(S) P A C E: Disorderly Bodyminds & Spacetime

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CONTENTS / YOU ARE HERE! 1. . .Cover Art / Theo Claire-McKown 3. . .Introduction / Sarah

Cavar

5. . .NOSTALGIA: A Poem in Five Parts / Renn Elkins (cw: dysphoria, self harm) 8. . .the worst part of existing is existing in a body / May Hemler 9. . .6.-Oblivion / Julia Forsyth (cw: suicide imp., dissociation) 10 . .Songs For Rainy Days / Cora Moss (cw: depression) 12 . .YOU WILL BE MISSED / Sarah Cavar (cw: body talk / body image, suicide imp.)

13 . .Lying to your psychiatrist / Francesca (Robin) (cw: suicide, self harm, hospitals) 15 . .I AM WILDLY FLAILING MY LIMBS TO MITSKI IN THE SHOWER or a (play)list for when i am existing again / Sarah Dauer (cw: parent death) 16 . .rip / musa bn. (cw: institutionalization, suicide) 18 . .Let Me Out / Abi Thompson 19 . .From The Hart / J. Carmel (cw: depression, hospitalization) 23 . .From Leaving Louisiana (I) / Ischelle Martin 24 . .From Leaving Louisiana (II) / Ischelle Martin & Kathryn Bagley 25 . .House-Bones / J.A.L. 26 . .Back Cover Art / Theo Claire !2

Introduction / This zine has been nine months in the making. What I mean when I say this is that ever since (Mis)treated was published in December of 2017, I have been itching to compile a third zine for the What’s Your Story family. Unfortunately, this was impossible while I spent my Spring 2018 semester in Amsterdam.

Although I was initially saddened by the prospect of being away from Mount Holyoke –– and, by extension, the WYS community –– for a semester, I greatly enjoyed my time there! Furthermore, the research I conducted while in Amsterdam (the impact of disability in “queer spaces”) gave me precisely the inspiration I needed when thinking about this zine’s theming.

For disabled people, abled, “sane,” and neurotypical understandings of space(and)time are often not reflective of our lived realities. A memory does not live “inside" one’s head but rather functions as a material trap in which some of us are caught. The college campus is not a small accessory to the learning done there, but rather a minefield of material and psychological access barriers. Standard expectations transform from a supposed value-neutrality to weapons of ableism, exclusion, and perpetuators of neoliberal faux-meritocracy.

Within these pages, we explore what it means to be disabled; sick; neurodiverse; and to inhabit a bodymind within a particular time and place. Rather than seek to diagnose our lived realities so as to make them legible for a “general" audience, we choose to draw and voice them here as they are. We invite readers to “share experiences and build community,” with

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us, as has always been What’s Your Story’s goal. Enter this zine with your heart & mind open to a multiplicity of experiences and truths. As is the case with all WYS media, we are speaking by and for ourselves here.

In the immediate wake of Cristina Henriquez’s brilliant talk on her award-winning novel “The Book of Unknown Americans,” we are again reminded of the power of narrative to capture empathy. I implore the readers of this zine to create space to hold empathy for those who share their stories and those who have not yet done so.

And we invite all to consider: How have we all been disabled by the (s) p a c e we must occupy?

-Sarah Cavar, Editor

[NOTE: content warnings are found in the table of contents (fitting, right? haha) now and not above each entry in order. This is meant to minimize readers’ contact with potentially triggering matter. However, these content warnings reflect the best judgement of myself and the creator of the piece, and may not reflect in full the things that you would prefer not to see. Proceed with care and caution.]

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NOSTALGIA: a poem in five parts Renn Elkins (he/him) i. last night, in 2012, it was raining and you were outside, this morning, 11am 12pm 1pm morning, you sit at the window eyes diverted and try to remember when the weather would weather your skin and pierce to whatever sits beneath, when the rain would hit the muscle only anymore reachable by your testosterone needles, every friday, today friday, yesterday morning friday but last night always something else. when you read the great gatsby and rode carraway’s boats to the past you felt that you were slipping: high school linoleum dysphoria blue light and different smells, always the different smells, trying to remember the summers that you slept outside or the days where you could just do nothing but read. past unreachable, that wet-rag-nausea of the realization that we make our own currents and every defiance is a new submission and we have never or always been different and not so much broken as wrought in pieces that were never meant to fit together in the first place. ii. stasis, they say breathe, they say mindful, they say present, and is there not contradiction to the simple fact that you have never lived in the present since the past? where did you go wrong, and if not where then when, and if not when then what? have you been divinely fucked over on a fourth dimension? a fifth? like everyone else, you often feel that every spore of life is a further facet of yourself,

