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a cartography of the orient | And So We Speak

This is a meditation on diaspora and is a part of the And So We Speak series.

1.

“my name is persian,” she says, spits gum, fishes for another one in her back pocket. it would’ve been cigarettes but her mother, as muslim mothers do, breathes fire, so she makes up for it by chewing with ferocity. smack, bare teeth, lean against the brick and push your hips out. yeah, they like that. “like the rugs,” she elaborates when the white boy’s eyes remain dull. “and, like, the empires.”

(she went by ray instead of reyhan until the tenth grade. then she found kohl, eyebrow wax, and bangles.)

2.

yeah that’s right. liberate. laugh twinkling into the night. i love this country, lemme tell you--yeah i fucking love it. you know back home? god, in iraq, they couldn’t even choose the man they married. aunt told me her mom forced a hijab on her when she was thirteen and, god, i could never do that. thank god everything’s better here--wish we could go back home and educate them, yeah, i wish. shrug into a warmth of intoxication (of the self by the self). like i’ve never brought tea for my dad or washed his clothes. i’d never. oh, mama? she’s, like--it’s different. intoxication, of the self by the self. like, liberate, bitch.

3.

blood drips through my veins but it’s not blood it’s sarma and couscous and ripe pomegranate. saffron rice and torshi are my bones. smells of istanbul, cairo, beirut, spices spices spices they keep me up at night--hey you think that’s good enough?

4.

i wanna be a fucking martyr. save my people. chain me up on a cross in the middle of taksim, on the crumbling walls of constantinople. make a river of my blood, quench the nation. the people. i wanna die for the country, didn’t you hear me the first time. i’ll shout into the night i’ll disintegrate slowly i’ll suffer.

author | sude a. is a circassian-turkish student from houston, tx. she likes culture, film, the betterment of society, and can be reliably found reading or scrolling twitter at 2 am.

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the devil waxed in my dream | And So We Speak

“In a sense, nothing ever changes.”

This poem was originally published in Issue 1 of Kaleido-scope magazine and is part of the And So We Speak series. 

in a sense, nothing ever changes.

right, we were talking about the devil, right. grandma calls it time and the girls

(honey thighs silk hair on bare shoulders make the boys shudder in the shadows —)

call it nazar,  

run from the eyes drape themselves with amulets swim in the seas of your god and whisper pleas in the moonlight.

grandma stares from her kitchen window — peeling mangoes. potatoes. cucumbers.

knife against skin against skin against skin (too close to hers),

knees bruising floor and floor bruising knees (companionship) —

foolish.

when will they realize, those girls with their flesh bared like an offering to god,

they are not so special they make the men cower but

we all did

you may possess and revel but one day you will spread those legs for a man and

it will all be the same

(knife against skin knees against floor make the honey drip from the veins —)

so, the devil. yes, time it is, for you cannot shroud yourself in the stone blue eyes to hide it will find you — nazar, the iteration of time.

right, girl take these potatoes now

nothing ever changes

your man will be wanting them

nothing ever changes

when you enter his house

nothing ever changes

your hands must be accustomed to the knife.

author | sude a. is a circassian-turkish student from houston, tx. she likes culture, film, the betterment of society, and can be reliably found reading or scrolling twitter at 2 am.

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The Great Overwhelm | Take a Break

This article is part of our Take a Break series.

Feelings of being overwhelmed are natural. We humans often bite off more than we feel we can chew, caught up in moments when our inner strength is at its peak—forgetting that emotional strength can often be more like riding sound waves than rays of light.

These moments can be identified by a number of things, including the sudden shortness of breath that comes after a restless night followed by an early rise, especially after a repetition of this sleeping pattern for weeks on end. Rest assured, this is normal. You are, after all, a human. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed—in fact, more often than not, you will feel overwhelmed. The happenings of modern life are rapid, with very little time to slow down. It is incredibly easy to fall down the rabbit hole of trying to keep up with it all.

Feelings like this are usually a wake-up call, and they usually lead to you becoming more effective at things like time management and prioritizing. However, when The Crash comes it can be difficult to navigate through the ocean of emotions that you feel submerged in. Personally, through trial and error I have developed a system of sort to take this undercurrent head on.

