CO LO R A D O'S LG B TQ CO LO R A D O'S LG B TQ M AGA ZINE | F R E E M AGA ZINE | F R E E
Drag Demons of
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CONTENTS OCTOBER 21, 2020 VOL44 NO14
HE ISN’T GOING ANYWHERE OTHER DUTIES AS ASSIGNED PERPETUAL CARE THE SPOOKY SIDE OF DRAG: THE BOULET BROTHERS DEMONS OF DRAG MY LOVER KNOWS NO TEMPERANCE
Photo courtesy of Boulet Brothers
I’LL SEE YOU AGAIN
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SERVING THE LGBTQ COMMUNITY OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS SINCE 1976 PHONE 303-477-4000 FAX 303-325-2642 WEB OutFrontMagazine.com FACEBOOK /OutFrontColorado TWITTER @outfrontmagazne INSTAGRAM /outfrontmagazine FOUNDER PHIL PRICE 1954-1993 ADMINISTRATION info@outfrontmagazine.com JERRY CUNNINGHAM Publisher J.C. MCDONALD Vice President MAGGIE PHILLIPS Associate Publisher JEFF JACKSON SWAIM Chief Strategist
NOVEMBER 9-12, 2020
EDITORIAL editorial@outfrontmagazine.com ADDISON HERRON-WHEELER Editor VERONICA L. HOLYFIELD Creative Director KEEGAN WILLIAMS Copy Editor BRENT HEINZE Senior Columnist DENNY PATTERSON Celebrity Interviewer INTERNS Arianna Balderrama, Danny Bradley, Izzy Yellin, Justine Johnson, Ray Manzari WRITERS Apollo Blue, Melanie Griffin ART art@outfrontmagazine.com DESIGN2PRO Graphic Designer COVER DESIGN Veronica L. Holyfield COVER PHOTO Courtesy of Boulet Brothers PHOTO SHOOT Veronica L. Holyfield and Justine Johnson MARKETING + SALES marketing@outfrontmagazine.com QUINCEY ROISUM Senior Marketing Executive KELSEY ELGIE DOMIER Busines Developement Executive KAYTE DEMONT Digital Sales Executive
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O U T F R O N T M A G A Z I N E . C O M // 5
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FROM THE EDITOR
I
t’s spooky season, haunted Halloween time, the most wonderful time of year for all of us queers.
Some of you may be thinking, “Can we just skip it this year? Twenty-twenty has been scary enough.” To which I reply, “The whole reason we revel in horror is to deal with the mundane.” Studies show that people with horror and anxiety actually find solace in the spooky, from scary books and movies to haunted houses. As the Boulet Brothers tell us in their exclusive interview, queer tropes were often worked into early horror films, and because LGBTQ folks can relate to being othered and treated like monsters; we relate to scary stuff more than butterflies and rainbows in many cases. So, while 2020 has no doubt brought us a fascist leader, gangs of roving Nazis, an actual pandemic, and plenty of other fresh terrors, Halloween and horror can help us process and do what we do best: understand it, survive it, make art about it, and overcome it. So, this Halloween, get into the spirit, whether that means watching a scary movie, reading some of the spine-tingling fiction in this issue, or checking out the new Dragula special or some local, spooky drag. Whatever you do, do it boldly, if you dare. Happy Halloween! -Addison Herron-Wheeler
TRIGGER WARNING: THE THEMES PRESENTED IN THIS ISSUE IN THE FORM OF FICTION AND PHOTOGRAPHY MAY BE GRAPHIC AND DISTURBING TO SOME WITH TRAUMA AROUND DEATH, GORE, AND THE MACABRE.
O U T F R O N T M A G A Z I N E . C O M // 7
HE ISN’T GOING ANYWHERE by Keegan Williams
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M
itchell just moved.
