponderings on queerness, gender, mental health, mundane tiny things, and the world at large. Along with writing, HJ also acts, performs circus, sews, and tries to keep up with societal issues in which they may be able to make things a little bit better. You can find their daily poetry at kipventures.poetry.blog and life-things @hjenby on the ‘gram. “HJ loves Kip!”

contributors

JASON WAYNE WONG (he/him) is an actor and flaneur based in West Hollywood. In addition to appearing in shows like The Flight Attendant, This Is Us, and I Think You Should Leave with Tim Robinson, Jason can be seen in LGBTQ+ series like For Years to Come, The Disappointments, and Not So Straight in Silver Lake. He can be found @retrogradejason on Instagram, or walking the streets as he compares and judges the architecture and neighborhoods of the Los Angeles area.

JENNIFER ABOD, PHD (she/her) is an award-winning documentary filmmaker, radio broadcaster and jazz singer. She is a former assistant professor of Communications and Women’s Studies. Her poems appear in One Art Journal, The Metro Washington Weekly, Silver Birch Press, Sinister Wisdom, Wild Crone Wisdom, Artemis Journal, Fruitslice, Discretionary Love, Persimmon Tree and are forthcoming in Spillway Magazine, www.jenniferabod.com

JESS ALBA (she/her) is a silly girl who loves every medium of art. Grown in Portland, OR, her connection to creativity & community has in inspired a successful professional dance career in Los Angeles, while also fostering her love for photography, writing, copious mediums of visual art, and music curation. She loves a good book & to lay in the sunshine, and is an avid enjoyer of giving her friends a little kiss because life is short, feeling deeply is bliss, and we all deserve to do it all & have a blast. //IG: @_jessicaalba

JILL YOUNG (they/she) has a BFA in Acting and a certificate in Creative Writing from UT Austin. They have refined their creative voice by studying sketch, improv, and clowning at The Second City and The Idiot Workshop. Jill is an active member of fluxus-inspired performance troupe The Nonsemble. Jill co-wrote and starred in the feature Dear Leo(2020) which premiered at the Inside Out: Toronto LGBTQ+ Film Festival. They debuted their comedic solo show in a sold-out run at the 2023 Hollywood Fringe Festival, and are bringing this show to LA SoloFest February 16th and Edinburgh Fringe Festival in 2024. Follow @jillisyoung for updates and shows!

JILLIAN THOMAS (she/her) is a 17 year old poet from Pennsylvania who writes about mental health and outer space. She is published or forthcoming in Zhagaram Lit, Mollusk Lit, Footprints on Jupiter, Levitate, and more. In her free time she runs a litmag and listens to the Hamilton soundtrack.

JOCELYN FLORES (she/her) is a Mexican-American photography based artist. She was born and raised in South Florida. Jocelyn is currently working on recieving her BFA in photography with specialization in biomedical and forensics at Barry University in Miami, FL. Her work explores subjects through an attraction vs repulsion or in a playful whimsical style. Flores works with a variety of media such as textiles, alternative processes, and collage.

JUL WIGGINS (they/them) is a movement artist from Bainbridge Island, WA. They have a BFA in Dance from Cornish College of the Arts, and find purpose and joy in engaging in many different forms of art-making. Jul spends most of their time dancing, and they make work that includes various combinations of writing, improvisation, choreography, analog and digital collages, experimental film and creating physical installations. They are also making their first zine, including digital collages of original photography and text, to release in April 2024. IG: @jul.wigs

KAT OWEN (they/them) is a proud queer multi-media artist based in Chicago, Illinois. They work to use their studies to create harmonious pieces of art that use both traditional and digital techniques. This combined with their deep respect and connection to the alternative community grants them the ability to create work that is both beautiful and unsettling. Their work often revolves aroud trauma, grief, and loss of innocence as well as healing and growth. They can be foud @blackkat. psd on Instagram.

KATIE (TOM) WALTERS (they/them) is a queer and nonbinary interdisciplinary artist creating work about disability, nature, and turning into trees. They aim to challenge the perception of disabled bodies as inherently unnatural, imagining forests, oceans, and soil as extensions of their own body. Their debut poetry collection My Body is a Resource I am Willing to Expend was published by Burning Eye in 2022.