The first thing to do is make a list. Detailed list.

Write down everything that you feel you need to do in order to undertake each task. It is advisable for this inventory to be done at the beginning of each week during a Monday morning or Sunday evening. This helps organize your mind, when things appear on paper converted from wisps of smoky brain energy and into tangible and clearly recognizable words its easier to feel like you can conquer them. Its easier to defeat your enemy when you understand when it takes to do so.

Secondly, do an inventory of your self. Have you eaten a solid meal within the past week? Is your room clean? Is your work space in order? Have you done your laundry in the past 2 weeks? Have you spent any time with your family? Have you checked in with the people around you?

Knowing these things can allow you to feel more in tune with the happenings around you, allowing you to feel confident in yourself. Often times, simply making your bed in the morning can give you the feeling of achievement and positivity that you need to catapult you through the rest of your day. Remember: mornings are important. If you’re the average school/college student (read: me) who rushes out the door in the morning, not stopping to see if the sun is out or if its pouring down with rain, try taking the time to do so.

Be kind to yourself. We forget that in the grand scheme of things, the emotions we go through at the time in which we’re going through them will not last forever. The week where your assignment due dates are all lined up one after the other is not your forever. It’s just one little hole your have to jump over to get to the next level. And when you do get through it, you will have the knowledge and skill to undertake the next task and the next.

Be confident in your abilities. It’s so easy to get caught up in the anxiety of everything, and that’s okay. If you need to take some time out to bake some cookies and recharge, do it. No single moment in time will determine the outcome of your end. Your ability to pick yourself up after each tumble and fall will. Resilience takes time to build and failure is not something to be afraid of; its usually preparing you for something greater that will come your way.

Feeling overwhelmed is normal. It shows you care about what you are doing and that you are self-aware enough to check in with yourself and understand if you are making the wisest decisions. It is important to look at things with a bit of perspective and know that at the end of the day, you are capable and strong and can overcome any rocks, lemons, and even impossibly large waves that life decides to throw at you.

author | nida n. is a fashion student and skilled procrastinator at RMIT. likes: random podcasts, fluffy felines and questioning the nuances of culture. dislikes: fascists.

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Kaleido-Scope Magazine is now accepting submissions for Issue 2!

Kaleido-scope Magazine | By and for the young revolution and the arts. We represent the marginalized in the myriad. We publish essays, critical pieces, reviews, poetry, and more.

We are now accepting submissions for Issue 2 with the theme CONVERSATION. We accept poetry, prose, critical pieces, reviews, visual arts, and more; all submissions must relate to any definition of the theme in any way the contributor chooses.

Submission deadline: December 5th. All submissions must be sent to kaleidoscopemgz@gmail.com. Please refer to the Submission Guidelines for instructions regarding format.

We are primarily interested in publishing young writers of color + queer/LGBTQ+ writers! Read the Submission Guidelines for more. Any further queries can be directed to kaleidoscopemgz@gmail.com.

(Got a special pitch or want to submit something unrelated to the theme? We’re always interested! Email us and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible.)

Site. Twitter. Instagram.

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Clothing & U | From Between the Seams

“It didn’t matter what he was wearing and how much badly applied face paint he was sporting; he was okay with himself and that was all that mattered.”

This article is part of our From Between the Seams series.

        A few months ago, I skipped class to see the House of Dior exhibition at the NGV. The exhibition was amazing; it chronicled the pieces that have been released by the designers since the house opened seventy years ago, ranging from Dior himself to the more recent Maria Grazia Chiuri. After the exhibition, I decided to buy myself a keepsake—a notebook that stated “WHATEVER YOU DO - FOR WORK OR PLAY - DO IT WITH PASSION�� on the cover. At the counter, the girl processing my payment asked me if I wanted the small a5-sized notebook in a paper bag or exhibition bag. Unsure about the difference of size or style, I asked for her to place it in the exhibition bag, as I expected it to be the appropriate size for the notebook.

        They say most of the communication we partake in as humans is body language rather than words. In this instant, this girl’s body language was saying “wow, how audacious” as she pulled out the large bag with “The House of Dior: 70 Years of Haute Couture” emblazoned across it against a black and white image of The New Look. I realized instantly that I made a mistake, one that made me look shallow and naïve in front of her.