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that you are alone in the very small universe and you are the universe and when you close your eyes everything else ends, too. you get bogged down in your own language, in verb tenses, in wishing the past perfect was something real — tangible, or appropriately intangible, or at least something, something at all. iii. in search of something, you find your way back to one of those places where you spent stray hours as a child, and though it smells the same, you find that the painted walls have lost their allure. it’s the control. the control that you wield, and that which you don’t. no parents to give you rides now: you decide when to leave, and more importantly when to stay, and most importantly who to be. you crouch, try to approximate your eye level ten years ago, but it’s no good: despite your shift in angle, the colors of the walls still breathe differently. iv. as a child, you realize, you were a ghost. your body, genderless, was small as a shadow, and you could go anywhere. when a room was locked, you could still go there if you closed your eyes. where you are now, where you have always been, is a strange inversion of hades: the more you forget, the more solid you let yourself become. !6

now, you have forgotten how to fly. now, your skill is impermeable: you cannot open a book and dissolve into it. v. you are trapped and viscous, and sometimes you try to cut yourself out of your skin, and it helps for just a moment. you and and for

are suffused with wretched gravity, you smoke to feel lighter, it helps just a moment.

you try to hold these moments in your hands, but find yourself in the future again. still scratched-up, still coughing, lost as ever, but no longer sure where and when and if you ever started.

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6.-Oblivion Julia Forsyth

(she/her)

Constant fatigue Poisonous pressure to succeed And exceed The limits that have been placed on me Every day I wake up to a world That’s filled with haze Why do I evade All responsibility?

It’s easier to fade away Then to have to face another day where I’m Alone again Oblivion is calling me, Asking me to stay A tired body and brain Moving through each day afraid Is this what it feels like to dissociate?

A world full of color attempts to surround But it passes by me I’m flat on the ground And all I see is grey It’s easier to fade away Then to have to face another day where I’m Alone again Oblivion is calling me, Asking me to stay No one can fix this Not even me What I’d give to sleep normally The promises I made I want so badly to keep I fear I might break If I stay awake Just to fail again

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Songs For Rainy Days Cora Moss (she/her) 1. Atlas: Sorrow by Sleeping At Last. This song is one of the most relatable songs I've ever found for how depression feels.

Every lyric just sings to me, and every time I hear it, it's hard not to cry. It's such a potent mix of sadness and relief at having someone else express these feelings that I myself have a hard time putting into words. It's the kind of song I'll just put on repeat and lie down on the floor and just soak it all up. 2. Empty by Ray LaMontagne. Another song that captures so well what depression is like for me. The words are pure poetry, and it takes me back to the frustrations of feeling like I'm trapped in my mind and trapped with these thoughts I can't get rid of, and fear that I'll always feel hollowed out inside, despite the beauty of the world around me.

3. Heavy by Linkin Park and Kiiara. Another song that speaks to my depression. The whole first verse sums up exactly how I feel when my depression and anxiety are spiraling out of control. The songs brings up mixed feelings now, as it also reminds me of my ex-best friend, the first person I trusted to talk about my depression and anxiety, and she used to send me songs to remind me I wasn't alone, but we had a falling out.

4. In The End by Linkin Park. This one always brings me back to freshman year of college and late-night classes and rehearsals.

I'd be walking back to my dorm (North Rockies from Kendall) late at night, feeling overwhelmed and depressed, and I'd put this song on. It's bitter and pessimistic, but sometimes I need songs that reflect what I'm feeling.

5. What About Us by P!nk. Always reminds me of my ex-best friend. All the times we fought, all the times we made up, knowing that it's just permanently gone now and I'll likely never speak to her again.

6. Levitate by Hollywood Undead. It ties into both my depression and my ex-best friend. The first time I heard the song was when I was spending a week visiting her in Canada, she'd wake up early every morning to talk with a mutual friend of ours, and she'd play this song on repeat, loud enough that I could hear it through her headphones. It brings me back to that sense of anxiety and insecurity, as I used to worry a lot about whether !10

or not my two closest friends liked me as much as they liked each other, and there was always that deep sense of FOMS (Fear Of Missing Something) when they talked to each other. It's also a go-to late-night angsting song.

