I spent a lot of time this past weekend wrestling with what I wanted to write for this yearâs 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, itâs always World AIDS Day.
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.
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 Crimpâs amazing book AIDS Demo Graphics is a visual starting place. The work of those designers and activists recently got explored in depth in Jack Loweryâs comprehensive It Was Vulgar & It Was Beautiful â 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 didnât 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 itâs zines, or ephemera, or other media, including music and film, itâs 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.
The cover of Infected Faggot Perspectives #12, dated to December 1992/January 1993, and priced at â$3.00 or free to the infectedâ, confronts the reader with a caricature, signed to Rick Cole, of an emaciated figure in a hospital bed, strangled by IV lines, stuck full of needles, and dripping sweat. The zineâs tagline, which seems to have appeared on every issue, was:
âDedicated to Keeping the Realities of Faggots Living with AIDS & HIV Disease IN YOUR FACE Until the Plague is Over!!!â
The zine dates from a time when AIDS was high in the U.S. public consciousness, following, for example, shortly after the death of Freddy Mercury, but a few years before the availability of the combination therapies that began to make HIV/AIDS more survivable for many of those able to access them.
I am about a generation younger than the generation of (Western, white, not necessarily street-involved, because we know now that the virus had been killing people for decades before it became known here) people most affected by AIDS. I was spared those traumas but grew up with a huge absence where my elders should have been. As far as I remember, I first learned about HIV/AIDS through saccharine, pitying, heterosexual representations like Philadelphia.
From Infected Faggot Perspectives #12
The records that people who were actually living with AIDS left, as they fought for their friendsâ lives are deeply precious to me. A crucial component of this cultural legacy is a dark, dark, dark gallows humour, suffused with rage at the abandonment of PWAs on both individual and cultural levels, the physical messiness of living and dying with AIDS, and the social messiness of organizing amidst mass sickness, death, and grief.
Directed outwards at a wider audience, AIDS gallows humour, alongside actions like the political funerals of ACT UP, aimed to force those not yet affected by the virus to confront the reality that people were dying young in excruciating pain, and nursing, burying, and mourning entire social circles in the face of public indifference and hostility.
Directed inwards at fellow community members also grappling with AIDS, dark humour offered a pressure release from those same realities. Itâs not actually possible to live full-time as a tragic, saintly victim, sometimes youâve got to laugh.
IFP offers arch advice like, âlet’s face [it,] an AIDS Queen isn’t Glamorous until she is way below 100 [t-cells]… sorry, girls, maybe next year⌠keep trying.â Its articles share useful resources, like âAround the World in AIDSy Daysâ, which gives travel advice for PWAs, including resources for DIY healthcare, and considerations of border restrictions for poz people, but also opens,
âHey girlfriend⌠wanna take one last trip to a tropical paradise before kicking the bucket but youâre afraid âcause youâve heard thereâs a 50% or better chance youâll get something other than fucked during your visit & then what would you do?â
Other articles vent anger at fairweather friends of PWAs, and the unique social dynamics of the AIDS crisis:
âPeople with AIDS are often abandoned⌠but the deathbed is well attended and there is plenty of loud crying at the memorial – Nice new outfit there.â
At times, the zineâs tone is more straightforwardly sincere, as with its long obituary for Cliff Diller, who was among the founders of the West Hollywood SM party Club Fuck!. IFPâs memorial for him includes beautifully specific and evocative moments like:
âA celebration of Cliff’s life took place in L.A. on Sunday Oct. 25, the highlight of which was a performance and ritual by Aztec fire dancers. Over 100 friends gathered, most wore green, ate lasagna, ceasar [sic] salad, and pulled together. Instead of feeling, I am over this, I left feeling that, yes, I can do this one more time.â
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Diseased Pariah News #1 (reprint)
One of the most famous examples of dark AIDS humour is Diseased Pariah News, an influential AIDS zine published from 1990 to 1999. All eleven issues of it are available to read online at the Internet Archive, and it is well worth your time. It offered a similar combination of resource-sharing, irreverence, and political rage, with the first issue declaring its mission to âprovide a forum for infected people to share their thoughts, feelings, art, writing, and brownie recipes in an atmosphere free of teddy bears, magic rocks, and seronegative guilt.â
According to an academic article on âCounterpublicity and Corporeality in HIV/AIDS Zines,â Infected Faggot Perspectives ultimately ran to 14 known issues. There is at least one issue held in Duke Universityâs Bingham Center zine collection. There is a copy of issue 6 in the Columbia University Libraries and of issue 8 (April 1992) at the ONE Archives at the USC Libraries. Traces of it are also scatteredonline.
