･:*:･ﾟ☆･:*:･ﾟ★｡queer & trans montanans sharing our magic & divinity ｡★･:*:･ﾟ,｡☆･:*:･ﾟ
a companion blog of the transcendent joy zine
send submissions to [email protected] or to this blog
this blog is dedicated to stories, poetry, art, and images of queer altars in montana. in chronicling the spaces made divine by queer & trans folks in this state, we hope to weave together a vision of montana that many have not had the fortune to witness.
this is a companion of the fourth edition of forward montana's transcendent joy zine, a zine by and for queer and trans montanans.
read past editions here.
if you live in or are from montana, and would like to submit written work to this blog, please share your altar at this link. if you have photos that you would like to submit to our zine, you can learn more and submit through this form.
“Domus"
Two wives sit in the shrine of their first home together as a married couple.
"Manus Cruenta”
Menstrual blood paints the hand of the lover. Fingers have worshipped the shrine. The hand holds true love.
"Liberation"
From inside of the closet, we see a dildo hanging in the doorway, acting as a tool for sexual liberation. Upon accepting ones sexuality, one can break free, and enter into the shrine of the bedroom.
My life is inundated with [altars].
The tote bag: a symbol of queerness in and of itself. I unconsciously design mosaics, of a sort, out of my collection of pins, stickers, patches, artwork. So this is one of those accidental altars.
The kitchen window living altar: features tomato plants that sprouted one day from some compost soil, assorted cacti & succulents, and a sign by the sink that reads, "everyone wants a revolution but no one wants to do the dishes/no dishes in the sink pls"
And finally, an intentional grief release altar I constructed recently for the martyrs in Palestine. Free Palestine.
Dylan, 29, has a passion for Art. Film primarily, but is a lover of all arts: audio, visual, and dance. As a career, they pursue motion pictures, but are passionate in every field and enjoy trying new forms of expression.
I am a self-taught photographer, and learn new basics with each roll of film I shoot. The often unpolished nature of the resulting images is an authentic depiction of the creation of dialogue with a subject already steeped in their own complex history. This altar comes from a shoot I did with one of my dearest friends, my first time doing a full shoot with someone I love so deeply. Capturing a bit of her essence in her space, in which she intentionally creates an altar out of every surface, felt like an embodiment of the way I have come to understand my own queerness: queerness as understanding the ways the lines between 'self' and 'other' are blurred - that we are each other as much as we are ourselves. - k.w
I am a trans artist based out of Missoula, MT. I live with my little queer family, in a small 1950s house in town. Our house is filled with lace, dried flowers, and lots of little gnomes. We say it has Grandma Energy. Here is an altar that currently sits next to our refrigerator. The pup in the Mirror is our dog Dax.
A work entirely of Chicano trans mascs I participated in, inspired by The Last Supper. I’m holding the threads connecting everyone together, offering to our trans Jesús who is crowned with needles and t-bottles
Neamh-dhénártha
(Translation: Third Gender, Divine Gender)
Once a demon saw a gentle-looking man walking down the street. The demon had just finished its lunch break, and, with a burp and a stretch, thought it ought to get back to work and put sin into that fellow’s heart. Just as it was gripping into the man’s chest, an angel appeared.
“Stop! By the power of the Most High, I command you leave this human.” The angel’s many eyes of fire stared the demon down, and it’s voice was like landslides and thunder.
The demon, though panicked, gave a wicked face. “Who said you could tell me what to do?”
“I am an angel, emissary of the Divine Name Most High” said the angel, readjusting its flaming sword. “It is with that authority I cast you out.” It lifted the blade with practiced ease.
“Oh, you can just ‘know’ you’re an angel now? That’s ridiculous!” the demon scoffed. “You’re delusional! Show me your birth certificate! Lift your shining robes and show me the place where God touched you and pronounced you an angel!”
The angel tilted its head. “I don’t think God actually does that?” it said uncertainly. It lowered the sword.
“Unless God comes down here and tells me himself that he smacked your ass and called you an angel when you were born, I don’t believe it. Why, just anyone could call themselves an angel! And then where
would we be? People would be throwing around flaming swords left and right, and poor demons like me would never be safe! It would destroy the entire system! You won’t get me with your outrageous
doublespeak, pervert. You may get off on calling yourself an angel, but that doesn’t mean I have to believe it!”
The angel blinked every one of its’ many eyes. “I don’t know what to tell you,” it said, gesturing to its’ unfathomable glowing form. “Angel.” It gestured to the demon. “Demon.” It hefted the sword. “Flaming sword. You shall not pass.” But its’ voice was full of doubt.
The demon laughed in its’ face. “Prove it!” And it dove for the man’s chest and began to claw its’ way in. The angel sat down on the man’s shoulder and held one of its’ faces in a couple of its’ many hands,
thinking. How could anyone really know whether they were an angel or a demon? Did it just think it was an angel because it wanted to be? Was it really delusional? Maybe it was a demon, but just a particularly
angelic one? It held open the hem of its’ robe and peered inside, getting a double-chin. Was there supposed to be a Tetragrammaton stamped into its skin?
Meanwhile, the demon had scratched through the man’s sweater, skin, and fascia, and was now on to the delicious fatty layer, under which it would find ribs and muscle. It drooled in anticipation. The man felt something like heartburn, and began to think about how much he hated his neighbor Jake, whose beautiful donkey was a four-time winner at the state fair. His own donkey continued to under-perform despite some very expensive dietary supplements and a five-step grooming routine.
The man’s bony shoulder shifted under the angel, jolting the flaming sword. It reached out reflexively and watched its’ hand clasp naturally around the grip. Staring at its’ fingers made of antimatter and starlight, it blinked all its’ eyes at once and jumped to its’ feet. It unfurled its’ wings. “Demon! I have the proof – I am an angel!”
“Oh yeah?” said the demon, around a mouthful of muscle. “Why’s that?”
“I act like one,” said the angel. And it lopped off the demon’s head.