       I felt dumb and spent the walk out of the gallery to the tram beating my brutally self-conscious self up over it. I hoped no one realized I was clutching a massive bag that contained one tiny notebook and, because I suffer sometimes from that thing where you think the world revolves around you, I thought everyone was secretly judging me for the bag.

        I got on the tram, and at the second stop an interesting looking person boarded. This person appeared to be a guy and was wearing geisha makeup and a unique looking kimono. They were about to sit across from me, until they eyed my bag and instantly beelined for the seat next to me and stuck up a conversation. It just so happened that this person was an Asian guy of average height who studied music; he was just coming back from a music video shoot--hence the makeup.

        He asked me about the exhibition and my thoughts on it. Then he told me his thoughts about it and showed me the outfit he made to wear to it. He asked me what I bought, and I pulled out my notebook—funnily enough, he had bought the same one, and even flicked through some pages and showed me a few of his sketches. This guy left me in awe. He was so at ease with himself, so confident and okay with who he was that he could give me his full attention and engage in a conversation with me, a total stranger. It didn’t matter what he was wearing and how much badly applied face paint he was sporting; he was okay with himself and that was all that mattered.

        Often, you see people give advice on how to look good in anything or how to wear whatever you want. None of them are wrong, but there is a lot more to dressing then simply looking good. What I’m trying to get at is: what you wear does not define you unless you want it to. The way you make people feel can leave more of an impact than any number of expensive Alexander Wang boots. I’m not saying fashion isn’t important; it is very important as a whole.  But the thing is, at a personal level, your thoughts probably have a larger impact on how people see you than your Supreme hoodie.

        Thoughts are the first step between you and your interaction within the world around you. It’s okay to want to look a certain way and own certain pieces in your wardrobe, but don’t let it consume you to the point of anxiety.

        That guy on the tram inspired me to change the way I perceived clothing and the relationship between my thoughts and the world around me. Don’t let clothes, trends, the media and the Judgy McJudgersons of the world dictate what you wear and don’t wear. After all, Christian Dior pissed a lot of people with his unveiling of The New Look in 1949; now there are exhibitions celebrating his legacy.

author | nida n. is a fashion student and skilled procrastinator at RMIT. likes: random podcasts, fluffy felines and questioning the nuances of culture. dislikes: fascists.

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Project Yellow Light | Scholarship Spotlight

This post is a part of our Scholarship Spotlight series. 

        Project Yellow Light is a scholarship competition created in memory of Hunter Garner, who died in a car crash in 2007. Applicants to the competition submit either a video, billboard design, or radio script that warns of the dangers of distracted driving and encourages young adults to practice safe driving habits. The scholarship competition is open to high school juniors, high school seniors, and full-time college students.

        For the video competition, the submitted video must be exactly 25 seconds long or exactly 55 seconds long. It is suggested that applicants use a high-quality video camera to film their entry. If an iPhone or other type of flip camera is used, the video must be taken horizontally, not vertically. Applicants should also ensure that brand logos are not heavily present in their recordings. The winning video will be turned into an Ad Council PSA and will be distributed to 1,600 TV stations across the United States.

        Applicants interested in the billboard design competition should submit an original board design – all of the images in the design should belong to the applicant. If a tagline is included in the design, it should be 7 words or less. Applicants should strive to be original and follow all of the technical specifications for Clear Channel Outdoor Productions. Winning submissions will be transformed into a professional public service billboard by the Ad Council and will be put on billboards nation-wide, courtesy of Clear Channel Outdoor.

        If an applicant is interested in the radio script competition, they should create a 20 second radio ad, but extend the background music or sound effects by an extra 10 seconds. Applicants should only use music or sound effects they have the rights to and shouldn’t mention brand names in their script. All audio files submitted must be .mp3, .wav, or .aiff format. It is suggested that applicants record their submissions on high quality sound equipment and not on a cell phone. Winning submissions will be turned into public service ad by the Ad Council and aired on radio stations nation-wide, courtesy of iHeartRadio.

       The first-place winner in the video category will receive a monetary sum of $5,000. Second-place and third-place winners will receive $2,000 and $1000, respectively. Winners in the board design and radio script categories will receive $2,000.