The writing in IFP is mostly under pseudonyms like La Vieja Sidosa, Pansy Ass Faggot, and Trixie Trash, but the zine appears to have been the work of W. Wayne Karr, who died in 1995 and was remembered for his advocacy around access to AIDS drugs, and Cory Roberts-Auli, who died in 1996, after writing a final essay about facing his death, which was published with a preface remembering him for the depths of his solidarity with the often-neglected population of women living with AIDS.
He wrote,
âWhen I think of what is ahead of me, I feel almost a sense of relief. I know I am capable of letting go and I look forward with a sense of adventure to what lies ahead. If all of you hearing or reading this could step outside of your own emotions for a moment and be happy for me and for my freedom, you would see just how ready I am for this to be over. I’ve been carrying this disease around for many years and I am elated to be free of it. Of course, I have little to no information about what lies ahead, after all, I have never died before. Still, I can’t help being excited and scared at the same time.â
Mia Mingus, the writer and activist in disability justice and transformative justice, writes a blog titled Leaving Evidence, with the description,
âWe must leave evidence. Evidence that we were here, that we existed, that we survived and loved and ached. Evidence of the wholeness we never felt and the immense sense of fullness we gave to each other. Evidence of who we were, who we thought we were, who we never should have been. Evidence for each other that there are other ways to live–past survival; past isolation.â
Zines like Infected Faggot Perspectives, Diseased Pariah News, and AIDS Kills Fags Dead, left evidence of their creatorsâ immense creativity, brilliance, and a mordant, furious, catty, grief-laden, exquisitely faggy sense of humour. Iâm grateful to have these zines available to me, and to count those who made them as my elders and ancestors.
Lee P, interning at QZAP in summer 2024, is a long-time zine maker whose current project is Sheer Spite Press, a small press and zine distro. Originally from unceded Algonquin land, Lee calls TiohtiĂ :ke // Mooniyang // Montreal home. Lee is also a member of the organizing collective for Dickâs Lending Library, a community-run, local library of books by trans, non-binary, and Two-Spirit authors.
I Hate Straights P.4 of the original 1990 version of Queer Read This, which can be found at Against Equality
Queers Read This is a hugely influential zine: itâs traveled far beyond its original circulation at the 1990 New York Pride. Published anonymously by members of Queer Nation, the direct-action group that spun off of ACT UP to protest homophobia beyond the specificity of AIDS, itâs continued to circulate and to speak to sentiments and tensions within queer movements and spaces.
As someone born in the mid-80s, I have an endless fascination with the politics of the 80s and early 90s, and how they shaped the world I came of age in. So much of the landscape of contemporary queer politics still relitigates the tug of war between revolution and assimilation that this zine captures.
Queers Read This was written in a time of mass death from AIDS, an uptick in anti-queer violence, and a cultural consensus that queer people deserved these things. It is angry, horny, uncompromising, and immensely quoteable (âevery time we fuck, we winâ). It refuses to hedge its bets or pull its punches or add wishy-washy caveats or to let any straight people off the hook by separating straightness and heterosexism from straight people. Itâs unabashedly, invigoratingly polemical.
