QZAP - The Queer Zine Archive Project - Archiving Queer zines since 2003

Eruption Imminent! – The Volcano (Issue #3)

March 8, 2026March 8, 2026Rowan

They say “never judge a book by its cover”, but with a zine like The Volcano #3 (a subversive dyke reader), how could I not? Someone with a contagious grin covered in nothing but plentiful fruits and vegetables captured my attention, calling me in like a siren to read more!

The five different fonts used on the cover of this zine are a good indicator of what lies within. The Volcano is an eclectic selection of written and visual works addressing a wide variety of topics. From the editor’s updates on adjusting to the San Francisco dyke scene, to tantalizing, gender-fuckery erotica, to a yeast infection treatment guide, The Volcano has it all. Poetry? The Volcano has it. A book review? The Volcano has it. A reflection on working with queer homeless youth? The Volcano has it – a true one-stop-shop for anything you could ever need! This is what makes The Volcano so wonderful, in my opinion. Like its namesake might suggest, this zine explodes in your face! Reading it, I found my full spectrum of emotions erupting forth.

Boys Will Be Boys by Jocelyn Johnson is unlike anything I’ve read before. The story begins at a drag party, and the main character, a drag king by the name of jack, takes us with them as they explore. After taking in the crowd and having a drink, they step out into the backyard, where they encounter an intense, mysterious stranger in the shadows. The spontaneity, the tension, the gender! And oh, when – well… I don’t want to spoil it for you, now, do I? Give it a read for yourself, and I promise it’ll leave you on the edge of your seat wanting more!

Riding hot off the tails of Boys will be Boys is The Volcano Manifesto. The editors at The Volcano boldly declare their values and political stances, and as a reader, it’s comforting to see. There’s something refreshing about it – while reading the zine, I have the comfort of knowing what the editors believe in, and knowing that the people who put the thing together are on my side. The manifesto is perfect – loud, to-the-point, and unapologetic.

On the informative side, we have Girl, Ya Got the Yeasties! by Kristin Redmon. If you’ve ever had a yeast infection, you’ll know exactly the kind of hell that is to deal with. As someone who just happens to get frequent UTIs and has had the occasional yeast infection, it’s easy to feel gross or unhygienic for something I can’t control. Reading someone else’s experience with the very same thing feels really good; it helps me to feel normal, to feel seen. In addition to feeling seen about having infections in general, it’s cathartic to hear someone else criticize the same old shit I’ve had to put up with. Buying “feminine” care products while being visibly queer, trying to find the stuff you need in the pharmacy to begin with, the cost (and theft prevention measures) keeping treatments out of peoples hands, and the lack of helpful information out there – it’s all incredibly real, and incredibly frustrating!

Redmon shares what foods to avoid if you feel a yeast infection coming on, things that tend to trigger infections, at-home remedies, and prevention methods. Everything is written super accessibly, and reads like advice from one friend to another. And it’s funny, too, which definitely lightens the mood!

I also found myself enjoying the selection of poems included in this issue. Since reading it, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Be The Bomb You Throw by Irene Snyder of the Lesbian Avengers.

I work at a music venue, and my most recent shift was a Country show. I don’t want to generalize – There’s some Country I enjoy, and I have a huge appreciation for American folk, and Country’s roots in Gospel and European Folk music is incredibly interesting, but there is no denying the nationalist propaganda tool that Country music has become, and there’s no denying the crowd that it pulls in. Standing there, in a sea of people, I felt something strange and heavy inside of me when the singer praised the United States, and the crowd chanted “U! S! A!” along with him. I felt that discomfort grow as the singer proclaimed that we live in the greatest country that has ever been. I felt my stomach sink as the singer thanked all of the police officers in the country, and the crowd cheered louder than I had heard all night.

Worse than the singer’s words was the cheering crowd. The knowledge of what the people around me might feel about me, and those I love, was upsetting. In that moment, this poem came to mind. Similarly to Girl, Ya Got the Yeasties!, feeling like your experience is seen and felt by others is empowering. Standing in a room full of people whose world does not include me, whose visions for the country necessitate my conversion, I hold dear to me the experiences of others.

Right now, it’s important to remember that we have each other, and that there are so many people with similar thoughts, feelings, and ways of life to us. In the face of a world against us, we can take a page out of The Volcano’s book, and boldly be ourselves, and speak our minds, uncensored and unrestrained!

Rowan (He/it/they) is an intern at QZAP in spring of 2026, focusing on Zine of the Gay posts specifically. He is completing his final semester at the Milwaukee Institute of Art and Design, and is a sculptor, zinester, and library lover. In their free time, Rowan likes to read, play puzzles and word games, and care for its concerning number of houseplants.

DevOps Volunteer Wanted!

March 7, 2026March 7, 2026Milo

We’re looking for a volunteer Linux system admin/web developer to join our collective. If this is you or someone you know, please check out the details here.

Pathologize This!

February 18, 2026February 18, 2026Erica

Mental health is a reoccurring topic in my life. At the age of eight I was diagnosed with ADHD and put on a prescription. I began to see therapists, psychiatrists, whatever they were called, they were all the same to me. In elementary school I was pulled aside from class for counseling. In middle and high school I was put in separate classes to better my focus on schoolwork. I had very few friends and felt distant from most of the student body. I was always told by my family to “fake it ‘til you make it” but that’s as much damage control as putting a rug over a hole. The problem’s still there, but by masking it you choose to ignore it until it becomes unavoidable.

For the myriads of mental health problems I’ve had growing up, it’s only been in the past few years where I’ve started to work on addressing my emotions on my own. Training myself to not run away from each problem is tough when it’s been baked into my brain by repetition, but slowly each day I feel like I’m making progress at addressing my mental health.

