Tremors: a zine about being an artist with chronic shaky hands!
hello !! I’m atomic, and we’re an artist with a mild hand/limb tremor, so what better thing to do then make a zine about it 👀
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I Chose You
I chose you
it’s not a decision I still make
I’m not choosing you
I’m done
I’ve made my mind up
I chose you
and that
will never change
-Mason Gilbert
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rah rah healing from trauma etc (wip)
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Sitting naked on our bed
slumped forwards with pale flesh
forming little rolls on my belly,
I’m a healthy weight for the first time
maybe even getting fat
and it makes me feel less fragile
more real.
I tell you that I like how powerful
my thighs are now,
hoping you’ll agree,
knowing I’ve never said anything nice
about my own body before.
You frown as you look me over.
It’s not healthy to get so heavy
I can’t lie
I find you less
attractive at this weight.
Then you
reach out to comfort me, expecting to cause
devastation
with your judgement.
You were twice my size
when we met
bigger, older, louder, stronger,
always the more
to my less.
I look down at
my brand new pot belly,
mind accepting what my body
already knows;
I have outgrown you.
-acklum
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Fuck your fascism
Pride started as a riot and I will fight alongside my queer siblings
Protecting our future with our hands and teeth and claws
I stand in the blood of cops and howl in grief for queer lives lost
You cannot take this joy from us
I will never stop being me.
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"lover in christ", beckett h., 2023
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50 Words at a Time: Bite-Sized Thoughts on Things That Matter by Devin S. Turk is a square, printed zine of 12 micro essays I have written, 50 words each.
Topics include but are not limited to: Love. The future. Sensitivity. A game of Computer Chess. Trans rage. Home(s). A Beloved Soviet space dog. Faith(?). Queer Utopia.
The finished product measures 4.75 by 4.75 inches.
This physical zine is available in my Etsy shop.
And here's the Etsy listing for the digital PDF.
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new england lament
we have hushed conversations about you
over my lunch and their breakfast,
a quiet sermon over the phone and
stilted sentences in messages.
you collected us like bottle caps,
crusty blue, green, red, lime metal,
and you put us in a drawer and then
forgot of our existence.
we discuss it at great length. over my toast, and their eggs.
you told me once you were afraid of arizona’s heat
from the safety of the big house with the fish
in massachusetts. now you paint next door.
you softened bone and pulled ribs from my chest
as easily as you pluck roots from the ground,
and tucked them away deep in your sleeves,
and took you and your blood-stained linen,
and discarded them in a corner in new mexico,
5000 miles away from my softening brain.
“everything is because of this,” i whisper,
and above the orange is the whistling of the wind.
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trans god thoughts
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It’s the end of October;
my friends are concocting
inventive costumes
while I stand aside,
unwilling to join in.
I have spent over forty years
wearing fancy dress,
pretending to be
something I am not.
From now on I will only
dress up as myself.
-acklum
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You who moves as gracefully as the river yet as unforgiving as the tide
Lapping gently at my skin before encasing me in your depths
Washing away our sins for but a moment
You who holds the sun, the moon, the stars
Illuminating my world once enshrouded in darkness
Casting your light upon my broken self
You who is my god, my master, the very air that I breathe
Ensnaring me with your tender smiles and fleeting touches
Laughing at my clumsy devotions and my fierce reverence
I will sing your praises until my voice is hoarse and broken
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