For more information, visit the Project Yellow Light website.

author | emilia p. is an indecisive undergrad in the bay area. she makes too many lists and is always wishing for more time.

[kaleido-scope-mgz-blog]

Kaleido-Scope Magazine is now accepting submissions for Issue 2!

Kaleido-scope Magazine | By and for the young revolution and the arts. We represent the marginalized in the myriad. We publish essays, critical pieces, reviews, poetry, and more.

We are now accepting submissions for Issue 2 with the theme CONVERSATION. We accept poetry, prose, critical pieces, reviews, visual arts, and more; all submissions must relate to any definition of the theme in any way the contributor chooses.

Submission deadline: December 5th. All submissions must be sent to kaleidoscopemgz@gmail.com. Please refer to the Submission Guidelines for instructions regarding format.

We are primarily interested in publishing young writers of color + queer/LGBTQ+ writers! Read the Submission Guidelines for more. Any further queries can be directed to kaleidoscopemgz@gmail.com.

(Got a special pitch or want to submit something unrelated to the theme? We’re always interested! Email us and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible.)

Site. Twitter. Instagram.

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Kaleido-scope Magazine Issue 1 is out!

Kaleido-scope Magazine’s Issue 1: Resolution (Nov. 1) has been released! It features works by Jona Pedersen, Emily Chen, Sude Almus, Osanna Lau, Nida Naeem, and Duunna. 

Issue 1 can be viewed and downloaded for free here at our publisher website: 

Kaleido-scope Magazine: Issue 1

Alternatively, it can be downloaded here.

By and for the young revolution and the arts. We represent the marginalized in the myriad.

Kaleido-scope publishes essays, critical pieces, reviews, poetry, and more; our aim is to represent the voices of the young, the revolutionary, the artist.

Site. Twitter. Instagram.

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Personal Essay: An Honest Introduction | From Between the Seams

“To me, fashion is a gateway to unity.”

This Essay is part of our From Between the Seams series.

        Hot.

        It’s so unbearably hot.

        And I love it.

        This isn’t the skin sizzling summer heat of Melbourne that makes you want to jump into a sea of ice. This is the warm, enveloping Pakistani sun that was created to soothe my aching stomach and calm my dizzy head from the 3 weeks of food poisoning I get just about every visit. This heat is like the feeling you get after seeing a massive family that you barely remember at a young age. The reminder that even though you might feel alone, halfway across the world in a country where you feel like a complete stranger and just about everyone you know is as alone as you, you really aren’t.

        It might be a place you associate with poor plumbing, unreliable electricity and politicians who can’t give a shit about any of the problems that affect the people they govern—unless it affects them too. Yet when I was in my darkest periods of depression as a child, after a day of school full of bullies and equations my mind couldn’t understand and the crippling pressure from my parents to succeed academically, the reminder that there was a place far away from my problems and where I was undoubtedly loved was reassuring.

        When I look back at all this, it’s no wonder that I had a natural affinity for clothes. Growing up, we didn’t have a lot of money. And so like her grandmother did during hard times, my mother turned to sewing. I was always fascinated with my mothers’ ability to take a flat sheet of fabric and turn it into the abstract image she held in her mind. When I was a kid, dealing with the duality of my identity as a Pakistani-Australian ultimately came down to what I wore. My mother wore her dupattas and shawls draped over her head, my sister wore her hijab tightly around her head, and I? I decided I didn’t want to wear any of it. I was the only Pakistani kid in school—us South Asian women have managed to successfully hold on to our way of dress in a way that someone could spot us out of a crowd a million miles away. My mother never stopped wearing her shalwar kameez, just like my friend’s mother who wore hers to work every day. As a kid, I hated it because it made me different amongst my Italian-Australian classmates.

        I never admitted it to myself, but it was true. Much of the bullying I got when I was a child was really because of my Muslimness, my browness, my tan skin, hooked nose and dark hair. I could change my name, my clothes, but never in a million years could I ever change the fact that my parents moved from Pakistan to New Zealand and then to Australia. It really didn’t matter how many Weetbix I ate for breakfast or how much Vegemite I liked on toast (I didn’t—I loathed the shit and still do) or the fact that I had memorised all the songs from Hi-5. I’d never fit in.