It was … abrupt. He decided quickly he was done with his old city, his old friends, his old behaviors; he broke his lease and found a new one to sign the same week in a neighboring state 300 miles away he only knew through the threads he perused on Reddit. Mitchell got into trouble; he had become a person he sometimes didn’t like, but to him, it was the circumstances, the environment, the people. He was going to be better now. He’d moved forward, past that toxic place. It wasn’t him. As Mitchell walked through the space with the real-esate agent during his move-in inspection, he blindly signed and failed to peer closer, though virtually everything under the ‘Condition’ header on the clipboard was noted ‘Excellent.’ As he and his cat, Ren, got settled, the imperfections came to light: one of the stove knobs constantly fell off, and the screen covering attached to the window was loose. There was a discolored patch in the wood flooring of the main room. There was also a creaky pipe under the sink. Mitchell didn’t actually hear it the first four weeks. It was 3 a.m., and he awoke to a justloud-enough bang, followed by a long, subdued groan. There was nothing in the cabinet but a little water on the floor. He got a couple of paper towels to clean up and sent a pointed email to his property manager before going back to bed. After that night, he heard it the next, and every night after. At 3 a.m., a bang, followed by the strange, drawn-out groan from under the sink, but only for about five seconds, then a puddle of water to clean. The plumber came on day four. “I don’t see anything here—I came out here right before you moved in to check, and it’s the same.”
“There’s a leak. I clean up the water. And not that I was expecting to again, but I’ve lived with bad plumbing. Can you make this stop?” Mitchell noticed the edge in his speech. “Look, just, c’mon. Help me out here.” “I have to go across town. There’s nothing more to do here. Sorry.” The following evening, Mitchell heard nothing. He didn’t wake up to any sound at 3 a.m. He arose the next morning pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t until a half hour later when he was fully awake that he recognized his new space was missing Ren. He looked under the bed, behind his loveseat, in the cabinets, in the kitchen cabinet under the sink. He stopped. On the floor under the sink, Mitchell noticed missing wood, as if something punched or pushed up through the foundation. He saw traces of fur, water, some blood. He stepped back in shock. Tears welled up in his eyes, horrified thinking about what might have snatched his cat, grief beginning to sink in. He called into work that day, called his property manager, and laid in bed most of the day. He realized there was still an open hole later in the day and proceeded to remove everything from under the sink before the cabinet shut. The property manager returned the call from his voicemail later that afternoon. “So, wait—what happened?” “I told you what happened. I can’t find my cat, and something got it through the bottom of the sink. I just had a plumber come out because I thought you had sh*tty pipes here, but seems like you have some kind of infestation, too!”
O U T F R O N T M A G A Z I N E . C O M // 9
Mitchell knew he sounded like an assh*le, but he didn’t care. “I’m sorry about your cat getting out. There is no infestation. I’ll submit a work order to look, but if you damaged the apartment, you will need to repair it.” Mitchell scoffed and hung up the phone. He put on a crappy movie and chased the evening with a Tylenol PM and two shooters of whiskey he guzzled down his throat with contempt, shortly after falling asleep on the loveseat in a contorted position. At 3 a.m., the same noise from before, and the same groan, greeted Mitchell, though he did not respond. He rarely used sleep-aids, hadn’t drank since he moved, and was still virtually unmoved from when he began sleeping. About two minutes later, what woke Mitchell was the cabinet doors slamming open and the duct tape tearing from the middle. His body shot up vertically, and he stood, frozen. His night vision wasn’t strong. He stood still as a small figure moved toward him on the ground. It looked like Ren. She had patches of missing hair and parts of her coat had dried blood crusted over it. Mitchell reached out, and Ren pounced on his left calf, sinking her teeth into his flesh. His frozen stance quickly changed, as he jolted his leg up. She sunk in her teeth further, and Mitchell cried out in pain. He grabbed the scruff of her neck and could see in the slight light from outside Ren’s eyes were a ruby red. No irises, no pupils, no whites. His heart skipped a beat as he kicked his leg against the wall with Ren still on it. Ren let out a low, guttural screech before jolting back under the sink. Mitchell shoved a chair up against the cabinet temporarily to tend to his wounds. Mitchell touched his skin and immediately registered abundant swelling. He went over to his kitchen cabinet to grab some Neosporin and a handful of bandaids. He stood over the discolored patch of wood as he dabbed ointment onto the bite wounds.