7-12. Irridescent, Robot Boy, The Messenger by Linkin Park, Fallen Angel by Three Days Grace, Crash and Burn by Savage Garden, Lullaby by Shawn Mullins. All songs that my ex-best friend used to send me when my depression was really bad. She used to be my biggest support system, I told her everything, and she knew how much music meant/means to me, so she'd send me songs that she knew would resonate with me. It always takes me back to the 2am conversations we used to have, me super depressed, her reminding me that I'm loved. It's extra bittersweet now, given how our friendship fell apart.

13. Intervention by Arcade Fire. Summer of 2016, I was working close to full time at a local ice cream shop. I was also very, very depressed. I'd be walking to work in 80+ degree weather, on my way to an 8-9 hour shift, exhausted from depression-induced insomnia, and blasting this song over my earbuds at full volume. 14. You'll to make me emotion of days" when

Be Okay by A Great Big World. This song never fails cry. Nothing complicated here, just the pure raw hearing "you'll be okay, the sun will rise to better I'm at my lowest point.

15. King by Lauren Aquilina. Another depression song, but hopeful, too. It always brings me back to feelings of being lost in my mind and unable to break through, but wanting so desperately to set it all aside and reclaim my mind/my life.

16. My Skin by Natalie Merchant. This one's harder to define, there's no specific memories with it, but there's this intangible quality to it that makes me feel distant and melancholic and somehow heard. There's a subtle beauty to it that I can't put my finger on, but I just know it resonates with me.

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YOU WILL BE MISSED Sarah Cavar (they/them) It’s been several years of bones which look white from the outside but re IT’S BEEN SEVERAL YEARS OF BONES OF MY LIFE AND YOU

DARE BOOK ME FOR A MEMORY SCAN

PORE

Synonyms for which include

WATCH

LEAF SCREEN

?/ |||

RIFLE !12

Lying to your psychiatrist Francesca (Robin) (they/them) 1.

I don’t know how to tell people how I feel. When they ask me, a lump grows in my throat—I Am Okay. I have survived more years than I ever thought I could, might make it past 27. Forbidden numbers, and I lied to them yesterday. I didn’t always hate therapy— It does make me uncomfortable— She makes me uncomfortable— I never know what to say I smile too much my thoughts theyjumble my eyes they wander IknowsheknowsIplaywithmyhands—what did she say? I don’t need therapy.

I do not want therapy.

2.

Sitting alone with a stranger alone talking to the walls talking to the ceiling talking to the mismatched rugs and the 1-2-3-4 boxes of tissues, and no, I don’t want to be alone with a stranger alone with a stranger alone—5, there’s one on the table next to the potted plant. Why are there so many dolls in this room? Are the walls supposed to be this color? I want to smoke weed I want to go to sleep I want to smoke weed I want to go to sleep—there are crayons in here. Will she let me draw? I draw better than I speak and I draw pretty poorly.

3.

Sitting in an office. Portraits painted by children on the wall. I cut myself. I’m not safe. I’m going to kill my self. You’ll have to stop me.

Two years later. Sitting in an office. Portraits painted by children on the wall. I still cut myself. I’m not safe. Can I die twice? Drive me to the hospital, pony. Yeehaw.

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Two years passed. Sitting at home. No portraits on the wall. I still cut myself. I am safe. Take me to therapy twice a week, where I Sitting in an office. Portraits on the wall. And you wonder why I hate it.

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I AM WILDLY FLAILING MY LIMBS TO MITSKI IN THE SHOWER or a (play)list for when i am existing again Sarah Dauer (she/her) 1 no one “accomplishes” their new years resolutions anyway so 2 i forgive myself 3 for writing absolutely 0 poetry 4 in the 4 months since my mother died 5 because fuck art as suffering 6 as healing as academia // 7 but i have written letters (with stamps) 8 & 9 NOBODY 10 wrote back yet & i haven’t 11 gone to therapy or 12 kept a journal 13 like i promised counseling services 14 & all of that is fine 15 because i am alive 15 because i smell like lavender soap 15 & i am belting in the glow of tile 15 because i am caffeinated/tired// it is hard to tell

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rip musa bn (he him ; it / its) I took a medical leave of absence right before the spring quarter of my first year of college. Following spring break, I had just been involuntarily hospitalized by my school-assigned therapist for mentioning suicide for the first time ever. My therapist knew the reasons I was feeling so down, and most of them were hardly directly mental-health related - I was far from my family, who suspected me of being queer (I was not out yet) and were refusing to comply with giving my university financial information that I needed to get financial aid. I had no money, and no support. My therapist forced me into an (expensive) ambulance, and I was taken to a hospital ward that I was legally required to stay in for an (expensive) week. I was 17, so my father was informed. He flew up to see me, and tried to scare me into moving back home with him.

