I recently read “Filthy Animals” by Brandon Taylor, which was released last year in 2021. I’d been looking to read more explicitly queer novels, ones that explored themes outside traditional YA themes. “Filthy Animals” is an exploration of queer sexuality and masculinity, a book that seems to understand the contradictions between all levels of queer identity. It is a book that aims to explore generational trauma, the past haunting its characters like an ambivalent ghost where the characters crave an intimacy they haven’t before.
In the fall, I discussed how internalized homophobia produced complicated feelings about my old middle school’s increasingly progressive attitudes towards queer identities and rising numbers of “out” queer students. I unpacked my slight resentment toward those queer students, who seem to have an easier time exploring their queer identities out in the open since they exist in a less oppressive environment.
Dear Reader, I would first like to introduce myself. My name is Christopher and I am OutWrite Newsmagazine’s resident trans/(gender)queer Marfanoid and now Editor-in-Chief. I am finishing up my third year as a part of the OutWrite family and UCLA community, having grown from a hopeful, L-G-B-T, physically exhausted pure Mathematics major to the proud queercrip and rejected art student studying Communication and Disability Studies, who led two of the biggest disability rights actions in the University of California’s history. It’s been an interesting few years, and our collective isolation has allowed me plenty of time to reflect.
Illustrated by Cole Lopez (They/Them) This comic was originally published in our Winter 2022 Volume 2 print issue “Wanting: A Queer Beauty & Burden.“
magician you don’t listen
all your tricks have worked on me
I’m in a hundred million pieces and we last spoke in my dreams
please lead me back inside the gardens where our lives and love have peaked
Today’s discussions of environmental science almost always touch on environmental justice and inequities, and for good reason. Green space (any space covered in trees, grass, or shrubbery) is extremely beneficial to communities in more ways than one. Research shows us that access to parks and green space is a significant health factor and has been linked to increased general health, lower mortality, and healthier babies because green space reduces air pollution, encourages healthier practices like exercising and sleeping, and relieves stress. Outdoor spaces are important in many other ways, too.
I recently saw a play called “Abortion Weekend,” directed, produced, and written by two Black queer creatives, Mareshah Dupree and Jairis Carter. “Abortion Weekend” is exactly what the play is titled: a young pregnant woman and her friend trying to figure out how to induce a miscarriage during the last weekend of the summer.
Jenny and I met in the early days of middle school, when everyone was all acne and gangly legs, and got on like a gasoline-soaked house gets on with a match. Frankly, it was a nightmare for our parents. My mom, who I know had been quietly worrying about my ability to make friends, was suddenly unable to enter a shared space in our house without me bombarding her with requests to go to Jenny’s house, stories of something funny that Jenny had said at school today, of Jenny’s new puppy that she got last week.
It’s summer time! And you know what that means: driving with the windows down, ice cream sundaes, and all of our body image issues that we concealed under winter clothes being brought to the surface!
As a queer Indian-American, the country genre has always seemed antithetical to my existence, a mix of hypermasculinity and overwhelming whiteness. Observing country artists like Blake Shelton and Luke Bryan, I perceived country as music for the white man and…