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The version of Queers Read This held in QZAPâs archive is a reprint published in 2009 as an implicit argument that the zine remained relevant as more than just a historical artifact 20 years after its publication, that queers should still be reading this. The 2009 reprint contains footnotes contextualizing some of the references in the original, for an audience who might blessedly not know who Jesse Helms was. It also includes the update that that âAIDS policy today is still institutionalized violence, though it has become targeted less by sexuality and more by race and incarceration.â
Itâs accompanied in the archive by Queers Read This Too, a zine written in 2010, and distributed at Pride in Madison, Wisconsin. Inspired by the 2009 reprint of Queers Read This, a group of eight writers (credited by name, unlike the anonymous authors of Queers Read This), share their own rage at the ostracization, fear, and sexual violence they have been subjected to as queer people. One author remembers a murdered trans friend, and the callous indifference towards her death among cis gay peers.
Both Queers Read This and Queers Read This Too focus most of their rage at the broader heterosexist world, while also calling out queers for our own complacency, for the ways we silence ourselves, choose our own comfort, fail to act as a movement.
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One of the main ways Iâve seen Queers Read This discussed is for its role specifically in positioning the term âqueerâ as an identity thatâs fundamentally politically radical, anti-assimilationist, and in opposition to heterosexism. Queers Read This argues for this usage because âqueerâ is a gender-neutral term that can express solidarity among queers of different genders, and because its authors see âgayâ as too happy and unthreatening a word to hold the rage they feel.
This makes the zine interesting to read now, because in many– though certainly not all– areas of life, the term âqueerâ has been very thoroughly reclaimed, defanged, and depoliticized.
Queers Read This deserves better than to be remembered for a minor point of semantics. Words are important up to a point, but when bickering about terminology keeps us from having each otherâs backs in meaningful, material ways, itâs time to move on. Any wordâs meaning will eventually shift and mutate and slip and slide out of your hands. The term you choose to display your anti-assimilationist convictions will slither away and go work at an arms manufacturer. You can let the word go, and let the rage and urgency remain. Theyâll always be relevant.
Lee P, interning at QZAP in summer 2024, is a long-time zine maker whose current project is Sheer Spite Press, a small press and zine distro. Originally from unceded Algonquin land, Lee calls TiohtiĂ :ke // Mooniyang // Montreal home. Lee is also a member of the organizing collective for Dickâs Lending Library, a community-run, local library of books by trans, non-binary, and Two-Spirit authors.
On Saturday, May 18th, 2024, we are beyond thrilled to be collaborating with our friends at Lionâs Tooth here in Milwaukee to bring Margaret Galvan, a 2017 QZAP scholar-in-resident, back to Milwaukee to talk about her new book In Visible Archives: Queer and Feminist Visual Culture in the 1980s.
Margaretâs book focuses on eight visual artists who created grassroots visual artwork in the 1980s that thought deeply about sexuality and communities of social justice, featuring discussion of comics, proto-zines, grassroots newspapers, drawings, photographs, etc. She will be sharing excerpts and discussing the impact of these artists within the context of the Feminist Sex Wars, the queering of the underground comics scene, the dissemination of Dykes to Watch Out For, and of bearing witness to the first decade of the HIV/AIDS pandemic.
The talk will be free and open to the public at Lionâs Tooth, and signed copies of the book will be available for purchase.
Deets:
Saturday, May 18th, 2024
5:30 pm
Lionâs Tooth
2421 S Kinnickinnic Ave,
Milwaukee WI 53207
We’ve crossposted our annual World AIDS Day post to Instagram. This year is a look at some pages from the queer anarchist zine PATS. PATS ran for 28 issues from the summer of 1992 through December of 1999. Published by Frankie, Christine and Oscar in Utrecht, The Netherlands, the majority of the zine is in Dutch with some English and French smatterings.