        At the end of the day, it seemed to me that I could “fit in” primarily through clothing. Since we didn’t have a lot of money, I always found ways to blend my Pakistani wardrobe into my Western one. I was draping dupattas around my waist and pleating them into handkerchief hem knee length skirts; I was shortening my kameezes into shirts that I could easily wear with jeans and pretend I got from some seaside bohemian holiday destination my family never actually went to.

        When I transitioned to high school, it was easier to fit in. Most of my classmates were also the children of Muslim immigrants from places like Turkey, Serbia, Bosnia, Afghanistan, India, Eritrea; it could have posed as the United Nations if it wanted to. Going there taught me two things about the world: teenage kids are who change stems from, and the easiest way to influence teens is through being part of trends.

        And so I decided to study fashion. Through my practise, I want to explore the effects of colonialism and how living in a post-colonialist society shapes both how we dress and how we view others who dress in particular ways. I am curious as to how South Asian women have managed to keep their different way of dress, embrace it, and create a million-dollar global industry that could rival the Western fashion industry.

        The world in which we live is changing, and as a consequence, so is the way we dress. Our styles are blending and our cultures are mixing. If we let this happen unawares, we could lose things that make us different and proud of our heritage. 

        As a writer, this is my perspective; as a designer, this is my aesthetic.

        I want to explore the boundaries between countries and cultures and come to a resolution between cultural appropriation and cultural appreciation. I want to discover the dialogue in clothing and fashion and how to decipher it. Through my own experience, I’ve found that things become stronger when shared and spread. We are stronger when we work together.

        To me, fashion is a gateway to unity.

author | nida n. is a fashion student and skilled procrastinator at RMIT. likes: random podcasts, fluffy felines and questioning the nuances of culture. dislikes: fascists.

[kaleido-scope-mgz-blog]

Personal Essay: An Honest Introduction | From Between the Seams

“To me, fashion is a gateway to unity.”

This Essay is part of our From Between the Seams series.

        Hot.

        It's so unbearably hot.

        And I love it.

        This isn’t the skin sizzling summer heat of Melbourne that makes you want to jump into a sea of ice. This is the warm, enveloping Pakistani sun that was created to soothe my aching stomach and calm my dizzy head from the 3 weeks of food poisoning I get just about every visit. This heat is like the feeling you get after seeing a massive family that you barely remember at a young age. The reminder that even though you might feel alone, halfway across the world in a country where you feel like a complete stranger and just about everyone you know is as alone as you, you really aren’t.

        It might be a place you associate with poor plumbing, unreliable electricity and politicians who can’t give a shit about any of the problems that affect the people they govern—unless it affects them too. Yet when I was in my darkest periods of depression as a child, after a day of school full of bullies and equations my mind couldn’t understand and the crippling pressure from my parents to succeed academically, the reminder that there was a place far away from my problems and where I was undoubtedly loved was reassuring.

        When I look back at all this, it’s no wonder that I had a natural affinity for clothes. Growing up, we didn’t have a lot of money. And so like her grandmother did during hard times, my mother turned to sewing. I was always fascinated with my mothers’ ability to take a flat sheet of fabric and turn it into the abstract image she held in her mind. When I was a kid, dealing with the duality of my identity as a Pakistani-Australian ultimately came down to what I wore. My mother wore her dupattas and shawls draped over her head, my sister wore her hijab tightly around her head, and I? I decided I didn’t want to wear any of it. I was the only Pakistani kid in school—us South Asian women have managed to successfully hold on to our way of dress in a way that someone could spot us out of a crowd a million miles away. My mother never stopped wearing her shalwar kameez, just like my friend’s mother who wore hers to work every day. As a kid, I hated it because it made me different amongst my Italian-Australian classmates.

        I never admitted it to myself, but it was true. Much of the bullying I got when I was a child was really because of my Muslimness, my browness, my tan skin, hooked nose and dark hair. I could change my name, my clothes, but never in a million years could I ever change the fact that my parents moved from Pakistan to New Zealand and then to Australia. It really didn’t matter how many Weetbix I ate for breakfast or how much Vegemite I liked on toast (I didn’t—I loathed the shit and still do) or the fact that I had memorised all the songs from Hi-5. I’d never fit in.

