Forrest Lindsey

Transmasculinity in Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein A feathered mother-lover crown, a crimson angel, blood dripping down a softened chin, a winged being trapped in glass. A creature, man-shaped and alone, stitched together from the blue-gray bodies of the dead.  These are the images that linger. The conjurings of Guillermo del Toro’s film adaptation of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein . I will always remember sitting at the Nitehawk Cinema, buzzing and ready to see one of my favorite classics...

I told her, I’m sorry, I can’t remember how you died  as our bodies gravitated toward one another. So close, yet, not touching for it is the day of love and we are not lovers just friends that fuck. She, a doe unskinned, blood splashed in her lashes. She, wearing my lingerie and falling into me, faded on blue. Cerulean oval unforgiving, she forgets to kiss me as she searches  for oblivion.  Cover image by Ava Williams

When pretty french lesbians play with my hair and call me their sweet boy although this has yet to happen  Shooting a gun (but why is it so loud?) When my NA crush calls me faggotron  Being tits out at Riis  Ripping the condom open with my teeth and rolling it onto my silicon cock (do people really do that?)  Taking off my rings one by one to fuck Quincy in the House of Yes men’s restroom at Futch or at least I think her name was Quincy  Giving up my seat on the train to children and pregnant...