Living through coercive treatment, the AIDS crisis and homelessness, this author continues to survive the trauma of the psychiatric system.

For this month’s Queer Fashion Files, we’re featuring creative duo Nicol & Ford.

Free Palestine activists resist local forces of oppression, fascism and colonialism, mobilising and finding strength as a community.

I’ve frequented gay bars in Melbourne, and still do, but none of them have the beating heart of lesbian community that Third Rodeo does for me.

Two trans women share a lively discussion around culture, sex work, the AIDS crisis, gender and intersex identity.

I’ve found there’s something beautifully democratic about traditional cruising – the darkness and anonymity working as great equalisers.

The world-famous Keith Haring mural painted on an exterior wall of a school building in Collingwood, Melbourne, turned 40 years old last year.

Welcome to Phone-a-Dyke, Archer’s new queer advice column. Today’s question: Are socks lesbian culture?

The Archibald Fountain has a hidden history as a beat. The goal of my walking tours is to make this, and other hidden queer histories, known.

I stumbled into phone sex after sharing my woes with a psychic. Psychic hotlines were really popular then, and I was a frequent caller.

Zinaida Gippius lived a rather queer life – between their affairs with women, highly publicised threesomes, cross-dressing, and more.

Pine Gap spy base sits on stolen Arrernte lands, fuelling the forgotten war machine of Australia.

I figured I had two years left: one in reasonable health, then one in increasingly terrible health, ending in a withering, undignified, exhausted death.

“There’s nothing more pathetic than being at a party, somebody asking what you do, and saying, ‘I’m a poet.'” Eileen Myles chats with Alex Creece.

“I am in awe of Palestinian women. I have never seen such extraordinary patience, resilience and love for family.” Samah Sabawi chats to Archer Magazine.

Paranormal topics are often misunderstood, feared, and vilified – just like many of us in the queer community.

It appears the only way society has allowed femme rage is when it is displayed by white, conventionally attractive women, and portrayed through the aestheticised lens of film.

If I don’t avoid everything French, it feels like I’m endorsing the country that causes my communities so much misery.

Very often, I find that as Black people, we are not allowed to outwardly express our anger and pain. It is an implosive reaction. We keep it to ourselves.

In 1990s Tasmania, identifying as a queer teen felt analogous to asking for a vegetarian option at a restaurant and being told that I could order fish.

In this room and on this bed, Leonardo da Vinci lay with Salai and Francesco Melzi. In the dining room, they ate together and told stories.

I took refuge in the archives of lesbian literature, which felt like the only way I could connect to my community and their history.