Seven Point Star
What We Want & What We Like
When you draw a seven-point star with only seven strokes, you get an odd shaped heptagram that is simultaneously off-center and compositionally harmonious. That’s what we think being queer is like. In a world of simple shapes, we are complex beings, constantly contorting ourselves to fit the environment or to avoid the daggers and dangers of a world that, at best, doesn’t know what to do with us and, at worst, doesn’t want us to exist.
Our editorial, curatorial philosophy is guided by a Seven Point Star:
Queer, Art, Thought, Men, Outlaw, Humor, History.
Together we think these ideas create something different than what queer media currently offers: an irreverent, thought-provoking expression of 21st century queerness.
Queer is not something we define, rather a question we ask: Is it queer? If not, why not. If so, how? What makes it so? Queer is more than sex. It’s love, intimacy, odd, extraordinary, imaginative, and gay as fuck. HRC fundraising dinners are not queer. Faggot punk bands playing under bridges is queer…but so is a nice walk on the beach with a man you met under a bridge the night before. Queer is something that cannot be assimilated. Queer is sex. We are, after all, in bodies, full of desire, aching to be loved and touched and sucked and fucked. We want to be inside each other. We want to share sweat. We want to be under the covers and outdoors. We think our postal carrier is hot and may be down. We remember our 11th grade math teacher and how that particular pair of khakis made his ass stick out a little. We like daddies, big burly daddies who are older than our parents and make Thanksgiving with mom extra spicy. We like boys with ambition; artists doing their thing; and men who want to talk about Foucault while the cum is drying. We don’t know what the fuck queer is but we know it when we see it. Queer is an idea begging to be expanded.
Fuck, we are tired of pretending we are dumb. Queer men are complex, thinking human beings with thoughts that go beyond the last episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race (with respect to Ru). A TV show is not a personality. We need to stop making stupid people famous. We read books, long ones, without pictures. Sometimes we go down the rabbit hole of 19th century agricultural policy or the mechanics of the lightbulb. We love Reddit and are fascinated by what the normals are thinking. We know what epistemology and ontology mean, but prefer to not use those words in conversation. We want nuance and complexity. We want to break down binaries and be uncomfortable with new ideas. We see queer people existing in a series of social, political, and economic systems. The critical breakdown of those systems is at the heart of our work. We believe in liberation, the deconstruction of whiteness, the amplification of marginalized voices, the essential work of imagining a world beyond the capitalist/marxist duality. We want to know why something matters and why we should care. We don’t want to be pretentious dicks, but we want to have good conversations with interesting men who we may or may not want to get naked with.
Everybody is so serious these days. Laughter is self-care. Comedy is revolutionary truth. Satire is a lost art. We are a menagerie of characters: bears, boys, drag queens, leathermen, daddies, sons, twinks, twunks, chasers, trade, puppies, chubs, gym bunnies, bi wolves, two spirits, pikachu gays, D&D faggots, capybaras, nerds, geeks, bikers, and whatever thing we want to come up with next. The whole existence of queer people is pretty funny if you think about it. We are evolutionary hiccups that help humanity unlock its full potential. We are magical fucking beings, untethered by the burdens of child raising and gender conformity; free to wander the land and bring back new knowledge. We want gay dad jokes or something our 12-year-old selves couldn’t stop laughing at.
For too long stories of the past weren’t told by queer people and if they were, they weren’t told for queer people. We reject a heteronormative historical lens. Gay people have been around since the beginning of time. Monogamy and nuclear family structures are a recent historical anomaly. We prefer to think everybody was gay until proven otherwise. Abraham Lincoln and Joshua Fry Speed were totally fucking. We don’t want to debate whether or not Khnumhotep and Niankhkhnum were lovers. We want to imagine what it was like to be the best damn manicurists in 25th century BCE Egypt.
At this moment in time, we have over a hundred years of out queer history. That’s amazing, but we can’t rest on our laurels. Like the rest of humanity, we suffer from generational amnesia. We are forgetting what our queer ancestors went through. We forget how they fought for us. Remembering the uncomfortable past is a radical, transformative act. History is not the past. History is stories about the past. Let’s tell those stories.
“There were days that were grim because you stepped out knowing that you might be arrested for (one thing or another?). Yeah. Those were grim. However, you can’t underestimate the marvelous freedom of what I call the outlaw. And there was an exhilaration sometimes. I’ve said this many times, there was a wonderful exhilaration in being gay and not even knowing that you were being defiant but being defiant in order to live, to live your life. There were times with a lot of wondrous things—like dancing on the edge. You might fall but in the meantime you were dancing. And that’s very much how it was.”
We are about men, all sorts of men, whatever the idea of “man” is. We want to redefine what it means to be a man. We don’t care if you have a dick or not. We want to know what it means to be masculine queer bodies making their way through the world. We embrace feminism. We look for ways to call out misogyny, patriarchy, and toxic masculinity. We look for ways to support our queer siblings of all genders. We look for ways to work on our own bullshit. Shadow work.
Art, fuck yeah. We like art. We like Wolfgang Tillmans, Felix Gonzalez-Torres, and Zanele Muholi. We get General Idea. Chris Burden was hot as fuck when he let himself get shot in the arm. We are down with Andy Warhol’s piss paintings. We think a lot of gay art is trash. We don’t care about the art market. We think Damien Hirst is a practical joke. We liked David Hockney before he started painting with an iPad. We want threeways with Robert Rauchenburg and Jasper Johns or Ellsworth Kelly and Jack Shear. We like men who sew quilts, throw pots, blow glass, work wood, doodle in gay bars, make papier mache hats, fuck with encaustic, sell hand-made cockrings at flea markets in the Midwest, or make shit with trash they find in cruisy parks. We are undecided if houseplants are art but we’d love to talk to Rashid Johnson about it. Go check out the “Faggot, Polyester, Painter and sketchbook filler” Paul Rizzo. What we don’t like is run-of-the-mill figurative works of two naked dudes coquettishly gazing at each other and gay pride signs that could have been sold at Bed, Bath, & Beyond (R.I.P.). If you’re gonna send us kitsch, spell it KYCH. #noglitter
We accept submissions. We are generally seeking 300-1500 word articles, essays, or interviews; fucked up images that express what it means to be be queer in the 21st century; portolios from artists who would like to be featured; and occassionally some poetry or short fiction that celebrates good faggotry.
Read Issue 0 to get an idea of what we are about.
To submit your ideas, tell us in an EMAIL what points outlined in our editorial philosophy your submission speaks to.