Pathologize This! #1 is an submission anthology zine created by Sarah Tea Rex. It consists stories and poems centered around mental health issues and topics. The stories presented address each author’s experience with their mental health and how they feel it is responded to by others.

One section that stood out to me was titled Not just and angry brown girl. It is about the author’s experience growing up in an immigrant family with a history of mental health issues, and how she fears being seen as s a burden to them. Her family immigrated for better opportunities, but she is afraid of being seen by them as “dumb” due to her mental health impacting her studies. This is compounded by her being a woman on color in a world held up by systemic racism, so the feeling of never fitting in was only worsened by her mental health. She would find solace in her college years, where she finds out about activism. Even then she still feels that she has no one to turn to for her OCD and anxiety. She says:

I am already an angry brown girl in a racist fucking world, how the fuck do I tell everyone that I’m crazy too?

She ends off with how she feels hurt by jokes that mock her for how crazy she is, because to her, it’s not a joke, it’s her life. The feeling of not ‘fitting in’ is something that has haunted me for a long time. I’ve been ostracized by others by not knowing how to navigate social situations, either by not responding or saying something at the wrong time. Sometimes my anxiety would get so bad I began to stay away from all social situations. In recent years, my socialization skills have improved, and while I still have a long ways to go, I’m quite proud of how far I’ve come.

Another section that stood out to me, an untitled one, is about the author’s experience in listening to music from the late musician Elliot Smith.

A quick summary for those who don’t know him: He was a musician who suffered from ADHD and depression. During his childhood he was routinely abused by his stepfather, and he would struggle with addiction in his adult years. Most of his music touches on his mental state through layered vocals and acoustics. He would sadly die in 2003 due to stab wounds. While the author refers to it as suicide, according to Wikipedia, the cause of his death is still undetermined.

The author writes that they, a mental health advocate, would often get questioned for listening to his music since he was someone who was thought to have killed himself over his mental health. While they say that the answer to those kinds of questions is complicated, they find that his music to speak to them on a level that touches them personally. They cite lyrics from one of his songs, No Name #1:

At the party he was waiting/Looking kind of spooky and withdrawn/Like he could be underwater/The mighty mother with her hundred arms

The lyrics aren’t the only aspect of his music that spoke to them. Smith’s use of layering tracks over one another to create a dissonant effect while listening. Towards the end they state:

To me, listening to Elliot Smith is like listening to someone who knows my brain very well

As I also use media as a coping mechanism, this section resonated with me heavily. Music, as with every creative medium, can be a powerful outlet for when spoken words aren’t enough, and a beacon to those who feel invisible.

One other section that caught my, simply titled Anxiety, details the author’s feelings towards anxiety in their life. They begin by comparing anxiety to a battle that must be fought. On some days they are victorious and are able to cull the feeling, but on most it takes a grip on their mind and dictates their actions. Entire days are lost to acting on autopilot as they grapple with the feeling behind the scenes. They fear that they’re being annoying for their constant need to be reassured by others.

They write about sitting in their dark room, overcome by paralyzing thoughts. During this, they recall when one of their therapists told them that they were ‘addicted to the romance of madness’. To that they say that she was crazy. It ends with them clinging to their childhood toy bear, affirming to themselves that things will get better.

Grappling with feelings of anxiety each day is an upwards battle for many, including me. It manages to find a way into every aspect of your life and control you from the inside. Unseen battled are fought each day. But still, I, and many others, persevere. We find sanctuary in friends, family and community.

Issues with mental health often feel like doom and gloom, and for the most part they are. But reaching out to someone you can trust when you need it most is how we win. Anxiety and other related mental health conditions thrive on loneliness, but they can be thwarted by care.

Erica (she/they) is a QZAP intern working virtually for the blog. She is in her fourth year of school and second year at SUNY Purchase, studying New Media. They are queer in gender and sexuality. She enjoys photography, playing video games and working on her website.

Home is where the heart is – and the regime isn’t! – on Queers, Family, and the Squat Community

February 12, 2026February 12, 2026Rowan

When I first heard the term ‘squatting,’ I was a 16 or 17 year old suburban teen, listening to Green Day on the school bus, doodling the Trans Anarchist symbol in my notebook margins, and wearing way too much eyeliner. I hadn’t read any real political theory, and most of the time I couldn’t fully grasp what I was reading from leftists online. What I did know was that I hated the government, and I knew I was hungry for radical change, whatever that may have meant to me at the time. As I searched for answers and information to fill in the gaps of my knowledge, I did so in the way most teens from my generation would. With the World Wide Web at my fingertips, I turned to Google and social media posts for my overview of the past couple centuries of political counter-cultural history.

Of course, learning from strangers online has its downsides, primarily unfathomable bias and misrepresentation of the truth. The internet is a forum, and all opinions are welcome.

One contested topic online, especially within alternative political and music-based subcultures, is always who is and is not a poser. One topic in particular, crust pants, seems to be consistently surrounded with this particular brand of scrutiny. Can anyone make crust pants? Are they only crust pants if you don’t wash them? If you hand wash them are you a poser, or only if you machine wash them? Is it or is it not stupid that crust punks don’t bathe? Are crust punks performative? Do you have to squat to be a crust punk? Is squatting performative? And toughest of all, who gets to decide?

It was through these kinds of online conversations that I discovered squatting. For those unfamiliar, a Squat, as defined by Brian Heagney’s ABC’s of Anarchy, an excerpt of which is included in today’s zine, is “an empty, vacant, or neglected structure that someone has decided to turn into a living space.”

