peel is both noun and verb—it is for that which makes us hunger and yet turns around to quench our thirst. Peel stings our open cuts and, too, can be our nutrient. "peel lit / peel it!" is a command or a request, to grab an edge and tug.

 

submissions open: feb 29-may 1st

we want the strange and the genre-less. an orchard and a compost bin. we want vitamins. we want your ouroboros and all your shed skins. peel isn't static—we want rot and decay, rhizomes and fermentation, that onion decomposing behind the eggs. we want worms. we want pomegranates and lemons and limes but, please, no brunch. we want your semiotics and your light refracted through the leaves of the avocado tree. we want work with terroir, but no property. we want torque, termites, and trémolo. we want clown antics and for you to throw all of your tomatoes. we want unprofessionalism. we want queer mischief. we want ecosystems. we want work that's meant to be in relation, so that we may cross-pollinate, to build a new skin that holds us all within it. at peel, it's always planting season.

we take it all: texts, sounds, visuals, reviews, interactives, collaborations, and combinations. we only take previously unpublished work.

loose parameters: for text-based pieces: 2000 words max; for visual, sound, multimedia, etc: 3 pieces and/or 12 min max

submissions are free, but please consider a donation of $3-$10 to support us in paying our contributors.

send your submission to peellitmag@gmail.com with the following: title of your submission, a brief bio, and an answer to the following question (open to any interpretation): what are you peeling lately?

 

 

curated by Becca Rae Rose & olga mikolaivna

logo art by Beth Carlson & web design support by Iliria Osum