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The Pool

TEXT BY: Anna Favero // Italy/Germany || ILLUSTRATION BY: Verena Spilker // Germany

It was like diving in pools of liquid past. Suddenly I’m eighteen, an awful glass of amaro and a cigarette in my hands, listening shyly to my brother’s…
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A Bed Of Stones

TEXT BY: Chroma Curious // India || ILLUSTRATION BY: Tigrowna // Germany

She put her concerns aside and scanned the scenario. On her left was a river and to her right was a small cave.
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20th Century Girl

TEXT BY: Shawna Virago // USA || ILLUSTRATION BY: Dixie Jade Turner // UK/Germany

Over coffee and onion rings, we chatted away, sharing our histories, tracing our connections, discovering our lines of intersection and where we were different, as we unburdened much to each other.
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Death on the Beach

TEXT BY: Michael Ampersant // Netherlands || ILLUSTRATION BY: Heather Sinclair // Germany

Shy as I was, I would always make sure that I wasn’t entering the wrong cabin, or walking in on somebody forgetting to lock the door who would then be standing there with his pants half-down and his tiny dick, looking embarrassed or angry and later show up in my dreams.
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The Journey across Southern Island

TEXT BY: Alexander Opicho // Kenya || ILLUSTRATION BY: Beldan Selzen // Amsterdam/New York

We are now driving past Bukolobi Night Club, towards the football pitch where the Al Shabab terrorist once attacked. We are sure no policeman is following us. Uganda police have that type of over-confidence of having been guerilla; they know that no woman can defy their order.
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Orphan

TEXT BY: V. P. Gangadharan // India || ILLUSTRATION BY: Alann De Vuyst // Netherlands

It implies a blatant denial of parturition to offspring, a crass refusal of rational identity from a progenitor, making of an anthropoid creature void of ‘in-your-face’ societal stamp, called for human race.
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Send me postcards and books

TEXT BY: Sneha Rooh // India || ILLUSTRATION BY: Falco Verholen // Netherlands

Send me postcards and books
Your clothes for swapping
And all the slicing words that repeat
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Clean

TEXT BY: Norman Belanger // USA || ILLUSTRATION BY: Julia Lama // Spain

“And there it is again, the question I must answer. It says right on my profile: “POZ” But who reads anymore?”
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Time’s up

TEXT BY: Stella Andrada Kasdovasili // Hungary/Greece || ILLUSTRATION BY: Ranafarba // France

“She talked for an hour or so. Told me everything. How everyone got divided. Everything got very complicated. Identities clashed. First came the men, then gay men, then trans men, then trans women, then women, then lesbian women, bisexuals (they really had it ugly, nobody ever believed they were even a thing), asexuals, metrosexuals, non-binary, queer. Riots, protests, violence in all possible ways and forms.”
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Darling Fitch

MULTIMEDIA PROJECT BY: Darling Fitch // Germany/USA

“Arising from the cesspool of Berlin’s queer party scene, Darling Fitch’s A Stranger Sound is a dark yet ultimately affirming transgender coming-of-age story.”
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Another Coming Out Story

TEXT BY: Norman Belanger // USA || ILLUSTRATION BY: Tigrowna // Germany

Howard Roarke laughed. He stood naked at the edge of a cliff…he laughed at the thing which had happened to him that morning, and the things which now lay ahead….
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A QUEER DILEMMA

TEXT BY: T.M. Brown // Ireland || ILLUSTRATION BY: Tom Moore // Germany

“If the theory is true that our formative years are what made us queers – what difference does that”
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The Group

TEXT BY: Nod Ghosh // New Zealand || ILLUSTRATION BY: Falco Verholen // Netherlands

She left the group before I did, even though my partner joined before me. A sanctuary for people like us, the group should have been somewhere we both felt safe…
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BENEVOLENT WINGED ANGEL

TEXT BY: Aabbchot aabbaadd Aabbswallow // Australia

Aaabbchot Aabbaadd Aabbswallow, tall body hair free callow, dreaming again of being naked, exploring gorgeous creature,….
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The Christening

TEXT BY: Jocelyne Rigal // Ireland || ILLUSTRATION BY: Tigrowna // Germany

I broke the uneasy pause which followed, with a statement which boomed throughout the car. ‘But that’s nothing to worry about!’ I said, making a wide gesture as an invitation for tolerance.
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My Two Mothers

TEXT BY: Nyar Afrika // Kenya || ILLUSTRATION BY: Elizabeth Watkin // USA

My mothers are two women in love and they raised me just fine. They are the best example of a prefect family and I am forever thankful that they taught me how to respect everyone else’s identities and sexual orientation without bias.
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WHITE DREAMING ON MOUNT WARNING

TEXT BY: Aabbchot aabbaadd Aabbswallow // Australia || ILLUSTRATION BY: Lekouzinthomas // France

I am dreaming about men. I am dreaming about women. I am dreaming i have tits walking across the nearby highway, walking along the local street with busy endless small shops. I am dreaming this recurring unresolving dream….
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Exposed

TEXT BY: Nyar Afrika // Kenya || ILLUSTRATION BY: Elizabeth Watkin // USA

I want this mysterious woman to have me. To take me in a way known to her and make me moan endlessly. To touch me in places that crave for touch; a woman’s touch and make me moan.
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If I Should Fall Asleep – CW: Suicide

TEXT BY: Cassia Gaden Gilmartin // Ireland || ILLUSTRATION BY: Avital Yomdin // Germany

It’s nine o’clock, evening but not yet night, and the sky is the colour of peaches. Colours, rather. A pinkish red in the high places and yellow nearer the horizon, as if the sun’s split open and leaked all over the sky.
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HOMOPHOBIC POEM NO. 8