Instead, I stayed in the room of an apartment of a friend off campus. I got a job on campus, and I hung out for about a year - on leave, out of classes. Unable to join my friends in the dining hall for meals, unable to go to meetings in the library, unable to go back to my school therapist. The leave was 'voluntary,' insomuch as the dean of students implied that if I didn't sign the papers 'voluntarily,' the involuntary leave I'd be facing would be much harder to return from. Most acquaintances would forget that I was even on leave, asking me about classes and assignments. I would uncomfortably reply that I wasn't part of any currently. They would rush to fill in the awkward space - oh, right! You'll be back in classes soon, of course? Lucky, I wish I didn't have papers to do!

On the one hand, I was glad I had the stability of my friends and school structure near me. The idea of medical leave is that you need a break at home to rest and recover before returning to school. The problem with me, and many others, and that both my therapist and dean knew, was that 'at home' was not an option for me. I knew that returning to abuse that I had faced for 17 years would only make things worse. The school, however, only saw a suicide risk - and with several students committing suicide on campus every year, the school tries to minimize that risk as much as possible. Not the risk of someone committing suicide, but the risk of someone committing suicide while technically a student. Statistics.

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When I finally obtained my father's documents and returned to school, I was off-kilter and off schedule. The most common introductory question in classes would be, "What year are you?"

If I was feeling bold, I'd answer, "Second-slash-third-year," daring people to ask questions. Or I'd say, "It's complicated," or I'd just choose one, or I wouldn't answer. As I got closer to graduation, sometimes I'd say, "I'm graduating in the Spring ...

I hope." (The end of the timeline didn't seem real.)

There's a superstition on our campus, a gold seal that you're supposed to avoid stepping on. Practically, it's to keep it from getting dirty, but the superstition says if you step on it, it'll take you longer than four years to graduate. I hated that superstition. Such a casual devaluation of people who take different amounts of time to get through this hellhole of a school. I stepped on it with determination whenever I could, knowing I was feeding its bad energy as much as the streams of people carefully but casually veering around it. The space of campus felt altered as a whole. I didn't feel a part of it anymore, at least, I knew what it felt like to be removed, or see the underside. If my card ever glitched when I entered the library, my heart would be in my throat. What had I done now to warrant removal? The security guards on campus, already scary to myself and other students of color, held more of a threat - I could, at any point, be determined to no longer be a student, to no longer belong in this space. Most students who move off campus stay just slightly off - no more than a 20 minute walk away. But the entire space felt adversarial to me.

As soon as I could, I moved an hour commute away, relishing the welcoming arms of the city instead. Leaving to take the train at the end of the day felt right. A reminder - I am no longer fully of this space, and I get to decide to leave.

--musa he/him/his or it/it/its

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Let Me Out Abi Thompson (she/her)

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FROM THE HART J. Carmel I have a playlist-making problem. From the moment when I discovered the magic of putting music on a blank CD when I was seven, I was making playlist after playlist. I make them impulsively, leaving many unfinished with only two or three songs. If this were the nineties or earlier, I would have made mixes using a dual tape player, simultaneously recording onto one tape what I was playing on another. Thanks to modern technology, I have never endured that painstaking experience.

Though I think there is something important about devoting that much time and consideration to music, I am grateful that I can make dozens of playlists all based on whims and feelings. This playlist, however, was an exception.

When Sarah provided the prompt for a playlist of mindbody songs, I felt endorphins surge through my body. The prompt felt tailor-made for me. However, when I looked through artist’s discographies, I realised I faced a difficult decision. How on earth could I make a playlist on this topic? I have multiple playlists for this, all with different moods and sounds.

Something that I assumed would be easy ended up quite the challenge but I met it happily. Even if I couldn’t use every Fiona Apple song on my Spotify, I could still compile an assortment of songs that transport me to a mindbody space related to my dis/abilities.