I heard all kinds of things – squatting is fun, squatting is legal in some states, squatting is dirty, squatters share needles, squatters have unsafe sex and spread STIs, squatters are all performative, squatters are pretending to be homeless, squatting is resistance against owned property, and so on and so forth.

I didn’t really know what to think. Even as a teen, I think I knew I was missing too much of the picture to know what a squat really was. I do remember thinking, though, that it didn’t really matter if squats were great or not, because they weren’t for me. I had some understanding that if I, as a transgender person, were to launch myself into that scene, I would face othering, or even danger, and so, squatting would never have anything to do with me. I can’t tell you where I picked that up – but I felt it.

While I’ve learned and read some here and there about the reality of squatting since, my general perception of the straight-ness of squatting has gone generally unchallenged until I happened upon today’s zine in the archive. Queers, Family, and the Squat Community is a 24 page zine by an individual named Kathleen about their experience and knowledge gained while researching the squat community in Amsterdam, or “the ‘Dam,” as they call it.

Reading this zine, my initial overwhelm at the widely varying descriptions of squat culture makes total sense. Kathleen mentions the varying perspectives they heard, being told that there was no queer presence in squats, that queer squats had existed in the past, but no longer do, and that there were plenty for them to find, and where to look, and who to talk to. They detail attempts at interviewing a woman who lived in a squat, and who was a queer activist org member – but refused to take the interview, as she neither identified as a squatter, nor as queer!

I think part of this wide variance in definition and experience is accounted for by the fact that queers and punks are historically groups of people that reject categorization. No squat is going to function the same, no queer person has the same definition of queerness and what it means to them, and that doesn’t mean one person is right and one is wrong. The beauty of these expansive labels or political identities is their fluidity. Kathleen includes statements from queer and squat-dwelling individuals in their zine, and while people’s definitions of queer and statements about queer squatting echo each other, no one’s definition is the same.

On that note, this zine makes a point not to define a “queer squat” as one, definitive thing. In fact, Kathleen is concerned with quite the opposite, focusing on the fluidity of these terms, and furthermore, the stretchiness of the term “queer.” Kathleen gets into the term queer as a broader theoretical term, not strictly as one person’s gender or sexual identity, but as a broader umbrella for a way of existing outside of the bounds of the heteronormative culture, yes, but also the capitalist, racially oppressive, class divided, sexist, ableist, and all-the-other-ists superstructure we live within.

“Squatting—as a counterculture—has created a counterpublic, a network of people and places that operate outside of the dominant public sphere. Even if squats are not inhabited by people who identify with the word queer, they are queering space itself, by redefining how spaces can be used.”

They quote Jack Halberstam’s definition of queer space from his 2003 essay, What’s That Smell?: Queer Temporalities and Subcultural Lives: “the new understanding of space enabled by the production of queer counterpublics.” While I haven’t personally read the work that Kathleen is referencing, the topic of squatting, repurposing architecture for political reasons, and living outside the norm has me thinking a lot about a different piece written by Halberstam, written in 2018, 7 years after the creation of Kathleen’s zine.

In Unbuilding Gender – Trans* Anarchitectures In and Beyond the Work of Gordon Matta-Clark, Halberstam analyses anarchitecture in connection with transness and the process of transition, and furthermore, discusses the queerness of the anarchitectural works of Gordon Matta-Clark, an artist who, as Halberstam acknowledges, is not queer himself. However, through the inherent connection between anarchy – a rejection of the political superstructure – and trans*ness – a rejection of the superstructure’s imposition on the body, and a way of living outside of the rigidity of what is societally expected – the work can absolutely, unquestionably be called queer. “We might take up the challenge offered by Matta-Clark’s anarchitectural projects in order to spin contemporary conversations about queer and trans* politics away from notions of respectability and inclusion,” Halberstam explains, “and towards the anti-political project of unmaking a world that casts queers and trans people (and homeless people and immigrants, among others) as problems for the neoliberal state.”

Following this line of thought, something like squatting, which may not be formally defined by connection to the lgbtq+ community, can absolutely be analyzed as a queer way of living. As Kathleen discusses, squatting breaks down barriers – not only larger barriers, like who should be able to live where, but also what a space can be. Kathleen shares that several of the people she interviewed talked about the importance of making art, which was supported by squats with free music studios and dance rooms, and became a place for parties to happen and communities to be built. The borders between living space and creative space, between private and public property, are blurred – a space for all, fluid, without rules. Sounds pretty queer to me! Additionally, people who may not be able to afford or access these kinds of spaces in a traditional capitalist society now have access to it for free. In this setting, connecting with fellow humans no longer has to take place in a paid to enter space.

On top of this, squatting dissolves the imposed standard of a nuclear family, and who should, or can, share a living space. In the section “what’s a family?”, Kathleen delves into the fragility of the ‘traditional’ (western) construct of family, and the importance of expanded understanding of the term.

“Family is a social institution that is most commonly understood to be comprised of people joined by blood or marriage. This definition of family, however, excludes thousands of relations that are just as valuable but do not look traditional.”

The folks Kathleen interviewed about family had varying definitions unique to their own feelings and experiences, similarly to their definitions of Queerness and of squatting, but all individuals stressed the importance of unconditional love (in the sense that the people you love unconditionally are your family, not that unconditionality is owed to relatives.)

So, while not every squat is labeled a ‘queer squat,’ or even has queer members, the action and disruption of the status quo that squatting is can be an incredibly queer thing, and lends itself, in many cases, to building queer community structures.

