transmutya.exe

if you’ve ever “looked” a little too long on someone's crotch, wondering what they packing, this is your read. lubricate yourself for a ride into catching print and how we read each other’s bodies without saying it out loud. what's your print, boy?

When a child compliments a drag queen’s makeup, the city answers with cigarettes, blasphemy, and a future full of heels.

Girls can be girls too. And sometimes, that means being a cockroach and breaking the system inside.

i have a premonition: the year opens like a wound made of light. homesick inside my body, i move forward anyway, better as a concept, still choosing flesh. titanium wings, sun-silver fingers, blunt hunger intact. happy new year.

been in love with valfre illustrations lately. here's one for divine.

i wrote about GIRLS again because apparently i love getting emotionally waterboarded by millennial brats. turns out the reason i hated them at 18 is because i was the same brand of spoiled, jealous, intellectually-inflated rotten fruit. anyway, i vomited a love letter. read it. it’s cute. this is a fanzine btw!!! was originally a written journal entry!!!

the story loglines will be in another post!

finally, queer representation for 7-foot hairy smokers living in mango trees. kapre greg said gay rights, stole your bedsheets, and installed a disco ball in his mango tree. folklore just got fabulously homosexual in this one! scan the qr code and subscribe for free to my substack!

made a mini zine you all!!! can't fit the entire content so scan the qr code for the full piece!!!

in the peacocking era of the performative male, it only proves one thing: gender is theater, and the straights are badly doing it. scan the qr code to read the full piece!

our transwriter mc!!!!

sometimes i think queers hear grief differently. this essay is us riding that loop with chappell roan’s the subway, hearing its language stall, double back, and spiral. we pick apart her words, her visuals, her colors, and all the ghosts she drags down the tracks with her. it’s hair as memory, gender as performance, heartbreak as choreography. if you’ve ever looked for an ex in every passing stranger, or felt a song pull you into the marrow of your own ache, you’ll find yourself here. scan the qr code to read the full analysis!

a childhood romance. a puppy love for my queers

transhood!!!!