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Mitchell only had time to briefly register the sound and feeling of the rumble under his feet. Right under him, the discolored wood severed, and a bloated hand busted through the floor, yanking on Mitchell’s right ankle. To the left, another hand emerged from the floor and gripped Mitchell on his wounded leg. Mitchell was pulled to the floor, screaming out and looking behind him after hearing a third bang from the ground. Behind him, grabbing onto his limbs, was a figure that mirrored Mitchell’s appearance. It had discolored skin with dark circles under its ruby-red eyes. It smirked as it dug its fingers into Mitchell’s bite wounds. He scrambled his arms backward to grab a kitchen utensil. The figure anticipated Mitchell’s upper-body movement backward and, still gripping his legs, shoved its body backward, further opening the hole in the ground and bringing Mitchell down with it. Despite the red, pupil-less eyes, Mitchell could still feel it looking right at him. “I’m not going away. I’m not going anywhere,” it hissed. Mitchell felt its grip becoming tighter and tighter as they sunk deeper into the ground, the floorboard shifting and closing over him, what now looked like 20 or 30 feet above. The pressure overtook Mitchell’s body, and he couldn’t see or feel anything. He woke up, soaked in sweat in his bed. Ren perked up at the end of his bed. He caught his breath, coming back to reality, stood up, and went to his bathroom. He soaked his face with cold water, splashing it into his face and rubbing it into his eyes before looking up into the mirror. He was greeted by the figure looking back, the same pupil-less, ruby red eyes, vacant smirk, slowly reaching up to relay a gentle wave of the hand.
O U T F R O N T M A G A Z I N E . C O M // 1 1
by Melanie Griffin
Other Duties As Assigned M
r. K greeted Kelly on her first day, smiling through the neat beard she recognized from her job interview.
It had been the two of them in his office. Kelly had felt at ease until his last question. “You don’t have any experience with data management?” She managed to say what she’d been practicing since she’d gotten a callback. “A lot of my skills are very transferable.” Then her mind went blank, so she let out a nervous chuckle. “And, uh, I definitely know the alphabet …” Her confidence withered under Mr. K’s gaze. His beard said nothing for the longest minute of Kelly’s life. She and Natalia both needed this job. “We’re looking for someone we can rely on.” His eyes sought hers. “Can you handle that?” Kelly had thought of her wife and said, “Yes.” So, here she was, setting her bag down next to a short, middleaged woman with glasses. Mr. K introduced her as Rose, and as they were showing Kelly how to set up her station, a man in Birkenstocks breezed in. “Fresh meat! Excellent.” His hands, which he had been rubbing together like a cartoon villain, wilted under the combined glares of Mr. K and Rose. “What? I kid, I kid.” Mr. K said, “Jake, why don’t you show Kelly the vault?” “Will do.” Jake gestured for Kelly to follow him, and of course, she did. *** They descended into a long, dark room full of hulking shapes that didn’t reveal themselves until Jake made his way down the first aisle. Kelly’s nerve endings tuned up to warn her of the first sign of trouble. Jake nudged the side of a shelf with his toes. “You gotta watch these things. They creep.” Kelly nodded.
face. She could only stand and point and make a noise she’d never heard before. Jake laughed and yanked it out from between closed shelves. It was a human arm, neatly severed from whomever had been desperately trying to claw their way out— Jake tossed and caught it like a baton. “So real, isn’t it?” He lobbed it to Kelly. Her hands told her it was plaster, painted skin and gore. Her heart slowly calmed. Jake saw the look hadn’t left her face. “Annual tradition around here. Happy Halloween!” Kelly willed herself to smile. It wasn’t Jake’s fault Natalie would have to go solo to the LGBTQ+ center’s party next week. And that WAS a really well-painted arm. *** Mr. K drew her aside before she left on October 30. “Are you ready for your first midnight shift?” Kelly had said yes. When she went in the next day, she saw nothing unusual except the number of rings Rose wore. “Happy full moon!” she said, brandishing her pewter at Kelly. Soon after Kelly arrived, the others started leaving. The luxury of working without anyone looking over her shoulder covered the next few hours like a plush carpet. And then something massive groaned underneath her feet. Kelly thought about ignoring it. But what if the foundation was crumbling, and she didn’t say anything, and the whole damn place collapsed overnight? These fears overtook the ones tingling at the base of her spine, and she stood up. She placed the ‘BACK SOON’ plaque on her side of the desk. She made her way to the basement staircase.
“Let’s head back upstairs," he said. “That’s where the real action is.”
It was dark, of course. Kelly’s internal map of the place had solidified over her last few shifts, but when the lights still hadn’t blinked on at the end of the first aisle, it started to dissolve.
Some familiar shape caught the corner of Kelly’s eye. When she turned to look at it full-on, the blood drained from her
Her throat dried and closed. Her feet had automatically propelled her to the doublewide, center row that gave her a view of all
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the shelves, hulking together in shadow clusters that disguised their real size. They all stood silent. Watching. As she stared back, their small, green safety lights blinked to red, one-by-one. Before she got any closer, a mighty groan scraped her nerves raw and froze her to the spot.