Of course, These are all things that a squat can be. While I would love every squat in the whole wide world to be a paradise for all marginalized people, one key aspect of a squat is that a squat can be anything. Squats aren’t all queer friendly, far from it. Plenty of squats are built up off members with hostile and even dangerous prejudices against marginalized people. Additionally, people raised in oppressive systems often carry unchecked or unnoticed oppressive behaviors with us – and the subtler or more normalized they are, the harder they are to unlearn. In a section titled “the good, the bad, & the manarchists”, Kathleen addresses the prevalence of misogyny in the squat community. As they put it, “there may be no masters and no gods, but at the end of the day, who’s doing the dishes?”

Kathleen points out commonly overlooked ways that normalized misogyny and hierarchy can sneak their way past someone who isn’t on the lookout for it. In addition to these ways to spot a power imbalance, Kathleen provides readers with interviewee’s takes on what makes a squat a good squat, and an advice segment on successfully organizing a collective. Additionally, the last few pages are packed with resources, including detailed information about specific squats in Amsterdam and where to find them, and a further reading list.

Oh – and of course, no anarchist zine is complete without a delicious recipe! As Kathleen puts it, “if there is no soup, I don’t want to be part of your revolution!” – and I couldn’t agree more. While I haven’t had the chance to test it personally, Kathleen’s (vegan!) pumpkin and sweet potato soup certainly sounds delicious, and I hope to try my hand at making it soon.

I Knew a Boy who Bled

January 30, 2026January 30, 2026Erica

Trigger Warning for mentions of suicide attempts

Some Boys Bleed is a zine written by Samb about his experience with dysphoria and how he eventually overcame it. The zine seeks to help other trans people who may be experiencing similar feelings of distress that he once did.

The first two pages of text give a striking description of the dysphoria that Samb had been feeling while performing for classical music, feeling that these performances were something that was inseparable from his identity. He described how his gender identity and singing countered each other, being forced to carry the burden of dysphoria while acting out gender roles that no longer fit him.

What was once something he felt he could walk away from was now rearing its ugly head towards him. Suddenly, he feels stiff and his voice falters as he walks into the studio. It gets to a point where he has to leave it because he was using his performance to hide from his problems. As he writes:

“I have used having a singing voice as an excuse to not explore what transitioning might look like for me”

Leaving with the full support of his teacher, he had time to reflect. Soon, he realized that the reason he’d been stricken with years of mental health issues and suicide attempts was because of his dysphoria. By going out and acting as someone he knew he never was had hurt him. He found immediate support from his mom, noting that sometimes it’s the people who know the least that offer the most comforting support. He finishes off by asserting that he will go through with his transition for himself. The silent recognition that comes with it is all he needs.

The zine included several block print illustrations, all drawn by Samb.

The first shows a trans man binding his chest, all in red and engulfed in scratch-like flames. The illustration feels like a visual representation of the physical pain that can come with binding one’s chest, and the mental anguish that comes with dysphoria.

The next features several pairs of underwear, likely a way for Samb to parse his identity. The one following features two trans people passionately making out, with not a care for anything else but each other. After that is a much simpler illustration featuring a person in front of a gender-neutral bathroom as onlookers appear to judge them for their decision.

The final illustration is the most striking one to me. It depicts a trans man, like the one form the first illustration. Here he is posing in underwear with top surgery scars on his chest. The illustration oozes with confidence, as if it’s screaming “This is me, and I love myself for that.”

The zine also includes a section titled Some Ways to be an Ally, a list of ways the reader can help their trans peers out. It includes topics such as practicing names and pronouns, not commenting on if someone passes or not, reading books or websites that focus on trans topics and talking about them with cis people, but one of them stood out to me in particular:

“Medical information is none of your business. Some trans folks take hormones, get surgery, (change names), some don’t – and it’s not a hierarchy of being “more trans”

To me, this may be the single most important part of the entire section, let alone the entire zine. If cis people get break conventional gender norms without being questioned, then trans people should also get this freedom. Hormone therapy and surgery is not the “goal” that trans people should be expected to reach, but rather an option for those who know it will help them feel fulfilled. No amount of ‘transness’ is owed to anyone at all.

I think back to my time in middle school. In the wake of gay marriage being legalized and queer topics being discussed on a wider scale, I felt like I was caught in the middle of crossfire. I’ve had thoughts like these pass through my mind before. Romance by logic shouldn’t always be between a man and woman, and things being tied to gender was weird. But for all the positive conversation that was going on around these things, there was also a load of negative content being shared online. Much of it was towards trans people, and I was being exposed to both at the same time. I had no idea how I was supposed to feel about it.

And then one day one, during a group counseling session, one of my friends would approach me, and come out as trans. In that moment I realized that trans people were real, and not just something that existed on my phone. Since he was too young at the time to get any form of hormone therapy, I naïvely told him that exercise could produce extra testosterone, (although true, it is not a replacement for HRT) as, in my mind, it would help him on his journey through transitioning. Even then, I never questioned his mannerisms or looks, since to me all I needed to know is that he was what he asserted himself to be – a trans guy.

He even supported me as much as I did to him when I came out as bisexual, supplementing the support I didn’t get from my mother at the time (though thankfully she would turn this around). He made me a lacquer-coated wooden charm with the colors of the pride flag. It has become one of my most cherished possessions.

Time passed, and eventually we saw each other less until he and his family moved down to Florida. Since then, I have learned more about myself, like how my gender and sexuality feel mold-able, like putty. I haven’t heard or seen him since, but I’ll always remember the mutual support we shared for each other.

Sisters Act!!

December 17, 2025December 17, 2025QZAP

This is a quick little post to note that last week we were the recipient of a $500 grant from the San Francisco-based Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. The Sisters are an amazing organization that works tirelessly for the queer community, not just in the Bay Area, but around the world. They use humor and glamor to provide services, financial aid, spiritual guidance and tons of joy to raise marginalized voices and fight bigotry. So this is us saying loudly and proudly THANK YOU to the best nuns ever! Also, we want to publicly say thank you to Devin, who worked incredibly hard with us for the past four months to research grants and opportunities for fundraising for us. For a whole host of reasons QZAP is NOT a designated 501(c)x tax-exempt organization, and that sometimes makes fundraising challenging.

