Some darker corners of gender identity and praise for a raunchy bitch

Photo of author, Graphite filter, Oil Pen B&W

When I was a clueless adolescent baby butch in the early 80s, there was almost zero queer representation in popular media, especially for us wee tough girls. I secretly and repeatedly rented Hotel New Hampshire on VHS just so I could watch one shadowy, fleeting kiss between Jodie Foster and Nastassja Kinski frame-by-frame, on a loop, desperately willing just one more fraction of a second with better lighting.

Summer Lovers, which no one seems to remember but me, boldly introduced a bisexual throuple to my young mind, but more importantly hinted at Daryl Hannah’s genuine, independent affection for a hot…


But his hat was

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Around this time every year, I descend into my creepy, damp Midwestern basement to retrieve my extensive collection of Christmas decorations. My last name is Yule, so I have collected a multitude of items displaying various Yuletide sayings. “Make the Yuletide Gay” has long been popular in my house.

I have childhood trinkets, defiled religious ornaments, and mementos of girlfriends past. My favorite holiday trimming, however, is my handmade contribution to the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree/Island of Misfit Toys tradition, which is itself an essentially Queer holiday trope doubtlessly formative for generations of fledgling Queers. It was hastily made from…


I’d like to explain.

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It was Trans Awareness Week in mid-November, culminating in the Transgender Day of Remembrance on November 20. I didn’t do anything to commemorate the occasion. I didn’t change any of the profile pictures on my numerous social media accounts. I didn’t light a candle. I didn’t write an article, even when encouraged to do just that for my own self-serving interest in exposure for the “trans” memoir I just published. I just let it pass.

I had wanted to do something. I’d planned on doing something, but upon reflection, it has occurred to me my feelings about the event may…


What must Queer apocalypse culture produce?

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As I sit down to write on this crisp Halloween afternoon, instead of doing what all Queers should be doing at this exact time every year — opening champagne leftovers from Halloween brunch, putting on our favorite 90s R&B mix and finding drugs and shiny things for our favorite queer holiday — I find myself quarantined, tussling with an imaginary Queer future that could start as early as next week.

What if Republicans pull off the coup they’ve been telegraphing for months? …


Jesus doesn’t want you to vote for Trump.

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My Aunt Mary is a conservative Evangelical Christian and a Trump supporter. She is voting for Donald Trump because God has been telling her for decades ending legal access to abortion and stopping people from being queer are the most valuable ways to spend her time and resources. I haven’t spoken to her since long before Trump was president. I haven’t seen her in over a decade. I haven’t seen her daughters, my cousins, since the mid-90s after her encounter with my mother who’d finally had enough, “Stop asking if Tara has a new boyfriend! She’s a big butch dyke…

Ty Bo Yule

Retired queer cult leader. Opened the last dyke bar in Minneapolis. Grew a beard at Harvard. Find the story at chemicallyenhanedbutch.com. It’s funny. So am I.

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