“Shhhh,” Rose said into her ear. Rose was strong, and Kelly’s feet slid the exact opposite way she willed them. She cringed when she felt heat on her toes, but they went no further. She raised her eyes to see Mr. K under one robe’s hood, holding out a book and reading from it as Jake nodded along behind him. “O great one, we sacrifice this virgin to you—”
The shelf next to her started to move. And still, Kelly could not move or make any noise of her own. She watched, frozen, as the horror between the shelves revealed itself. A burning pit opened its maw on the floor, showing teeth the size of stalagmites jutting amongst the flames that kept into the room. By their flashes of light, Kelly could make out two robed figures on the other side of its rim. They chanted something she couldn’t hear, but in tones that she almost recognized, if she could just get rid of the shrieking in her head— Arms seized her in a tight embrace from behind. In a glint of fire, she recognized the rings. “Rose?” It came out in a squeezed whisper.
Kelly struggled. “I’m married,” she said, “I have a wife; we slept together ages before that, I’m not going to work—” Jake grinned. “Not that kind of virgin.” Mr. K lowered the tome a few inches. “You were the only otherwise qualified candidate without data management experience,” he sighed. “This is the only way that works.” Rose said, “We’ll miss you,” and shoved Kelly forward. Kelly’s guard dropped as she tried to process this into reality. She didn’t have time, and she fell into the molten mouth of the office undergod, mentally composing her resignation notice.
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O U T F R O N T M A G A Z I N E . C O M // 1 3
PERPETUAL CARE by Addison Herron-Wheeler
But Gracie could not be contained. At night, she slips out of the gate and floats, oh-sosoftly, down toward the river, where she lets out a horrible moan. A loud, piercing, wailing sort of moan that echoes off of the moss-covered trees, off the barges, onto the riverbanks, out into the ocean.
L
ong ago, she was abandoned in the South, where she came with her father. Her little body died, withered away in a Savannah hotel, little Gracie, to be forgotten. Forgotten by all but her father, who built a shrine for her, a monument of perpetual care. He walled it up inside a gated fence to keep people out. He had the finest sculpture, whose work he admired, carve her out of the best marble in perfect likeness.
A wail for her Black brothers and sisters, in bondage, in suffering, suffering still. A scream for her mother, who died in childbirth, forced by the doctors to give birth at risk her to failing body. A bloodcurdling, bone-chilling moan that wakes the hounds both ghostly and Earth-bound for miles to come. She floats down the aisles of gravestones, touching the moss that grows on their faces, and sheds tears nightly for those without grave faces, the indigenous, the Black, the poor, the female, the forgotten, the cast-off. She stops by the graves of those who died too young, who never got to live a good life, and she says a little ghostly prayer, whispers a melody, lets her tears fall on the stone. Her cries are loud and wailing, carrying above the mossy trees, but are still stifled by the great, silent, humid sky pressing down on her, heavy clouds blocking out the stars.
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Sometimes she wants to rip through that curtain of humidity, to not feel it anymore, but it always presses in around her like a wet, warm blanket. She roams the woods with ghostly dogs, plays with stray cats. She snacks on berries and nuts, she even laughs sometimes, giggles, lets out a ghostly chortle. But mostly, she screams and cries. Some say they can hear her crying on a still, hot, too-hot-breathe night if they listen close enough. Others say she ventures downtown, into the hotels, the haunted businesses, unlocks the doors where they used to keep the slaves, runs down by the river skipping stones, screams into the faces of tourists, and then disappears into the night. And still others say she’s not a ghost at all, just a memory. And barely that, for even her father, heartbroken as he was, had to move on and leave her grave. But every night, after the screams, the cries, the haunting, she returns back to her grave, her little courtyard, guarded by perpetual care, to sleep the day away and then embrace the night, the darkness, once more.
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O U T F R O N T M A G A Z I N E . C O M // 1 5
The Spooky Side of Drag THE BOULET BROTHERS
by Denny Patterson
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Photos courtesy of The Boulet Brothers
tep aside charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent. It’s time for drag, horror, filth, and glamour to take the spotlight.
Celebrated for their inclusive nature, this powerhouse duo is known for creating legendary and prolific nightlife events.
For more than 15 years, the Boulet Brothers, individually known as Dracmorda and Swanthula, have been changing the landscape of queer entertainment simply by providing a platform where the weird, unusual, and unheard-of are held in the highest regard.