As for this grant, the money will eventually be going toward new filing cabinets in our physical archive space. For the past 18 months we’ve been wrestling with the fact that we’ve literally run out of space to store all of the queer zines we’ve collected or that have been generously donated to us. It seems silly, but our collection, which began with about 350 zines in 2003, has grown to over 4,000 as we just passed our 22nd anniversary. It’s a good problem to have, to be sure, but still a problem nonetheless. Our ultimate goal is to replace a bank of 5 2-drawer vertical files with a bank of 5 4-drawer or 5-drawer ones. This will allow us to better organize our general collection, provide space for growth, and make accessing the zines easier. While $500 doesn’t seem like a lot, for this project it covers about 1/3 of the total projected costs, which ain’t nothing, and we’re very thankful that The Sisters saw fit to kickstart the financial side of the project.

As always, if you want to support us financially, you can make a donation or purchase some zines, buttons, stickers or a t-shirt through our swag shop. If you can’t support us with funds, please check our wishist for in-kind material that we’re looking for, like hanging file folders, a map file, and paper or toner to make more zines.

World AIDS Day – 2025

December 1, 2025December 1, 2025QZAP

I spent a lot of time this past weekend wrestling with what I wanted to write for this year’s World AIDS Day. See, the thing is that while we and most of the world acknowledge December 1st and mourn the 44 million people around the globe who have died from AIDS or AIDS-related causes, the reality is that for us here at QZAP, and for the 40 million people globally who are currently living with HIV, it’s always World AIDS Day.

AIDS Demo Graphics book cover Here at QZAP, regardless of the serostatus of the folks in our collective, AIDS and HIV/AIDS education and activism is coded into the DNA of the archive. I started making zines in the early 1990s because of my work with my local ACT UP chapter. 18 year-old me wanted to share safer sex info with folks my own age, and one of the ways to do that was to include that information about how to put on condoms, how to use latex dams, and where to go for sexual health services even if you were a minor in the zines that we made. And we did. And I continued to do so into the early 2000s in both the zines I made and the other queer art I was creating in that period.

It Was Vulgar & It Was Beautiful – How AIDS Activists Used Art to Fight a Pandemic When I think about my own work, I draw a direct line from 1960s pop art to the work of Keith Haring and then to Gran Fury and the Silence=Death collective. Douglas Crimp’s amazing book AIDS Demo Graphics is a visual starting place. The work of those designers and activists recently got explored in depth in Jack Lowery’s comprehensive It Was Vulgar & It Was Beautiful – How AIDS Activists Used Art to Fight a Pandemic.

We can see these visuals, and the culture of HIV/AIDS activism showing up as a through-line in the work of many zinesters of the era. In 2022 we talked a little about Sex Panic!, which employs that graphic style on the cover. Slightly further back in time (2016) we looked at YELL, the Youth Education Life Line, though at the time we didn’t delve closely into the The Foster Kids Guide to HIV Testing, which was illustrated by Anonymous Boy. His work over the years appeared in a number of queer zines, and while it was often very sexual in nature, he was also spreading the messages of safer sex and AIDS activism along with amplifying the queercore and homo punk scenes in general.

Within queercore, probably one of the best known and most accessible bands is Pansy Division. Their work in the early 90s also made mention of the AIDS pandemic in songs like Denny and with the release of collectable trading cards that included a condom and instructions.

Part of my mental meanderings as I was trying to foment this piece was how to connect all of this together. See, this material, whether it’s zines, or ephemera, or other media, including music and film, it’s all made by us humans. Humans who have been affected by AIDS in some way or another for the past 45+ years. In this current era of indifference and assholery, it’s our love and anger, our compassion, our creativity, storytelling and ultimately our humanity, that will eventually make this day a point of historical interest that we can learn from, but that isn’t killing us anymore.

Milo Miller is a former AIDS activist and member of ACT UP/Milwaukee, a currently active zinester and the co-founder of QZAP, the Queer Zine Archive Project.

Gross Indecency in Public- Autumn 2025

September 1, 2025September 1, 2025QZAP

illustration of Daria Morgendorffer's head peeking over the edge of a circle We know, we know… there’s still a couple more weeks of Summer, at least here in the Northern Hemisphere. And also, in the immortal words of Daria Morgendorffer… Is It Fall Yet?? Autumn is our favorite season, when the air starts to get crisp, the academic year begins, and we can start to think about making soup for QZAP work nights.

This autumn we’re extra excited to be hitting a bunch of new-to-us events, both here in Milwaukee and in a couple of other cities as well. We’ll be spending some time with some of our besties who we don’t get to see very often, selling our zines and buttons and stuff, and acquiring new queer zines for the archive.

Kicking it off is the Denver Zine Fest on September 14th! Organized by our buds at the Denver Zine Library, and held at the Central Library, we’ve been trying to get to this for years, and are super stoked to be able to participate.

Following that up, on October 4th we’ll be tabling at Beet Street here in Milwaukee. This street festival is being put on by our friends at Cactus Club. It will be the first time we’ve tabled at a street fest, and the lineup looks incredible! We’re really looking forward to it.

The very next weekend on National Coming Out Day we’ll be out at the New York Queer Zine Fair at The Center, 208 W. 13th in NYC. Another on our list of zine events hosted by friends of QZAP that we’re finally able to attend, and we can’t wait.