Below is my tracklist. Each song will be accompanied with appropriate content warnings* and a brief description of the reason I chose that specific song. I hope you can find personal connection in my selections. I tried to find songs that did my mindbody dis/ability justice but most of my selections pertain to psychiatry. I hope to find more songs that connect with my experiences of chronic joint pain and AD(H)D. If any bands want to write about the joys (or lack of) in a body that faces with random dislocations and often creaks like an old staircase, call me.

I organised the tracklist chronologically (with regards to the times of my life the songs take me back to, there are only a handful of songs that do not fit this).

Without further ado, here is from the hart**

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Mother Mother, “Happy” from the The Sticks ( 2012) | cw: heavy depictions of depression Winter/Spring 2013 | The presence of Mother Mother on this playlist makes me cringe. Some artists I can appreciate even though my love for them began in my teenage years but Mother Mother is not one of them. Despite my hesitation, I have two songs from the Canadian band on my playlist. The album The Sticks was instrumental in my coping with my first major depressive episode when I was fifteen. I had been experiencing emotional dysregulation and other disordered mood issues since I was young but my episode at fifteen still stays with me today. This song immediately takes me back to that headspace. Maybe the wash of teenage “angst” is painful for some but I have nothing but sympathy and love for fifteen year old me. Her music taste maybe subject to criticism but I do understand why she went to this album for solace.

Hey Rosetta, “I’ve Been Asleep For a Long, Long Time” from Into Your Lungs (and around in your heart and on through your blood) (2008)

Summer 2013 | I recently began listening to Hey Rosetta again. “I’ve Been Asleep For a Long, Long Time” was one of the songs I instantly returned to. I listened to it at the same time I was listening to Mother Mother but I don’t approach Hey Rosetta with the same hesitation. This song has a happier overall sound but I feel like the overall concept is something many people with mindbody dis/ abilities can relate to. After coming back from an episode, flare-up, hospital stay, or relapse, one can feel as you “slept through” all the goings-on in the world.

Mother Mother, “Dread in My Heart” from The Sticks (2012) Summer 2013 | The second and last Mother Mother song! I still actually like this particular song. I feel like it’s a very good description of dysthymia. I associate it with the summer, for no real particular reason other than it sounds like a summer depression.

Sleater-Kinney, “Was it a Lie?” from All Hands on the Bad One (2000) | cw: violence against women, implied sexual violence Summer 2016 | I listened to a handful of Sleater-Kinney songs over and over in the summer of 2016. This was one of them. Listening to it connects me to an event after the summer of 2016 but !20

it still carries the aura of that summer. I feel pulled back into the dry heat, birch forests, and dust roads of the locale I was in then.

4th Curtis, “Chicken” from I Won the Pageant (2017) | cw: unsanitary Fall 2012/no particular time | This song, like the one before it and the one after, problematises my goal of organising this playlist chronologically. I associate it with Fall 2012, yet it doesn’t feel right to put it at the beginning of the playlist. I don’t feel like divulging all that I associate with the playlist here other than a musing on my birthday.

“November is invited to misrepresent my pain I'm going crazy and the last one who will notice is my brain Next February seems so far away, I need the world to know My birthday taunts me like an evil child pissing in the snow"

My birthday is in November, though the writer of the song (Lex Noens) has their birthday in February. I add my own understanding of the lyrics that wasn’t intended. November is the birthday taunting me and February is my moment of release.

Fiona Apple, “Paper Bag” & “Fast As You Can” from When the Pawn... (1999) | cw: ed Winter 2017-18 | The two singles off the When the Pawn... were songs I listened to over and over this past winter. They immediately take me back to a difficult moment in my life but not in any upsetting way. Listening to them now, I feel almost empowered. “Paper Bag” and “Fast As You Can”, though containing lyrics that connect me to some of the hardest moments in my life, also contain a righteous anger against men who fetishise or desire the “crazy girl”. Consider these lyrics: "He said 'It's all in your head,' And I said, "So's everything" but he didn't get it" (Paper Bag)

“I may be soft in your palm But I'll soon grow hungry for a fight And I will not let you win” (Fast As You Can)

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Mitski, “A Pearl” from Be the Cowboy (2018) Winter-Summer 2018 | Mitski released “A Pearl” after the song that is coming next on the playlist. Despite that later release date and the fact that this song is my “current mood”, I wanted to put “A Pearl” before “I Will” so that I could end on a positive note. The song lyrics are fairly self-explanatory but I feel like it succinctly and perfectly describes the effects of trauma.