In 2016, the Boulet Brothers opened the doors for drag monsters across the country to showcase their looks and talents in a drag competition series called Dragula. The show opened the eyes of drag fans who thought RuPaul’s Drag Race was the only way to
achieve success as a drag artist. Unfortunately, COVID-19 delayed developments for Dragula’s fourth season, but the Boulet Brothers were still able to give fans a special gift just in time for Halloween: a one-off special called Dragula: Resurrection, where seven past contestants have returned for a spine-chilling showdown.
Resurrection is now available on AMC’s Shudder streaming service. OUT FRONT had the opportunity to chat more with Dracmorda and Swanthula about the new special, how Dragula came to be, why queer people tend to turn toward the weird and spooky, and other projects like their Creatures of the Night podcast. O U T F R O N T M A G A Z I N E . C O M // 1 7
Hello, and happy Halloween! Thank you both for taking the time to chat with me. How have you both been doing during these unprecedented times? SWAN: Happy Halloween! We have actually been very busy. As you know, the world is changing, and we have just been focused on adapting to this new way of life and figuring out how to still make the content we love to create.
You have a new one-off special on Shudder called The Boulet Brothers' Dragula: Resurrection that features past Dragula competitors. Can you tell us more about that and what audiences can expect? DRAC: Well, as you know, The Boulet Brothers’ Dragula is a reality competition TV show that has drag artists from all over the world competing in extreme challenges for the crown of Dragula. We have had three incredible seasons now, and this special has past competitors coming back to compete against each other for the first time to win $20,000 and a spot on season four That means if they win, they will be returning to the main show on the new season. As far as what people can expect, they can expect to see, what I consider, to be the most creatively, beautifully shot drag that has ever been seen on TV. The costumes, locations, and the way it was all shot is just out of this world. It’s filthy, beautiful, artistic, and the whole thing has an authentic, incredibly powerful message.
How did Dragula form and come to be? Whose idea was it to begin the show? DRAC: The Boulet Brothers’ Dragula TV show is inspired by a nightclub pageant we produced years ago. It was an unsafe, wild, and fun answer to the tame and “family-friendly” drag that we were seeing on TV. Queer people were rolling their eyes over how mainstream and whitewashed drag had become, so this party was the opposite of that. We celebrated being outcast drag artists and rewarded “ugly” and “monstrous” drag performers. It was unapologetically adult, offensive, unsafe, and wild. We also welcomed all queer people to enter and participate. It wasn’t just cis, white men in corsets walking on our runways. We had drag kings, AFAB queens, nonbinary drag performers. It was just a glorious mix of everything.
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How would you say the show has evolved over the seasons? SWAN: I would say the production value is what has changed the most. Every season, you can see such a jump in the quality of the show, and that is partially because of the budget increase, but it is also partially due to our resistance to resting on our laurels. We put a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into making sure each season is more developed than the last, and we will continue to do that. There is so much more to come. We are just getting started.
What can you tell us about season four, and how has the COVID-19 pandemic impacted production? SWAN: Season Four would have already been filmed, edited, and airing right now if it wasn’t for the pandemic. We are actually glad that it did get delayed because we have been able to focus on making Resurrection happen, and it is something that we’ve wanted to do for a long time, but never thought we would have the time to do it.
What do you hope contestants take away by competing on Dragula? DRAC: I don’t have to hope it, because I know that every drag artist that has been on the show has come out on the other side stronger, more confident, and a better performer. Being on the show forces growth and supports the competitors in being the best them that they can be.
Drag isn’t just about men dressing up in pretty dresses and wigs anymore. Do you think we are seeing a lot more spooky, weird, alternative drag being represented? DRAC: It’s actually never been about just that. Drag kings, for example, have been around since Shakespearian times. Also, drag in the 70s and up through the 90s had really radical forms being represented from groups like the Cockettes in San Francisco to the sleazy, rock ‘n’ roll drag you saw in NYC’s East Village in the late 90s. It’s only since you have been seeing drag on modern TV that it has become equated with cis men in dresses. Queer elements of drag are being erased as well as the adult nature of drag. With the success of Dragula, you are now seeing the gritty side of drag return, and you are starting to see mainstream drag shift more toward that style. I don’t mean personal style as the Boulet Brothers, but I mean the idea that drag kings, AFAB, and trans performers are being taken seriously again. You are now going to start seeing trans competitors and drag kings on other shows. Now that we have shown other production companies that it is not scary, and it won’t ruin your show, they are going to follow suit. That’s great, though; that’s the idea. We love to see it.