        At the end of the day, it seemed to me that I could “fit in” primarily through clothing. Since we didn’t have a lot of money, I always found ways to blend my Pakistani wardrobe into my Western one. I was draping dupattas around my waist and pleating them into handkerchief hem knee length skirts; I was shortening my kameezes into shirts that I could easily wear with jeans and pretend I got from some seaside bohemian holiday destination my family never actually went to.

        When I transitioned to high school, it was easier to fit in. Most of my classmates were also the children of Muslim immigrants from places like Turkey, Serbia, Bosnia, Afghanistan, India, Eritrea; it could have posed as the United Nations if it wanted to. Going there taught me two things about the world: teenage kids are who change stems from, and the easiest way to influence teens is through being part of trends.

        And so I decided to study fashion. Through my practise, I want to explore the effects of colonialism and how living in a post-colonialist society shapes both how we dress and how we view others who dress in particular ways. I am curious as to how South Asian women have managed to keep their different way of dress, embrace it, and create a million-dollar global industry that could rival the Western fashion industry.

        The world in which we live is changing, and as a consequence, so is the way we dress. Our styles are blending and our cultures are mixing. If we let this happen unawares, we could lose things that make us different and proud of our heritage. 

        As a writer, this is my perspective; as a designer, this is my aesthetic.

        I want to explore the boundaries between countries and cultures and come to a resolution between cultural appropriation and cultural appreciation. I want to discover the dialogue in clothing and fashion and how to decipher it. Through my own experience, I’ve found that things become stronger when shared and spread. We are stronger when we work together.

        To me, fashion is a gateway to unity.

author | nida n. is a fashion student and skilled procrastinator at RMIT. likes: random podcasts, fluffy felines and questioning the nuances of culture. dislikes: fascists.

[kaleido-scope-mgz-blog]

Film Review: Babam ve Oğlum (2005) | The Lens

Fathers, sons, and the bittersweet taste of rural Anatolia.

This review is part of our The Lens: Film and Media in the Middle East series.

          Babam ve Oğlum, or My Father and My Son, is a 2005 Turkish drama film by set in the 1980s Aegean countryside post-1980-coup. While the film production was a humble affair, Babam ve Oğlum quickly gained nationwide acclaim and an iconic position in Turkish cinema.  

          It isn’t difficult to see how Babam ve Oğlum attained this praise—Çağan Irmak, the director and writer, has woven a distinctly Turkish tale of family, love, imagination, and heartbreak. The film centers around three characters: Sadık (Fikret Kuşkan), a leftist journalist jailed in the 1980 military coup; his son Deniz (Ege Tanman), who grows up in the care of a neighbor in Istanbul; and his father (Çetin Tekindor), a landowner in an Aegean village. Sadık, who has been estranged from his father since his youth, makes the pivotal decision to move back home upon a damning medical diagnosis. In order to entrust his son to his father’s care, Sadık must mend the contemptuous relationship between them.

          Deniz becomes instrumental in this process; his childlike innocence and fervent imagination capture the love and adoration of the family. However, the blissfulness is only fleeting—Sadık’s diagnosis is revealed, and the family must come to terms with the tragedy. The film grapples with painful questions: what does it mean to grow up? How do we deal with loss and regret in the context of love, family, and estrangement?

          While the film is not overtly political, the representation of the political turmoil of the era is obvious to those familiar with Turkish history. Sadık’s disagreement with his father in his youth stems from his leftist political radicalization. He believes that his father, a well-to-do village aga who owns much of the land and employs many other village folk, is participating in a corrupt and evil system—one that most Turks would defend as tradition. He makes a career out of radical journalism, but Sadık’s life is ruined because of it: his wife dies while giving birth in the coup, and he is jailed and brutally tortured for months. It is a dismal representation of the possibility of change and hope for progress in Turkish society, yet it is brutally honest in that reflects the silencing of the political left in the country for the past four decades.

