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We’re still here!

And we’re late, but not too late! The May/(but mostly)June issue theme is Dreams. The current aesthetic page has been updated and we’re accepting submissions!

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the next issue’s theme will be announced soon!

stay tuned!

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A few pictures of my copy of the issue! More (higher quality) pictures to come.

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The 808 State (Hawaii)* by Blau (@blaucat) for Libra Mag

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You can still submit to Libra Mag until the end of April! The current aesthetic page is still up and the submit box is still open. It won't be in the magazine itself, but it's a great way to bring more attention to your art or get some practice. We hope to see some submissions soon!

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The First Issue of Libra Mag is Available for Purchase for $5 on Blurb!

Thank you to everyone who submitted!

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i. In the quiet moments where nothing is happening, I think about you and me and what we will do. Out of all the places, where will we settle? Which chunk of the world will we carve out and cling to and say this is ours this is ours this is ours ii.  None of the doors in the house I grew up in had locks iii.  A kitchen with sunlight streaming through the windows. I am making pancakes because the world is too bright and this is what you do? Is this how you tell someone you love them? I try to make shapes but they never come out like I intended iv. My mother took them off when I was young v. Maybe we’ll go out and buy pancakes from strange diners full of sad people. Maybe we’ll go out and steal them. Live our lives in motels and sixteen different states in half as many months. A thorough disregard for the law vi. She never put them back vii. There will be you and me and whoever else, and we will all get married in Vegas and send my mother a postcard that says Wish You Were Here! She will cry. I won’t care viii. That is what I’m dragging behind me ix. We’ll be stuck together, forever and always, never alone and never free. You and me in our apartment, you and me in our house, you and me and him and her jammed into an almost-broken van, hurtling into the next mistake x. A lifetime of doors that weren’t allowed to close xi.  A desperate litany, and endless ring of supplication. I will like you, you will like me, I will want you, you will want me, you and me and you and me and you and me xii.  I tried keep them out please for the love of god stay out stay out stay out xiii. My greatest wish is for you and me to be the death of each other in some disastrously warm place in the middle of nowhere xiv. Sometimes I think of an apartment, one with a few windows and thick walls and six different locks on the door. We’ll keep as many of them locked as we want. I’ll make pancakes.

The story is this: you and me shove everything we care about into a car and leave, off to something else by r.r.b (@cicadaparty) for Libra Mag

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i - my home’s voice tasted like homemade cookies and weird parties, all christimas lights and crying in your shoulder; a confusing mix of the inocence of the childhood and the mess that adolescence is. ii -mom always told you a pretty boy would appear in your life, convincing you to do dangerous things; he would turn you into a bad girl, make a fool of you; he wouldn’t care, would leave you after a kiss and make out with your best friend (but you’re alredy bad anyways) barely she knows that a pretty boy could never convince you to such poisonous things; a familiar face with messy hair and warm hands offering you a croissant could, but it wouldn’t try (she’s your best friend and a ordinary boy is nothing compared to you). iii - my home is warm, and when i hugged it, all it tasted like was sweetness and a new start. and while many wondered what was behind that, i could answer within seconds (you’re here, i’m here, we will never let any of those things go away. wind blows away; we’re the sky). iv- my home is a quiet; my home is loud. it never shouts and it always forgive. it told me not to feel guilty, because i never did anything wrong. it didn’t change me, and i never changed it. v - my home told me i’m pretty; marvelous, fancible and graceful. the dust whispered harsh words but as my home said, i’m stardust; living where the ground can’t reach, and anything can afect me. vi - they told us home is a place where you feel safe - not to me. home is when i’m with you, talking when we’re both in our beds; a number in the caller that makes me smile; running in an avenue and nothing will stop us.

by ari p.m. (@nerdzhang) for Libra Mag

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she smelled like christmas. not the generic christmas smell of cinnamon and cranberries, but my individual christmas, with too much flowery perfume floating around in the living room the cedar wood burning in the fireplace the pizza we order that night it’s not the jaded, recent, christmases, those not-christmases. she smelled like the ones when you were little, when your mom would have red velvet cake baking in the oven when you got home from school and the entire house smelled like pine needles and chocolate and peanut butter and, most abundantly, hope. she smelled like hope.

by Laney (@anarchisrn​) for Libra Mag

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                      afternoons in an orchard of day dreams  

                                            a mix for @libramag

                                                       track list 

✥ put your records on - corinne bailey rae ✥ dreams - fleetwood mac ✥ come away with me - norah jones ✥ sex and candy - marcy playground ✥ the sea and the rhythm - iron & wine ✥ mr jones - counting crows ✥ san francisco - the mowgli’s ✥ tangerine - led zeppelin ✥ tiny dancer - elton john ✥

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Home Is Where My Heart Is by Cindy (@myspacepatrick) for Libra Mag

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Libra Launch!