“You are now going to start seeing trans competitors and drag kings on other shows. Now that we have shown other production companies that it is not scary, and it won’t ruin your show, they are going to follow suit. That’s great, though; that’s the idea. We love to see it.”
I love how diverse and inclusive Dragula is. Was that your goal from the beginning? SWAN: Before we broke into TV, all our nightlife events were incredibly inclusive by nature, so of course, we wanted the show to be like that from moment one. It was second nature. It was not something we had to consciously try and do.
Why do you think queer people turn to the weird and spooky to make points and share art? DRAC: Because in the horror genre, queer people, monsters, and people who are different are treated like freaks and villains. When queer people see Frankenstein being chased by “normal townspeople” with torches and pitchforks, they can relate to that on a level. Normal people were always coming for Dracula, the Wolfman, or whoever the monster of the day was. There is a ton of queer subtext in horror films, and queer people have always recognized it. The reason it was like that is because back in the day, the Hays Code forbade homosexuality to be portrayed in film. So, queer filmmakers found ways to sneak queer content into the movies in an undercover way through subtext.
O U T F R O N T M A G A Z I N E . C O M // 1 9
You two are not actually brothers, but partners who have been together for over a decade. How did you two meet, and were you both in drag? SWAN: We met in NYC at a French, fetish-themed restaurant. We did not do drag at the time. That is something that developed much later.
When did you two discover your passion for drag, and was spooky/horror drag always your aesthetic? DRAC: I don’t know that it is a passion for drag as much as it is a passion for performance, art, theatre, and horror. We have both been interested and involved creatively in these things since we can remember. Literally, one of my first memories was watching Dracula at night when I was four years old. I was enamored with it.
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Who are some of your horror influences? SWAN: There are too many to name. We both love horror books, films, and comic books, so the list of influences is very long. In a broad sense, I would say the aesthetic of classic horror movies really appeals to us both and influences our personal style.
What is one of your favorite Halloween memories? SWAN: Well, for the last 20 years, we have been producing the Los Angeles Halloween Ball every year, and that is so magic and special; it trumps everything that came before it. It is our favorite thing to do every year, and I think it is one of the most infamous Halloween events in the country.
What are some of your favorite Halloween/horror films?
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You two also host the Creatures of the Night Podcast. How is that going, and what can we expect on future episodes?
(Non-Conforming/Affirmative/Expansive Care)
DRAC: It is insanely fun. It’s one of the only times we get to speak freely and share our opinions and thoughts in an unrestricted way. We have a lot of fun episodes coming up, and I would say you can look for more “on-location” episodes where we go investigate things at night, going camping in haunted locations, and things like that. We are working on that next.
Before we wrap up, are there any other upcoming projects you would like to mention or plug? SWAN: Right now, we are just 100 percent focused on The Boulet Brothers’ Dragula: Resurrection. It is truly an incredible film, and there has just never been anything like it. We cannot wait for everyone to see it! To stay up-to-date, follow the Boulet Brothers on Instagram @bouletbrothers and on Facebook at facebook.com/ bouletbrothersdragula, or visit bouletbrothersdragula.com. Episodes of Dragula are available on Netflix and YouTube, and their new special, Resurrection, is exclusively on Shudder.
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My lover knows no
TEMPERANCE
by Arianna Balderrama
S
he allows me to do with her the works that I chose. She doesn’t shy away from hands held. Though stiffness in her joints, her lips never move further from mine. Her kisses are so still and simplistic. Always a welcome, slightly parted. She never lets out a grunt or a moan, leaving me never to question the mutuality of our feelings. Such beauty she is; the shrike’s prey is mimicry, but only half as beautiful as she. My lover’s austerity gives other’s unease. No plans ahead, her life deemed forlorn. But her entanglement with me is enough for Orpheus to envy. No deal with the fallen can ever end her reverie. My lover’s slumber is like the rise of the sun. No calls of the fox or screeching of winds can make her prostrate form rise until I make headway. She doesn’t spew diatribes at passersby, for her love is given in a nebulous way. Her skin granular as my fingertips trace the prominence of her veins. Eyelids heavy, closed halfway, staring at my complexion and Gemini. My lover’s body, thin. Pisiform mountains holding her wrist as flaccid hands skim the features on my face. Feeling the hills and sharp turns of her hips. blue-andblack marks of admiration on her neck. Her slit now like the river of Ehrwald, her flower wilted but giving. Devotion to her body, wane, and wonder. My lover brings life. To feed the Earth with her being, she is maternal. Flooding ducts with rushes of blood and seed to fertilize the damp grass. The mayfly finds solace within, her final days, letting go into oblivion, her mate not too far behind, like my lover and I.