TEXT BY: T.M. Brown // Ireland || ILLUSTRATION BY: Tom Moore // Germany

Are Gay People Artistic Because They’re Gay Or Gay Because They’re Artistic?, Either Way It Seems A Strange Conclusion To Reach And To Say The Least Over Simplistic.
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a lake, a sea so far

TEXT + ILLUSTRATION BY: E. C. Schuster // Germany

They are a young, queer lesbian based in Germany. They are a student of English literature, an activist, and work as an academic researcher and freelance journalist.
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Eat, Pray, Puke – CW: bulimia

TEXT BY: Nate Eileen Tjoeng // Singapore || ILLUSTRATION BY: Falco Verholen // Netherlands

My name is Beverly. I am 29 years old, I have bulimia and I have lived purging what I consume for 13 years. It all started when I was a plump kid at 16. The mockery and scorn tore me apart.
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In Ireland and in Love

TEXT BY: Jocelyne Rigal // Ireland || ILLUSTRATION BY: Lea Daniel // Ireland

How do you heal a broken heart? Mine had been reduced to shreds by Mairead, an out and proud lesbian I met at work. Mairead, all hoodies and short hair, didn’t take my feelings for her seriously because I’d had two babies
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Nyelethi

text by: Nyar Afrika // Kenya || photo by: Ambika Thompson // Canada

That surprises me. She never talks about us when we are together. To her, I am this dirty little secret, something she enjoys having by her side. I am okay with that. Personally, I am not out looking for anything that would tie me down.
2

Quest as in Question or Quest as in Journey

text by: Julius // Trinidad and Tobago || illustration by: Elizabeth Watkin // USA

I stared into his dark eyes. I was washed with pure hate. He hated me. I had no idea why. Three words separated me from gaining his acceptance. I am gay. Those words rang in my ear and danced in the whirlpool of thoughts that strangled my mind. He hated me.
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Dark Juices

text by: Nyar Afrika // Kenya || illustration by: Lekouzinthomas // France

The prospect of getting laid sends chills down my body. Exhilaration dances through me. I miss the touch of a woman so much that I am on the brink of insanity. Just kidding.
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Kasper the Ghost

text by: Roland Taureau // Australia || illustration by: Falco Verholen // Netherlands

The first thing I remember is the yellow and black neon sign: men’s bar. It stuck out in the cold, foggy darkness of the Copenhagen night. I was drunk as usual. A lone traveller doing the rounds of a new city’s gay venues.
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Diversity in Education

text by: Jonathan Daniel // USA || illustration by: Elizabeth Watkin // USA

I can’t feel. I thought – I had reached my limits, but now – little spheres in onyx tones – surround me pulsing, – pulsing in an expanse – of tepid indigo,
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What (Is) It Like…?

text by: GVGK Tang // USA || illustration by: tom moore // Germany

The ambience shifts. What looked like a stilted high school dance – stagnant bodies strewn awkwardly across a dance floor – now feels like an Ivy League dining club. The white male old heads all know each other and group off.
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Pixie

text by: Dan Ayres // Germany || illustration by: Renaud Helena // Germany

Paul’s booze-sodden brain was at the beck and call of an indecisive octopus, pulling on levers protruding from the neurological coral that sent his body conflicting messages. Some of these were organic – sensible motions willing him to eat
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7 Signs You Should See a Therapist

text by: Anna Geary-Meyer // Germany || photo by: Anna Geary-Meyer // Germany

When a rainbow speaks you in the face – do not tell it to be silent. These things – are dumb luck on a high horse & one day – your cup will be full of fish again. Good – fish don’t only speak in riddles
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Some Girls & Pissing Annie

text by: by Desi Valentinova / Ulpia // Bulgaria || illustration by: Verena Spilker // Germany

Pissing Annie sat along – Asking me if I was wrong – Is my stamen* all too long – Did I ever ding and dong
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Dirt

text by: Jane Flett // Germany || illustration by: Nami Nakano // Japan

That was the summer I finally grew into myself, fitting into my skin like a hand in a tight cotton glove. All summer long, I ran my hands across my life, marvelling. I could feel the neat, tucked seams. The stitches.
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The Jobs I’ve Found on Craigslist

text by: Anna Geary-Meyer // Germany || photo by: Verena Spilker // Germany

The second job I find on Craigslist is wiping the butt of a three-year-old whose favorite food is salami. No one tells me three-year-olds need help on the toilet, so this comes as a surprise. We get in a fight over the last bread roll one afternoon and I quit.
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Burned by the Stake

text by: Ambika Thompson // Canada || illustration by: tom moore // Germany

I was passing through the main square of a village, selling pelts so I could feed all the children I have at home, when a man tried to stick his hand up my skirt. Without hesitation I slapped him in the face
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Smear Signal

text by: Corinna Cliff // Germany || illustration by: tom moore // Germany

Eleanor froze. Unable to move, she saw Mandy materializing in front of the wall. She was drenched in blood, just as she looked like when they found her.
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Roseus Lupus

text by: Janielle Love Williams // USA || illustration by: Verena Spilker // Germany

I’m the descendent of a lineage of lycanthropes. As far back as we can trace, the Martins have shed their human coats at midnight of the full moon and roamed the night in packs. Shape shifting is an ability granted only after puberty. Needless to say I spent my childhood in anticipation.
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No Rest for the Brave

text + illustration by: Renaud Héléna // Germany

I push the table away to be more comfortable. In the formula, it must be at night, so I close the shutters. They say that this recipe works perfectly, it does miracles. I light two candles and I sit on the carpet. I take the bay leaf and the lighter. I think hard about Vincent. I desire him.

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