ID1: From PATS No.3 (Summer 1993), an illustration of a priest nailing Christ to the cross, the word Queer over his head, and the text âAIDS, Unlike Homophobia, Cannot Be Spread Through Casual Contactâ
ID2: From PATS No.7 (August 1994), a flyer from ACT UP New York in Spanish for a demonstration during the 25th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots. Text in English reads âSTONEWALL DESPERATE TIMES. DESPERATE ACTIONS. AIDS ON THE STREET! SUN JUNE 26 ’94 10AM: SHERIDAN SQâ>CENTRAL PKâ
ID3: A review of Pansy Division’s album Deflowered and the printed lyrics to their song Denny, about a man whoâs sick with opportunistic infections as a result of having AIDS.
ID4: From PATS No.9 (March 1995) – A fundraising appeal for ACT UP – Amsterdam – Image depicts a person screaming and the translated text reads âSTILL AIDS! SEE, HEAR and SCREAM! ACT UP!â
ID5: From PATS No.12 (December 1995) – An blurb about ACT UP/SF storming the San Francisco offices of the Republican Party and burning Senator Jesse Helms in effigy next to a sticker that says The AIDS Crisis is Not Over. On the lower half is a piece about the 8th annual World AIDS day event happening in Utrecht.
ID6: A photo postcard of a colorful banner that says ACT UP – Utrecht
ID7: From PATS No.8 (December 1994) – An article about an action that ACT UP – Utrecht members participated in at the Forbidden Fruits of Civil Society Festival from Sept. 8-18, 1994 in Slovenia teaching safer sex practices.
ID8: From PATS No.8 (December 1994) – A continuation of the previous page and some graphic propaganda including images of unrolled condoms.
ID9: From PATS No.20 (December 1997) – Making Dams for Beavers – illustrated instructions on how to make barriers for performing safer oral sex on orifices using latex gloves.
ID10: Photo of a mural that says âACT UP! Bi Queer!â over an anarchist circle-A with a pink triangle. Floating around the image are Keith Haring-esque characters and pink triangles with lightning bolts indicating that this probably came from a squatted space.
This graphic by WHAM! – the Womenâs Health Action and Mobilization is from the split zine CUNT/PRICK circa 1991, and was a direct response to the AIDS crisis.
According to Wikipedia:
â Historically, women have often been excluded from HIV and AIDS advocacy, treatment, and research. At the start of the AIDS epidemic in 1981, medical and scientific communities did not recognize women as a group for research. Women were excluded from clinical trials of medication and preventative measures. They were also often blocked from being subjects in clinical research with exclusionary with restrictions like “no pregnant or non-pregnant womenâ. The National Institutes of Health (NIH) rejected grants that were targeted at understanding HIV in low-income women of ethnic minorities. This lack of attention is often attributed to the prominence of the gay rights movement in the area of HIV and AIDS. HIV’s clinical symptoms differ between men and women, and the focus on male symptoms caused medical professionals to overlook symptoms in women. â
As we all knew then, is still true now, and was evidenced by the election in the U.S. this past week, Womenâs Health Care IS Political.
Even before the COVID-19 pandemic began we were thinking about trying to write a thing about zines that talk abut using herbs and DIY abortion. Then came the pandemic, and in the U.S., the confirmation of another anti-abortion supreme court justice, who, itâs speculated, will work to overturn the 1973 Roe vs. Wade decision that legalized pregnancy termination.
We kind of hate that we have to write this at all, but the ongoing attacks on reproductive freedom and healthcare across the world make this necessary. Everybody should have access to the healthcare they need, full stop. This means being able to make informed choices about reproductive options including different methods of contraception, pregnancy and childbirth, and the ability to end a pregnancy as desired.
A couple of notes:
The following links were not digitized by us at QZAP. Abortion and reproductive healthcare are absolutely queer and trans issues, but these zines are maybe outside of our collection policy scope. As such, they are not necessarily up to our standards for digitization, nor can we assure that the original creators permissions were sought before these were put online.