O U T F R O N T M A G A Z I N E . C O M // 2 5
I’LL SEE YOU AGAIN by Apollo Blue
S
ebastian stepped through the turnstiles toward the subway platform. His pale hands attempted to smooth out his wrinkled suit while holding a bouquet of white lilacs and forget-me-nots in his right hand. He looked left and right and sighed, dragging his hands down his face. People filled the subway platform in every direction. As the subway pulled up, he whispered a quiet prayer, “Please don’t let the car be packed; I need space. Please, please, please.” The subway car door slid open, and Sebastian stepped aboard. He looked around and found no one else in the car. He took a seat opposite to the door. The door shut without anyone else boarding. As soon as the subway sped forward, the lights flickered, and a person slowly appeared in front of him. First, he saw green, shaggy hair, then brown eyes and a button nose. The body appeared next, skinny and wearing a blue-and-green floral shirt. Tears immediately came to his eyes. “Clover, is that you, baby?” “Yeah Seb, it’s me.”
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“I never thought I’d see you again. I’m on my way to your funeral reception now.” Sebastian stood up and carefully walked over to Clover. He reached out and tried to touch their cheek with the back of his hand, but his fingers went right through. “Sorry my love, this doesn’t work that way.” Tears rolled down Sebastian's cheeks as he sat next to the image of Clover. “It’s still hard to believe you’re here,” Sebastian whispered. “Seb, are you getting any sleep?” “It’s so hard to sleep without you next to me, Clo. I stay up tossing and turning, imagining you scared and alone, and those monsters who took you from me in a moment of hatred. You were only 22!” Sebastain gasped, wiping at his eyes. “I’m safe now, love. I’m OK.” A small smile appeared on Sebastian’s face, “I’m glad, baby; I just wish you were safe in bed with me, and I wasn’t on my way to your funeral reception.” Tears were falling onto his ripped jeans.
“Goodbye Sebastian, you can go. Live a fantastic life. Fight to make the world better for people like us. I love you.” Tears were rolling down their ghostly cheeks. “I will baby. I’ll fight in your name. I love you so much.” He lingered with his hand on the door. “Please go and live your life,” Clover sobbed. “OK, baby. I’ll always love you,” Sebastian cried. With that, he took a heaving breath and stepped through the door. He balanced on the bar between the two cars. Before he opened the next door, he looked back through the small square window to see Clover’s image fading away. When Clover was completely gone, he choked out a sob and stepped through the next door. There he saw a large crowd; people filled every bench and were standing at most of the handles. They looked at him, confused. He took quick, gasping breaths as he adjusted to his new environment; large tears kept rolling down his cheeks. “Are you OK?” An old woman sitting to his right asked. Sebastian took a deep breath, held the flowers against his chest, and said, “I will be.” “Those flowers are beautiful,” Clover whispered. “I used flower language just like you taught me.” Sebastian looked at his watch, “I should be getting close to my stop soon.” He began to sob. “There’s something I need to tell you about how this works. If you ever want to get to my funeral reception, you have to leave me and walk to the next car.” “So, I could stay here with you forever?” Sebastian asked with hope.
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“You could, but do you want to? What about Alex and Carrie? What about your school? You’re so close to getting your degree.” “I just don’t want to lose you again.” “I’ll still be with you. My spirit will be with you at night when you cook dinner, just like we used to. I’ll be with you when you go out to karaoke and sing our songs. I’ll be with you when you read our battered old copy of The Hobbit and when you play our Hot Space vinyl. You can scream along to "Under Pressure" like we used to together and feel my presence. You won’t lose me. Please, for me, go live your life. Join me again when you’re old and gray,” Clover pleaded. “I will for you, baby. I’ll be brave and live a great life, for you,” Sebastian declared, standing up. He slowly walked toward the door to the next car. “I’m so proud of you, Seb.” “Goodbye Clover. I miss you more than anything, but I’ll see you again, baby.”
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