KIMBERLY FRISCH (she/her) is a storyteller, sociologist, and postcard collector. She was raised by the Midwest and South but now writes in Oregon, usually surrounded by two shih tzus and a comical number of cats. Her work has appeared in Canvas Literary Journal, Archarios, and Prometheus Unbound.

LATAJH WEAVER (they/them) is a writer and film director by way of Oakland, CA. Their stories are derived from being black, Queer, a middle child and all the quirks within. They are a former resident at SFFILM and grantee of the POV Shorts And Chicken & Egg Pictures Inaugural Doc Co-Production Fund. Weaver’s work has been screened at Film Festivals such as BlackStar, Mill Valley, Sundance, Indie Memphis, among others. Currently, Weaver is developing their first feature length film, QUEERLING, a dark comedy challenging identity politics among the ever gentrifying Bay Area.

L.J. BLAINE (he/they) is a queer artist, writer, and Theater Kid™ from Utah. Outside of his creative pursuits, he enjoys pastimes such as being alive, spreading joy and whimsy, and being relentlessly teased by his friends. Previously, they’ve been published in Abducted Cow Magazine and The Letters Home Collection.

LISA BADNER’s (she/her/hers) debut poetry collection, FRUIT CAKE, was published in 2022 by Unsolicited Press. Lisa’s writing has appeared in Rattle, the New Ohio Review, The Satirist, PANK, Fourteen Hills, Unbroken and others. Lisa lives in Brooklyn. https://lisabadner.com/

LOUISE HELLER (she/they) is a multidisciplinary artist and writer from Seattle, WA who loves little baby oranges and big dangly earrings. She has a bachelors degree in Creative Writing and Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies. They enjoy combining their various art mediums and writing outside of genre. Some other work can be found at @louise.printandthings on Instagram.

MARI CARDENAS (she/they) is a first generation Venezuelan-American creative who is passionate about community organizing, photography, poetry, and writing loved letters to loved ones. Her dream is to coordinate and showcase deeper and genuine moments to encourage a safe and inclusive space expression in community.

MARRY MILLIKEN (they/them) is a painter, illustrator, educator, and content creator specializing in handmade gestural artwork with bright colors and textures. They have over 15 years of professional experience making art for schools, businesses, events, and markets. Mary’s work utilizes myriad media to create stylized portraits, zines, landscapes, and abstract art. They are inspired by Neo-Expressionism as well as their region, living in a fat body, mental health and queerness. In 2020, Mary began drawing live portraits to connect with people while social distancing. Since then, they have done hundreds of portraits of people and pets throughout the United States.

MARY RHODES (she/her) is a recent graduate of the University of Georgia in Athens, Georgia. She lives there with her dog Kit, her cats Maya and Dovey, and the nameless ghost that haunts her laundry room. She spends her free time fostering kittens from local rescues and dragging her duvet to the couch for a movie night. You can find her on instagram at @maryrwrites, and on twitter at @marspr44.

MAX BISHOP (they/she/he) is a genderqueer polyamorous artist from Florida. Max’s works are heavily inspired by human sexuality, nature, and stories from their friends. Their main mediums include linocut blocks, acrylic, clothes, and buttons. They have two cats named Apple Cider and Helen. They can be found at their art Instagram @maxeroticarts

NIC ELISA HAMPTON (they/them) is a queer, Filipinx-American, interdisciplinary artist based in San Francisco, California. Their work explores the physical and emotional qualities of the human body, and how that bridges our connection to each other. Inspired by Kapwa, the core of Filipino philisophy, meaning “Self within the Other”, Nic aims to change the condition of separation, to union. @nichampton

NIK SHIER (they/them) is a Queer poet and storyteller who grew up surrounded by the smells of tobacco and cheese factory labor in Wisconsin. They share an imaginary pet chicken, Clementine, with their good buddy. She is the best chaos. Their work has appeared in places like Small Portions, The Pitkin Review, Spittoon, and others. If you’re into pictures of their cats (BoogieMan, Monster, and Squish Anomalie), check them out on Instagram @Nik.Shier. If you prefer Queer art, follow them @QueerJoyByHeartBrain instead

NYALA YVONNE (she/they) originally from Tallahassee, Florida, and now based in Atlanta, is an artist with a BA in Studio Art from Florida State University. With a foundation in mixed media collage and video art, her creative journey is a synthesis of traditional and contemporary techniques. Through the tactile manipulation of found materials and the dynamic interplay of moving images, she explores themes of memory, identity and societal constructs.