In 1992, the drag queen Joan Jett Blakk ran for presidential office with backing from Queer Nation. Using the slogan âLick Bush in â92,â Blakkâs campaign brought national attention to issues impacting queer communities, particularly the AIDS epidemic that the federal government was completely ignoring1. In the midst of the campaign, Terence Smith, the activist who performs as Blakk, penned an article for the performance art zine P-Form. Smith writes that drag carries a politics of âinvulnerability,â providing a means of protection for Smith on both the stage and the streets. âNo one can âharmâ me in drag,â writes Smith, âBecause part of me is hidden underneath a Maybelline shell.â The article is a beautiful illustration of drag as a queer political forceâa form of gender-fuckery that according to Smith âstomps outâ the signifiers of masculinity and femininity.
Smithâs article is one of many articles on drag performance in this special issue of P-Form. The Randolph Street Gallery ran the zine from 1986 to 1999 and covered the performance art scene in Chicago. (Note: Blakk also ran for mayor of Chicago in 1991.) P-Form regularly highlights the work of queer and feminist artists. In the case of this issue, the majority of the articles are written by the artists themselves, who describe their performance practice as well as the difficulty of surviving and sustaining life as a queer performer.
In an article entitled âEvery Breathing Moment,â Michael Palmer describes the institutional violence enacted against trans bodies. Palmer writes about endless visits to doctors who challenged his identity as a trans man and refused to provide top surgery. He writes that âlisteningâ to doctors or family would have meant turning toward death. Palmer describes breathing as a radical actâan assertion of life in institutional spaces that negate trans lives.
P-Form also provides reviews of other artistic forms, including painting cinema. In accordance with the drag performance theme, this 1991 issue includes a brief review of Jennie Livingstonâs documentary Paris is Burning, which had been released the previous year. The review reads like a collage of interviews and pull-quotes, featuring press statements made by Livingston as well as iconic lines from drag performers such as Dorian Corey and Venus Extravaganza. âThe balls used to be about what you could create,â says Corey, âNow theyâre about what you could acquire.â Corey notes that theft was not uncommon among the economically struggling performers on the ball circuit. The statement is a strong illustration of how the Harlem ball circuit served as a space of queer of color fabulosity that also gestured toward the precarity of queer life. Performance is a means of sustaining queer life, and it depends on radical forms of resistance to institutional oppression.
Jacob Carter graduated from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee in 2019 with a masterâs degree in English. He is interested in queer cinema and performance art and plans to apply for a PhD in performance studies later this year. He has previously presented his research at the annual conference of the Society for Cinema and Media Studies and the Midwest Interdisciplinary Graduate Conference.
âAre you queer? Do check-ups give you chills? Do nurses make you nervous? Yeah, us too. Put on your hospital gown, take a deep breath, and we’ll try to get through this together…â
Awkward at the Doctor, a 2010 zine from Eugene, OR, voices some all-too-familiar experiences of doctor anxiety and awkwardness because of heteronormative doctors making assumptions. In 2017, this zine is more relevant than ever! With the election of cheeto-fascist, the increasing agenda against affordable healthcare and increasing criminalization of reproductive healthcare, it’s more important than ever to hold our doctors accountable for providing inclusive and accessible healthcare.
AATD tells how hard it can be to go to the doctor as a queer person, and includes a few different stories of bad times in the exam room. Kari Odden discusses her difficult experience learning safe sex practices as a bisexual woman. She shares what she wishes she’d have been told, to âuse a condom on your toys!…Use a dental dam! Cause guess what– women can get and spread STIs, too– even HIV…Wash yo hands!…You should still get tested!â Instead, her doctor did not offer her any comprehensive sexual health advice that was relevant to her. Negative experiences like these, while common, should not be tolerated.
