Over 15,000 people turned up for the Brooklyn Liberation Action for Black Trans Lives this past weekend and these are the best photographs I have ever seen.
“And I thought how interesting is it that America can be this dark star, death star, and also at the same time this incredible shining light.”
“P.S. I’d hoped the picture I submitted would be with my neighborhood turkey that I’ve enjoyed searching for on my daily walk…”
As we head into the crisp, fresh beginning of 2020 and a new decade, we want to hear about your queerest, wildest dreams for the future. Deadline for submissions is January 31!
The deadline for submissions is October 25!
These are stories of risk and growth, building connections and realizing when they’re ending — all the places we think are worth moving toward and the things worth returning to.
Our summer issue is a broad look at traveling around and about this whole weird place, for all the right or wrong or baffling reasons. Submissions are open until July 22nd!
As a perfectionist, I’ll always be more comfortable sharing my shiny conclusions than my messy processes. And the best thing about climbing, for me, is that it’s pure process.
It’s Pride month; have you heard? Have you danced in the streets, wearing a rainbow flag, surrounded by topless women, shouting your queerness and here-ness, maybe honking a horn or ringing a bell? Here’s hoping!
Our favorite ways and places to be outside.
These are all love stories.
Our spring issue wants you to get outside and find the rest of us, or yourself, or the history of a people, or something else we’ve never seen! Deadline for submissions is midnight April 26th.
Here’s your in-depth look at all the numbers on lesbian, bisexual and queer television representation in 2018. Spoiler alert: it got better?
“I was once a dancer, a synchronized swimmer, I played acrobat on thick, moss covered logs when I was at the lake, catching myself as I stumbled was a game. Now, I struggle to do eyeliner.”
Sometimes you just have to let out your inner Connecticut divorcée on a beach.
In the pool hall, my sweetheart and a close friend tease me one night: “unimpressive,” “pure luck,” “you aren’t that good.” They were trying to get my ire up so that an hour later when I told them to stare into each other’s eyes as I fucked my sweetheart’s body, I would mean it with a snarky competitive vengeance, I would mean it with power and control, I would be pushed to take what I want.
For centuries, the art of brewing beer belonged to women alone. This is the story of how the church pushed them out the industry they founded and sent them riding piggy-back on demons into the flames of an eternal abyss.
“I want to cry but I work in events, and I can’t go home until 8pm. Instead I spend the afternoon wondering how much it would hurt if I bit off my finger.”
“No one knows, including me, that my overindulgence and competitive drinking is an attempt to assert the only masculinity I know. Toxic.”
“I derailed Bible study tonight and Pastor Daniel ended up delivering a lecture about the danger of Britney Spears; specifically, Crossroads. He said she’s scandalous.”