SO, if you’re in or near Denver, Milwaukee or New York in the next 6 weeks, put a mask on an come visit us! Now here’s Wonderwall…

Quiz: What Type of Queer Zine Are You?

August 2, 2025August 2, 2025Lauren Purnell

What Type of Queer Zine Are You?

As my internship with QZAP draws to a close, I can’t help but think, where has the time gone? Really, it feels like I just got to Milwaukee. While I’m sad to be leaving, I’m grateful for the experiences I’ve had through QZAP. I saw an incredible BIPOC artist panel and expanded my creative curiosities to include printmaking and letterpress, I’ve read SO many zines that have changed my outlook on life (like Bar Dykes), and I’ve met incredibly kind, loving, and talented people. I felt free to bring my whole self to the table, and all of my ideas and thoughts that I would’ve felt too nervous to share in other contexts. I've also learned the importance of print margins when making zines, and also the handiness of a long arm stapler.

For my last blog post, I’ve decided to make a quiz called “What Type of Queer Zine Are You?” It encompasses the range of zines I’ve encountered in the archive. Enjoy!

Lauren (they/them) is a summer 2025 QZAP intern. They are an undergraduate student at Emory University studying creative writing and gender studies. They are Haitian-American, queer, and from rural Maryland. In their free time, Lauren writes various things, reads, does crossword puzzles, and cooks.

Bar Dykes

July 23, 2025July 23, 2025Lauren Purnell

Trigger warning: police, mentions of domestic violence

Bar Dykes is a one-act play by Merril Mushroom written in the 1980s, made into a zine format by Faythe Levine and Caroline Paquita in 2016. The play itself is based on an article that Mushroom wrote called “How to Engage in Courting Rituals 1950s Butch Style in the Bar,” which is exactly what it sounds like (you can read the article here) The inside cover of the zine includes a list of all seven steps of courting [see below]. These courting rituals provide necessary context for how the characters interact with each other.

The zine starts with a note from Faythe and Caroline, discussing how the zine version of Bar Dykes came to be. When Merril lost her home and archives in a fire, community members helped rebuild her collection by sending copies of her work, including Bar Dykes. Faythe first suggested the idea of turning the play into a zine over a lunch discussion about dyke bars. Part of the note is excerpted below:

With this publication, we hope to preserve not only the cultural legacy of Merril’s work but to share her herstory with a larger audience. Contemporary conversations surrounding queerness and gender nonconformity have made massive strides towards breaking down ignorance, intolerance, and hate. These advancements have been wrought with persecution, police brutality, and death. By publishing Bar Dykes and the accompanying interview, we not only celebrate the life and work of Merril Mushroom but also honor those who have fought to live freely, love whom they want, and make the world a safer, more accepting, and interesting place. We recognize there is still a long way to go–Bar Dykes offers new perspectives on our past, acting as a catalyst for progression into the future.

I, personally, agree. Not only is this such an eloquent way of putting it, but I’ve learned a lot from this zine. I read it for the first time in one sitting, and I knew I had to write about it. And I’ve thought about it for weeks afterwards, and have told all my friends to read it, too. Butch and Femme history hasn’t been discussed in any queer space I’ve been part of, and that includes my gender studies classes. When Butch/Femme is talked in online, mainstream queer circles, people are incorrectly assuming that it’s heteronormative. It’s annoying. I want more people to see the rich history of Butch/Femme culture.

How to Engage in Courting Rituals 1950’s Butch Style in the Bar:
Ritual #1: Cruising
Ritual#2: The Buying of the Drink
Ritual #3: The Playing of the Jukebox
Ritual #4: The Approach
Ritual #5: The Lighting of the Cigarette
Ritual #6: The Asking to Dance
Ritual #7: The Dancing

Bar Dykes describes a night at an unnamed bar in an undisclosed U.S. city in the 1950s. With the exception of the three characters who are new to the city (Sherry, Elaine, and Trick) and the mysterious newcomer (Lorraine), everyone knows each other in some way. And the bartender, Bo, knows them too. Mixed in with 1950s slang and complexities of romance and lesbian social dynamics are pockets of humor and critiques of state violence. I think it’s such a cool concept, to walk into a bar/restaurant/place that isn’t home or work and have the regulars there know you. To be a regular yourself. It’s not something I’ve had a chance to experience, especially with other lesbians.

The play starts with some small talk between Bo, the bartender, and Rusty, a regular at this bar. Bo is the character in this play that talks sense. She’s got the lowdown. She’s very cool and wise. The latter asks about Jo Ellen, who seems to be a regular, but makes no appearances on the page. According to Bo, Jo Ellen is a gay girl who was broken up with by another off-page character and decided to go back to exclusively dating men. Rusty and Bo both make their own comments. Part of it is social commentary, and part of it is them goofing around (I loved it though):

Rusty: [shaking her head] It’ll never work. Jo Ellen’s gay. And once a woman’s been with a woman, she’ll never be satisfied with a man.

Bo: I’m hip. I wish her all the luck in the world getting out of “the life”, but she’ll never be satisfied without a woman now.

Rusty: I’m hip. But some have to learn the hard way — if you’re queer, you’ll never be straight.

Bo: [striking an orator’s pose] Playing the game don’t make you a member of the team.

Rusty: [striking the same pose] Sitting on eggs don’t make you a chicken.

This story is very familiar to me. There’s a silent expectation from some of my straight friends and family members to either be straight, or to return to straightness after coming out as queer. Letting myself love women has been extremely freeing–especially when I don’t desire romance or sex with men. While this particular quote doesn’t take into account the existence of bisexuality, it makes an important point that straightness and being closeted can be painful and disappointing once someone has experienced being queer. It still happens today, but I would guess that it was more common in the 195os, when this is set.