OLI BAKER (they/them) is a queer trans poet from the redwoods of Northern California. They enjoy citrus, mud, clove, and driftwood. At night, they tend to gravitate toward abandoned roads winding through forests, listening to quiet music and chewing on ice. In their spare time, they are reading comics and drinking sun tea. Oli is a cat person, but doesn’t mind dogs. They write both fiction and poetry.

PEJA ZEPEDA (she/her) is a lesbian twenty-year-old full time university student who has an undying love for the art of writing, particularly poetry. She got into the realm of composing poems as a means to let her emotions run free and quickly adored how beautiful playing with words can be. In her leisure time, besides constantly studying criminology, she leans towards a pen to scribble her heart’s messages since she aims to become an impactful poet to the utmost degree whether that be advocating for social justice or to the sappy romantic bits and pieces of life.

RISHA NICOLE (she/they) is a poet, author, teaching artist, and childcare worker from Sandusky, Ohio. Risha is the author of her full-length poetry collection, Without A Sound, and her chapbook, As long as I live you are with me. Their third upcoming collection; Dying Girl is on coming of age; exploring religion, sexual abuse, and their queer identity.

ROXANNE GONZALES (they/them) is an artist based in El Paso who has spent the better part of her life being familiar with death and finding comfort in the small pleasures of life. They recieved their BFA from the University of Texas at El Paso with a focus in drawing and printmaking. Their art focuses on the mundane experiences that humans gain throughout their life and often take for granted filtered through the lens of a neuroqueer person. Their artwork also encompasses the beauty in death of life, thought processes, the ego, and other cycles– as well as the grief that they have overcome.

RUBY JEAN DUDASIK (she/her) is a writer of words, lover of oceans, and container of multitudes from the east coast. She believes in the power of storytelling, myth, and music to create connection and community. Ruby currently lives in Chicago and is starting her Ph.D. in Theater at the University of Wisconsin-Madison in the fall of 2024. When not daylighting as a barista, she can be found at the closest body of water, on the lookout for mermaids and other fantastical mundanities. Find her on Instagram @rubydudasik.

RUBY ZATS (she/her) was born and raised in NYC, and is often reffered to as “the only child in Chelsea.” Now living in LA, jumping from odd job to weird gig, she has babysat, private cheffed, worked at one of California’s smallet and fanciest grocery stores, and most importantly has spent every day of the past 3 years hanging out with her closest homies. Next year she plans on going to the Oscars for Best Director. Or maybe just Cannes. She’s still mulling it.

SARA-CAYEN ABUBO (she/they/siya) is a Filipino-American artist and student. They can often be found writing about food, love, land, and the many other threads that constantly connect us to one another and that hold life together.

SARA CARPENTER (she/her) is a writer and independent filmmaker living in Los Angeles, CA. She has never held a cup of coffee without spilling some. Despite her shortcomings, she remains optimistic and averages five cups a day.

SCOUT COSNER (they/them) is a third generation artist from Baltimore, Maryland. After graduating from the George Washington University’s Corcoran School of the Arts & Design in 2016, they opened their studio and consulting practice: Repeopled. Working between art and politics, their practice explores relationships of power through portraiture, abstraction, and illustration. “Either one founders in apathy, or the earth becomes repeopled.” - Simone de Beauvoir, The Mandarins. IG @repeopled