Mitski, “I Will” from Bury Me at Makeout Creek (2014) Summer 2018 | I used to think this song was my ideal romance between two people (and it still sort of is) but now I see it as my ideal relationship with myself. Particularly the line, “ I will see your body bare / And still I will live here”. This song pulls me into all the darkest moments of my depression, most of which occurred when I was fifteen and seventeen. It makes me think of how I took care of myself and pulled myself out on my own. After all, only you, yourself, can know all the scars, struggles, and tribulations you’ve faced and be brave through it all.

—— *I did decide to keep Brand New City by Mitski off of the playlist due to the overall triggering nature of it for myself and others. I also didn’t want too many Mitski songs though her first two albums are mindbody GOLD if you ask me. ** “from the hart” is a pun on “heart” and “hart”. Hart is a medieval hunting term for a male deer (steer) in it’s fully mature state. Harts are particularly attractive for hunting.

“From the hart” was mostly me making a stupid pun but the more I think of it the more I like the meaning. This playlist is from someone some might think of as a victim. It’s the “victim” or “prey” speaking and communicating their experiences. I also tend towards imagery of mental illness which goes between seeing yourself as a “predator” (idealising yourself as almost dangerous as a turn off, as a way to protect yourself from connecting to others. I don’t endorse predatory behaviour or actually being a danger to anyone) or as “prey”. The reality is that you, as a person, are really neither.

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From Leaving Louisiana (I) Ischelle Martin (she/her)

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From Leaving Louisiana (II) Ischelle Martin [projected img. used w/ permission from Kathryn Bagley (she/her)]

Japanese text reads "Zettai daijoubu dayo.”

Translated:

“Everything will be all right.”

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House-Bones J.A.L This house is a skeleton in the wind.

Each sound a quiver rippling the entire structure. doors click pipes gargle microwave beeps glasses clink voices clamor fan whooshes Through gossamer doors I hear them call out to each other, to the robot, to me.

Call through closed doors Up stairs Across cluttered spaces.

Our voices permeate these thin walls like concentrate through cell membrane.

We pretend that through osmosis our words finish at their intended destination.

This is false.

The words, half-words, and murmurings reach far beyond where we ever intended them to go.

All those words those bustling sounds penetrate my ears where I can be no less than

half-awake.

How can I sleep !25

when the rattling of these house-bones vibrate my own skeleton? f o o t s t e p s

foot steps

footsteps

footsteps

Her footsteps re ver ber ate head pressed against my pillow, I feel her pacing the house one story down. not quite cacophony.

And when there is silence, I feel it like an empty breeze through a threadbare jacket Hollowness.

I am alone in a house that shows its life but hides its scars.

I step on the scale to see if my bones are as hollow as I feel, as hollow as this house.

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Contributors: Abi Thompson / Cora Moss / Currently a 23-year-old English major at Mount Holyoke, when Cora's not reading or writing, music occupies a huge portion of her life. Whether it's playing piano or viola, dancing along to music, or just seeking out meaningful tunes, music is always there.

Francesca (Robin) / Ischelle Martin / Ischelle is a visual artist from the deep south, currently located in Seattle. Her work is influenced by folklore, animals, and personal experiences.

J.A.L. / J.Carmel / J. is a student living dangerously in an earthquake zone on the west coast of Canada. She enjoys thinking about horror and womanhood and writing poems about trees. J. is an avid proponent of footnotes.

Kathryn Bagley / Find on Instagram at @kitsunekun.

May Hemmler /

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musa bn / musa is a trans arab american who wants gills. he resides in the American Midwest & thinks a lot about empty spaces.

Renn Elkins / Renn is a writer of both melancholic and choleric disposition. He believes in the Loch Ness monster. Sarah Cavar / Sarah is a student and writer of indeterminate gender. Their work can be found in or is forthcoming from Mad Scientist Journal, Breath & Shadow, Genderqueer.Me, SCAB Magazine, The Establishment, and elsewhere.

Sarah Dauer / Sarah Dauer killed her first year plant but she’s still graduating.

Theo Claire / theo is a trans commie dyke from california. ze can be found on the bank of the nearest river.

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