Another important point is how Bo refers to queerness and being out as a gay person as “The Life.” This phrasing nods toward the sacrifices someone has to make to live as an out queer person in this era, as well as the sense of community and solidarity that comes with it. As I read the list of characters and looked at their experiences throughout this play, I noticed how different they all are. Every character doesn’t belong the same racial group, isn’t the same body size, and doesn’t present their gender in the same way. They’re brought together by their need for community, and held together in solidarity while navigating a hetero-patriarchal society. Even when characters make small talk, it is underscored by familiarity and intimacy. Cynthia and Rusty both make a point of asking Bo about Carol (an off-page character with some kind of relationship to Bo) within moments of entering the bar. And even with the quote above, Rusty and Bo striking identical poses and joking was endearing, radiant, and revolutionary. I really love to see it!

Similar to how Bo uses the phrase “The Life”, “Found Out” is a written as a proper noun, even though it’s a pretty common combination of words. It’s used when Joyce first comes into the bar, distraught and looking to get drunk. It’s later revealed that Joyce is upset because her mother “Found Out” she was gay. Linda, who’s also in the bar, asks “Was it bad?” and Cynthia replies “It’s always bad.” And it makes sense. Like I mentioned earlier, openly refusing straightness can be dangerous–you risk losing everything. I’ve lost friends almost every time I’ve come out, whether as not straight, or not cisgender.

Bette and Andy, a femme-presenting couple, come into the bar dressed alike. Halfway through the play, Andy makes a comment about Cynthia, who is dancing with Elaine, being promiscuous. Bette then suggests that Andy is jealous of Elaine, and wants to be the one dancing with Cynthia, who she was once romantically involved with. And from Andy’s reaction, it’s clear that Bette struck a nerve–and a very accurate one at that.

Bette: [grabs her by the arm] You whore! You do! [shouts] You wish you were still with Cynthia and not with me, don’t you? [everyone else in the bar stops and looks at Bette, then back to what they were doing. Cynthia shakes her head and rolls her eyes, then engages Elaine in “serious conversation” to distract her from what seems to be a fight over Cynthia.]

Andy: [pulls away from Bette] You keep your fucking hands off me…

Bette: [grabs her again] I’ll do whatever the fuck I please with you. You’re my girl [shakes her.]

Andy: [swings back and smacks Bette, shrieks] I said keep your fucking hands off me!

In this scene, Bette is verbally and physically abusive towards Andy, grabbing her arm and calling her a whore. The fact that Bette treats Andy like property in this moment is concerning and jarring. Nobody intervenes in Bette and Andy’s argument, but everybody looks their way. But this scenario is very concerning, and somebody should’ve intervened and protected Andy. There’s the pervasive idea that a couple fighting in public (even when one is very clearly being verbally, emotionally, or physically abusive) is “their business,” and no one else’s. for example, Bo says to them when things get more intense/physical: “if you wanna fight, go on home and do it.” Furthermore, Bo seems to be equating the way Bette acted towards her partner with the fact that Andy felt the need to smack her partner away in self defense. It seems like everyone is allowing it because Bette is a woman. If a man was acting this way, everyone would have immediately clocked it as domestic violence. During this scene, I kept thinking, what kind of community is this? Why is nobody concerned?

Cynthia is the only character in this play described as “ki-ki,” which refers to someone who is neither butch nor femme, or moves between both. In response to Cynthia’s question about whether anyone has tried “flipping” Rusty (meaning she would become femme), Bo makes a comment about Rusty being a “real stone butch,” in comparison to what she calls “wishy-washy ki-ki girls.” This comment is very clearly directed toward Cynthia, and even though Bo attempts to indicate that she’s joking with a playful punch on Cynthia’s arm, Cynthia is bothered by it.

But there’s some truth in jest, as illustrated by how the scene plays out:

Cynthia: [defensively] Listen, sometimes I like to be the butch, and sometimes I like to be the femme. Depends on who I’m interested in. Wishy-washy has nothing to do with it.

Bo: [seriously] Well, a girl has to be one or the other; other-wise, how would she know who she could go with?

Cynthia: [offended] I’m hip that some of you tough butches don’t have a very high opinion of us ki-ki girls, but I think we have it best of all, because we can go with whoever we want to. I mean, look at poor Irish and Kathy — they both really dig the hell out of each other; but they won’t get it on because they’re both too butch, and neither one wants to catch shit for going femme. But anyone can tell that they’re really crazy about each other.

The way Bo speaks about the categories of butch and femme and their roles in the lesbian community leaves minimal room for those who don’t fit cleanly into one category, as well as butch4butch and femme4femme relationships. The existence of categories should be accompanied by space to exist outside, between, and around them. Cynthia’s example about Irish and Kathy applies to the earlier conversation about what would happen to Rusty if Lorraine turned out to be butch as well. Rusty wouldn’t have to become femme, and neither would Lorraine. They could be butch, and date each other. This part of the play stuck out to me because I see myself in Cynthia more than anyone else.

Brat Attack #5 front cover Around the same time I read Bar Dykes, I read a few issues of Brat Attack. There was this article in Brat Attack #5 called “Butch: An Evolving Identity,” written by Lori Hartmann. Like my past self, Hartmann had internalized a ton of incorrect, butchphobic, and femmephobic ideas about butch and femme identities, and they confessed to associating butch with “looking or acting like a male, and that it was shameful and bad.” It reminds me of how so many lesbians (including myself) have thought that their attraction to women was gross or predatory. That gender-nonconformity meant being more like a predatory, misogynistic man (it doesn’t). People assume so often that butch/femme is trying to mimic heterosexuality, and it sucks to see that rhetoric resurfacing in the queer community.

