queer writing

Two memes featuring an animated person with short dark hair gesturing at a yellow butterfly. On the left, the meme labels the person "trans bbs" and the butterfly "bog trees", with the bottom caption reading "U my gender?" On the right, the same image labels the person "artists" and the butterfly "bogs" with the caption reading "U have body?"

Bog conjunct neptune – dreams and jeopardy

i see trees falling as they cannot ground/roots can’t hold onto anything /that would give them stability

Tumblr user with false horns and a text collage displaying the words "part boy part god" over the demigender flag

QTGRL.Me Girlonline At The End of An Era

The internet in the 2010’s was a very special time and place to come of age as a trans woman. It was right at the end of old systems of categorization and identification, as well as the old internet.

An image of birch trees in a forest. On the closest tree, a squarish red area is visible. In the middle of the area is a small oval black and white portrait.

Forest that Cares – on Belarus, Partisans, and Thicket We Can Learn A Lot From

Human culture, people’s beliefs and behaviors are shaped by the natural environment we live in. Climate defines our diets and clothing habits, but certainly the most intricate interactions occur at deeper levels – deserts or jungles, the closeness to big waters or high mountains determine the way we perceive ourselves and others and feel about this strange thing called “life”.

A four color image on a white background. In the center, three women wearing grecian dresses raise an offering toward the sky. They are outlined in blue with a light blue over color, and some yellow over wash on the bottom. On the edges, two piles of spirals sit under two black line illustrations of Lofi girl, a girl with bangs wearing headphones and a sweater and sitting with her head on one hand, looking pensive. A yellow circle is behind each illustration. The lofi girls face each other.

An ode to the cybernetic patron saint of work and procrastination, Lofi girl.

To hear some beats to relax/study to,
I invoke Lofi girl.In a mythic time of human/cyborg symbiosis, she and I are one. By the grace of her beats, I can achieve my best self.

A colorful illustration of a bug-like troll figure, with cars and bugs and a cityscape in the background. The city is black, and the sky is turquoise, with a large green vine and pastel-colored bugs.

The Troll: Between the Mythological and the Digital

Not so long ago I met a troll for the first time. Or I think I did. I’ve probably met others, but since they usually work in the shadows, their identity is anonymous. Trolls never show they are trolls. But this time we were living together.

A surreal watercolour painting of a black sky, red sea, and green creatures. Many planets seem to rise in the sky, and there appear to be gohsts and amoebas coming out of the sea.

Poem 1, 2, 3

Poems by Inky Lee.

I knew of an asian man. His body was small and he was going blind. He quit his office job and was training to become a masseur – to see with his hands while his eyes cease to see. He was a devout christian and was known to pray for many hours every day. People called him a holy man. One time, I went to his place to get a massage. After the massage, he prayed for me. As I was about to leave, he smirked and told me to never bring a black man home because that would make my mother go into a long fast.

An image of a water bottle with a pink label and cap, resting on medium sized river rocks. The label text has been swirled in an obviously edited fashion.

Aqualiteracies: Understanding (and Sensing) Water as a Hybrid Data Carrier

Coming from Bogotá, a previous swamp which was dried out in colonial times, I didn’t grow up with a body of water close to me. The Pacific and Atlantic Oceans were around 10 and 13 hours away from where I lived.

Turf House Erotica: Soft Darkness and Radiating Body Heat (Honoring Our Icelandic Ancestors)

I am a farmer. An Icelandic male farmer. (It is sometime in the Olden Times.) I live in a traditional Icelandic turf house.

A drawing of a boot, a series of mechanical objects, and scratchy lines. The edges of the paper are visible.

The future toddlers of my friends clamber over me and affectionately sprinkle grass onto my shoulders

I sit here- writing this while the sound checks for a festival in Victoria Park sound out. It is like 1, 2, 3- 3 ch’ ch’. I sit here writing this while my childhood best friend is preparing to play at this festival- I will be able to hear him from my window.