Another entry outlines Lance Heisler’s experience as a queer man with a presumptuous doctor whose assumptions of Lance’s straightness degrade the quality of care Lance receives. Lance makes sure to note just how common awkward doctor experiences are for queers, and he stands in solidarity with queer individuals who may be reading the zine: âI should mention now that this story is specifically meant for all those lesbians, gays, queers, and trans persons out there that know what type of stories I’m talking about.â This statement of solidarity lays groundwork for positive sharing of stories without judgement, and with understanding.
The last page of the zine is a whole page of resources!!!! These include Sexual Assault Support Services, Transgendercare.com, Sex Ed For The Real World, and many other websites or orgs that help with queer health. The time is ripe to take our health into our own hands, and hold our doctors accountable! If you have a shitty, anti-queer doc, write them a bad yelp review. We gotta demand fair treatment, and Awkward at the Doctor explains why. Enjoy the read, and be sure to check out the resources at the end.
Ella Williams, originally from Boston, MA, is a third year student at Grinnell College majoring in Gender&Visual Praxis. She’s a queer cis-lady who spends her time making music/touringunder the moniker Squirrel Flower, researching feminist art history, and trying to abolish capitalism.
When things turn bad, when all your worst fears come true, when that thing you always said could never happen actually does, sometimes the only option left is to square your shoulders, takes a deep breath, and yell with all your might. Trust us- it can feel really, really good.
Once youâre all screamed out, take some of that excess energy and check out a YELL zine. YELL, or the Youth Education Life Line, is an affinity group within ACT UP, the AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power. YELL was founded in 1989 as the youth arm of ACT UP, to work on AIDS issues facing young people, especially AIDS education. Based out of NYC, YELL was born in response to the failings of the public education system to educate its students about HIV and AIDS, and the largely unaddressed issue of HIV transmission between young people.. At the time of publishing YELL #1, (1994) AIDS was the leading cause of death for NYC women 25-34, and âsince the average incubation period for HIV to progress to AIDS is 10.5 years, most of these people were probably infected as teens.â
Despite (or perhaps because of) this grim reality, the pages of YELL #1 are full of humor and fun, as well as the spirit of punk rebelliousness and fierce strength. Its splashy pages feature pictures of Big Bird, Lucille Ball, Queen Latifah, Bart Simpson and Rupaul, all with mouths open wide and, clearly, voices up. The newsprint-style of this zine gives it the urgency it needs, along with a sense of pragmatism. Far from pandering or condescending, as so many youth-oriented publications do, YELL feels like it had actual teens on staff. Frank and effective guides on condom use and infection risk are mixed with articles about the triumphs and challenges facing youth AIDS activists in the 90s.
Itâs easy to get discouraged. Easy, and understandable. At times like these, it can be helpful to look back and see how others handled times of crisis. YELL is unfortunately, at the moment, defunct. However, its achievements (as listed near the beginning of YELL #1) are nothing short of inspiring. From handing out condoms and safer sex literature to over 45,000 NYC students, to enacting change in NYC public education policy, to representing youth interests at the international conference on AIDS, itâs clear the body of this organization was just as energetic as its publication.
And thatâs the thing- when you raise your voice, the rest of you is sure to follow. The worst thing is to stay paralyzed. If you get active by volunteering time or money, thatâs amazing. If you do it simply by existing in the world as a queer person or a POC, or a staunch and vocal ally, thatâs amazing too. Maybe, right now, all we can do is yell- and maybe, for now, thatâs enough.
Dac Cederberg is a former QZAP intern, now residing in Spain. He will be periodically blogging about zines from our collection.
Dac recently graduated from the University of Montana with a degree in English Literature and Creative Writing. Heâs a cisgender gay man, he/him pronouns, from Missoula Montana. His alter ego is drag-queen bombshell Lady Dee. He doesnât quite know what he wants to do with his life yet, but he loves reading, writing, TV, pop culture, and all things queer. Heâs a Gemini and his favorite color is purple. Feel free to contact Dac through QZAP with any questions or comments.