Hartmann ends this essay with a list of questions that they asked themself while unpacking beliefs and biases about both butches and femmes. I bring this up because I felt that almost all the characters in the play would benefit from asking themselves these questions, as most lesbians would.

How do you identify–butch, femme, butch queen, glamor femme, dandy, tomboy femme, femmy-butch, butchy-femme, sissyboy, princess, scruffy punk femme, androgyne, fagdyke, other?

Who are you attracted to? Is there a connection between who you’re attracted to and how you identify yourself? E.g., do you call yourself a femme because you are attracted to butches?

How do you define butch or femme or whatever term you choose to identify yourself?

What are some of the beliefs you have about butches/femmes? E.g., butches don’t have feelings, femmes are histrionic.

If you’re butch, do you resent femmes for their access to heterosexual privilege because they can be mistaken for straight women? If you’re femme, do you resent butches for their ability to pass for men or their being easily recognized as dykes?

Do you feel that FTMs are more butch than butch women? What value do you attach to “degree of butchness”? Is there such a thing?

In your personal experience, what is the relationship between maleness and butchness? (mas-culinity and butchulinity?) Between femaleness/ femininity and femmeness?

Write about your experiences of being neither or both genders. Describe any characters you might use during role play.

In the last pages of the play, the bar is raided by the police. It’s drawing close to the bar’s closing time, and several characters have left, either alone or with someone. There are seven characters still in the bar when the police arrive: Bo, Rusty, Lorraine, Linda, Sherry, Andy, and Trick. The police officers ask each person for ID, and everyone obliges. Then, several characters are arrested:

Linda and Sherry – perversion
Trick – Suspicion
Rusty – impersonating

These charges are pretty bogus. The cops are manipulating legal language to fit their homophobic and transphobic biases. In the case of Linda and Sherry, the policeman cannot even name a reason to arrest them. Instead, he comes up with the following:

Policeman #1: Who cares? Perversion. I’ll thing of something. I saw what you goddam bulldykes were doing. Makes me sick. [he spits on the floor.] Now, let’s go, or I’ll charge you with resisting arrest.

It’s clear that the police officer is abusing his power, justifying it with bigotry. Trick and Rusty are masculine presenting, and this is clear to both police officers. Once again, they make up reasons to arrest them. It mimics the way black men are stopped on the street or in their cars for “fitting the description” or for a “routine traffic stop.”

Andy is one of the more femme-presenting people in this bar. Instead of facing discrimination for being gender nonconforming, she faces a strange combination of sexual harassment and assumed victimhood at the hands of the lesbians at this bar:

Policeman #2: …[He looks at Andy] Hm, I’ve seen you around, too. Don’t you know you can get into trouble hanging around with these bulldaggers?

Andy: Fuck off, you bastard.

Policeman #2: [laughs] You’re a real sweetheart, aintcha? [His eyes narrow] You can just come along with me too. I’ll give you something to take the sass out of you when we get to the station.

Bar Dykes back cover In this situation, Andy is viewed as an object that can be “fixed” by a man. This is heavily implied in the last line of the above dialogue. Also, the police officer’s words rely on the belief that masculine lesbians will “corrupt” feminine straight women. Not only is this not close to what’s happening, but it also reinforces stereotypes of what a lesbian is supposed to look like.

Lorraine, however, does not interact with the police once. She is, in a way, invisible during this scene–an observer. Bo also has limited interaction, but because she’s the bartender, she takes the responsibility of trying to get the girls out of police custody. In the last lines, she is described making a phone call explaining to another person (named Eddie) what went down. Then, she returns to what she was doing when the play started: polishing glasses, with Lorraine at a table in the corner. The final descriptions don’t show any interaction between them, as the early exposition did; Lorraine was described as “watching her [Bo] hungrily,” putting new meaning to the note in Bo’s character description where she is called “the type every young bar dyke falls in love with.” Lorraine is the young bar dyke in question (which I totally didn’t realize until I reread the play for the third time)

The police’s and behavior points the audience back to the roots of queer liberation movements, which fought against police control and violence enacted on queer, especially gender non-conforming, people. And it’s a sour note to leave the play off on, but maybe Merril Mushroom wanted it to be that way.

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Quiz: What Type of Queer Zine Are You?

What Type of Queer Zine Are You?

Bar Dykes

How to Engage in Courting Rituals 1950’s Butch Style in the Bar:
Ritual #1: Cruising
Ritual#2: The Buying of the Drink
Ritual #3: The Playing of the Jukebox
Ritual #4: The Approach
Ritual #5: The Lighting of the Cigarette
Ritual #6: The Asking to Dance
Ritual #7: The Dancing

Get QZAP Swag!!

We’re looking for a volunteer Linux system admin/web developer to join our collective. If this is you or someone you know, please check out the details here.

Milo Miller is a former AIDS activist and member of ACT UP/Milwaukee, a currently active zinester and the co-founder of QZAP, the Queer Zine Archive Project.

What Type of Queer Zine Are You?

How to Engage in Courting Rituals 1950’s Butch Style in the Bar: Ritual #1: Cruising Ritual#2: The Buying of the Drink Ritual #3: The Playing of the Jukebox Ritual #4: The Approach Ritual #5: The Lighting of the Cigarette Ritual #6: The Asking to Dance Ritual #7: The Dancing

Get QZAP Swag!!

How to Engage in Courting Rituals 1950’s Butch Style in the Bar:
Ritual #1: Cruising
Ritual#2: The Buying of the Drink
Ritual #3: The Playing of the Jukebox
Ritual #4: The Approach
Ritual #5: The Lighting of the Cigarette
Ritual #6: The Asking to Dance
Ritual #7: The Dancing