SEBASTIAN ELLIOS (he/him) is a black, queer poet out of Durham, NC who is constantly asking what it means to be a part of the world and, at a smaller scale, a part of human ecosystems (aka communities). He best processes his existentialism by writing incredibly melancholy or entertainingly irreverent pieces. You can often find him listening to Tierra Whack or Waxahatchee for hours on end. His work has been published by the Tabadul Collective, Moonstone Press, and Beyond Words Magazine. Find him on Instagram @sebastianellios

SUSANNE SALEHI (she/they) is a queer writer of Iranian descent and former Memphian residing in the Atlanta suburbs with their partner and two cats. She’s a Taurus, sticker collector, puzzle fiend, and all around cozy creature who spends her free time reading, cross stitching, and gardening. Their do-for-dollars work is in the nonprofit field. She completed an MA in applied anthropology many moons ago and is a current MFA student at Emerson College, busy writing the epic sapphic heroes she’s always wanted to see. You can find them at susannesalehi.com or @susannesalehi

SYD KLECNNKER (she/her/hers) is a rookie digital artist from Orlando, FL, who enjoys writing feminist zombie fiction, walking her grumpy dog, daydreaming at her desk about van life, and creating her distorted version of digital portraits. Even though she wears mostly black and neutrals, she is a true maximalist with her art and home! While most of her art highlights her experiences as a queer woman, she believes isolation, sensitivity, and silliness are universal. @theimpossiblesyd

SYD MATISSE (she/her) is a LA-based imagemaker, specializing in digital photography and design. She picked up the craft in 2014 while attending Berklee College of Music, so shooting concerts, recitals, and artist portraits are, to this day, her (gluten-free) bread and (dairy-free) butter.

TAYLOR HUMIN (she/her) is a writer from Baltimore, Maryland. You can find her on instagram @taylorhummus.

TAYLOR MICHAEL SIMMONS (he/him) is a late-twenty-something filmmaker and barista who likes laying down in the shower and long walks on the beach.

TERRA KAY (she/her) is an internationally published queer American poet and essayist from Southern California. Her writing explores her insights into intimacy, authenticity, spirituality, grief, forgiveness, humor and her own healing journey. Her writings can be found on various websites, Facebook, and Amazon as featured in the 2023 edition of Women Poets of the World, “Petals Of Prose.” @terrakay

TOBI BRUN (they/them) is chronically obsessed with life, loves their cats, and is up past their bed time. Tobi is a creative writing adjunct, barista, and a burnt out 20-something looking for the meaning of life. They write poetry, prose, and run an indie press called The Word’s Faire. Their first poetry collection, “Of the Eaten” will be published by The Word’s Faire in April of 2024. One could find them laying in the sun, or peeking around corners. Their work can be found at Grim & Gilded, BrainDumped, Nexus Literary Journal, ShortVine Journal, and more. Instagram: @dont.breathe.flowers Business: @the. words.faire

TOM INFECTION (he/they) is a trans-masc autistic artist in New Hampshire. His work discusses queerness, neurodivergence, and whatever else catches his fancy. With a background in agriculture, sound engineering and fish mongering, Tom is now a college student studying art and design. IG: @infectious_mold “Please enjoy my work, it’s all I have to offer!”

VESPER (they/them) is a queer disabled college student from Ohio attending Miami University! They are very gay and often use the term ‘dyke’ as an affectionate self-descriptor, particularly in queer-friendly spaces. They are studying psychology and art therapy and hope to one day be a practicing art therapist! They’re finishing their undergraduate degree in May, and after that plan on going wherever the wind takes them with their lovely ESA, Larry the cat. You can find them on instagram @vespers.sweet.song to see more of their silly shenanigans!

YOGITA SURYAWANSHI (she/her), an emergine artist based in Virginia, holds a BFA in Graphic Design from Virginia Commonwealth University. While she has worked in various mediums, Suryawanshi gravitates towards digital illustration and collage. Her artistic endeavors are deeply rooted in personal experiences, often exploring themes of trauma and childhood. Through her work, she embarks on a journey of self-healing, gradually addressing fragments of her own narrative. Fascinated by the interplay of trauma in human interactions and its impact on the world. Suryawanshi endeavors to depict these complexities through diverse artistic expressions. @yks_designs

contributors