        What makes Babam ve Oğlum resonate deeply with the Turkish audience is the contextualization of the film into Anatolian Turkish culture. It is set in an Aegean village: farm fields and other classic Turkish locales like the bakkal and teahouse are often featured as settings. The characters, too, are magnificently crafted and acted—they are fierce, sentimental, and real. The village lifestyle is represented as simple and joyful, yet the Turkish people are no strangers to suffering, a familiar aspect of modern Turkish history. The bleakness of the heartbreak and political turmoil serve to make the movie quintessentially Turkish. The soundtrack by Evanthia Reboutsika also plays a significant role in this contextualization. Masterfully made, the soundtrack is primarily based on Anatolian/Aegean folk music with some Western influence; it utilizes the versatility of Anatolian folk music to portray sorrow, joy, and everything in between: the bittersweet that is Babam ve Oğlum.

Listen to the soundtrack here.

author | sude a. is a circassian-turkish student from houston, tx. she likes culture, film, the betterment of society, and can be reliably found scrolling twitter at 2 am.

[kaleido-scope-mgz-blog]

Hi everyone! The post has been edited to reflect the changed deadline; it has been moved to October 23rd. Make sure to submit!

Kaleido-Scope Magazine is now accepting submissions for Issue 1!

Kaleido-scope Magazine | By and for the young revolution and the arts. We represent the marginalized in the myriad. We publish essays, critical pieces, reviews, poetry, and more. 

We are now accepting submissions for Issue 1 with the theme RESOLUTION. We accept poetry, prose, critical pieces, reviews, visual arts, and more; all submissions must relate to any definition of the theme in any way the contributor chooses. 

Submission deadline: October 23rd. All submissions must be sent to kaleidoscopemgz@gmail.com. Please refer to the Submission Guidelines for instructions regarding format. 

We are primarily interested in publishing young writers of color + queer/LGBTQ+ writers! Read the Submission Guidelines for more. Any further queries can be directed to kaleidoscopemgz@gmail.com.

(Got a special pitch or want to submit something unrelated to the theme? We’re always interested! Email us and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible.)

Site. Twitter. Instagram. 

[kaleido-scope-mgz-blog]

Kaleido-Scope Magazine is now accepting submissions for Issue 1!

Kaleido-scope Magazine | By and for the young revolution and the arts. We represent the marginalized in the myriad. We publish essays, critical pieces, reviews, poetry, and more. 

We are now accepting submissions for Issue 1 with the theme RESOLUTION. We accept poetry, prose, critical pieces, reviews, visual arts, and more; all submissions must relate to any definition of the theme in any way the contributor chooses. 

Submission deadline: October 23rd. All submissions must be sent to kaleidoscopemgz@gmail.com. Please refer to the Submission Guidelines for instructions regarding format. 

We are primarily interested in publishing young writers of color + queer/LGBTQ+ writers! Read the Submission Guidelines for more. Any further queries can be directed to kaleidoscopemgz@gmail.com.

(Got a special pitch or want to submit something unrelated to the theme? We’re always interested! Email us and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible.)

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[kaleido-scope-mgz-blog]

Kaleidoscope Magazine: Looking for Staff

Hi there!

We are a new magazine by and for the young revolution and the arts. 

We publish essays, critical pieces, reviews, poetry, short stories, and more. Our aim is to represent the voices of the young, the revolutionary, the artist. We are primarily interested in representing young (less than 22 years of age) writers of color + queer/LGBTQ+ writers. 

Right now we’re looking for editors, art editors, web curators, staff contributors (and contributors in general! Submission guidelines are here). 

If you’re interested, please email us at kaleidoscopemgz@gmail.com.

Thank you, and more information on submissions is soon to come.

[kaleido-scope-mgz-blog]

Kaleidoscope Magazine: Looking for Staff

Hi there!

We are a new magazine by and for the young revolution and the arts. 

We publish essays, critical pieces, reviews, poetry, short stories, and more. Our aim is to represent the voices of the young, the revolutionary, the artist. We are primarily interested in representing young (less than 22 years of age) writers of color + queer/LGBTQ+ writers. 

Right now we’re looking for editors, art editors, web curators, staff contributors (and contributors in general! Submission guidelines are here). 

If you’re interested, please email us at kaleidoscopemgz@gmail.com.

Thank you, and more information on submissions is soon to come.