The official first issue of Libra Mag comes out next week on March 12! We’ve been working so hard on this project and we can’t wait to share it with you all. Thank you so much to everyone who followed the blog or submitted their work. We hope you all love the magazine as much as we loved putting it together!

For those who don’t know, Libra Mag is a brand new magazine created by a small group of writers, illustrators, and photographers. The mag is all about aesthetics; each issue has a new aesthetic/theme that the whole issue focuses on. The aesthetic changes every issue, so there’s no set theme. Anyone who’s interested in contributing can submit their writing (up to 10 pages), drawings (up to 10), and photos (up to 10) that represent their own take on the current theme.

This magazine depends a lot on contributions and it’s not too late to submit! You can send in your work here and check out the current aesthetic here if you’re interested.

We’re so excited to see how this turns out. Hope you love it!

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hey guys i just published a playlist for @libramag you should listen to it and more importantly u should check out the blog

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car ride home by Ell Eggar (@saturnias) for Libra Mag

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i. spread your fingers on the windowsill and close your eyes there is a heartbeat underneath your fingers, it sounds like the rain on your roof at night the footsteps of your dog running to greet you home the ticking of the clock on your bedside table you hold your breath until you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears and you keep holding it until it syncs up with the drumming beneath your fingers so that for a few seconds, until you hit your limit and gasp for air you are one with this place ii. you breathe out and feel the thrumming of the engine all around you it reverberates through your chest and rings in your ears and it sounds like the phone in your pocket going off the peals of the wind chimes outside your window the clang of a gate swinging shut you let the dusty interior of the car swallow you up trapping you in moving shadows and fading echoes as it moves forward bringing you closer and closer to your liberation you close your eyes until you get home

heartbeats and countdowns by finn j.n. (@lvnary) for Libra Mag

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home is wherever you and i are together by Lily Palmer (@sabainism) for Libra Mag

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i. home is when the stars align and the sound of sandpaper across wood wakes you. atlas, you get a day off from carrying the world. your shoulders whisper of the damage done already to you. count yourself lucky, you were tailored to a life of absence, which means even a flicker of occupancy yields lasting bliss. you must ration it out. let it prevail when you are forced to blink. remind yourself that it was a tremble on a void that never really went away. ii. sleep scares you. nightmares are not the cause of your nails buried into consciousness. one by one, your fingers are peeled away, leaving you to grasp at nothing as your eyes wave a white flag and you are taken captive. iii. a brush of knuckles across your door jolts you awake. it pushes open to reveal him, not her. tendrils grow steadily up your legs as you strain to hear her. you beg your mind to give you five more minutes of remaining ignorant. then, there it is. something worse than any bad dream. a snore. your grip on home fumbles. iv. the monster under your bed is beneath your covers. it sings a lullaby of isolation, soothing you. the weight of the earth is easier to hold if you lay down, you’ve learned. this is your payment for the glee you came upon yesterday. there has never been a moment where you did owe a debt for it. v. you pick at the bandaid, wary to leave the fervent embrace of your bed. when your foot touches the floor, a knife hugs your throat, both raw and familiar. two paths are ahead of you, but your eyes show only one. it is a walk through the trench you’ve worn down for yourself. she is the dead end that stops your step. vi. your home is made of dependancies and impermanence. your grasp gives way. your sword is too small to slay her dragons. vii. there is a sign only visible to your family. you gaze at it as what is written is erased. it is no longer five days without an accident. a zero replaces it. you aren’t sure what you’re more used to, home or this?

a home composed of sand promises waves are close behind by i.r. (@lesbianisabelle) for Libra Mag

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