May 2026
BLOOM: It’s the start of the third year for the GEM Journal and we’re inviting you to BLOOM with us!
We are calling for work that explores coming into fullness. Blooming can be loud or soft and unfolding beneath the surface. It can be messy, joyful, uncertain, or everything all at once.
June 2026
What does it mean to feel at home?: This PRIDE and National Indigenous History Month, we are calling for work that speaks to belonging, body, land, and community.
Bygone
Lila Grierson (She/They)
“This poem was inspired by a trip I took with some good friends in first year, and the lovely lady we met there. Being briefly enveloped in her life made me realize how digital our generation is, even when we’re in nature.”
Tin can, string pulled tight
I’m not used to the buzzing
Questions that bounce off the vaulted ceiling-sky to find me
Clumsy signal, bumbling around outer space
Before it finds its way to me
Radioactive
in my pocket
I see you cradle it against your ear
Your 9 digit child
Your last hope, your legacy
You sleep with it against your chest,
Shrill voice that wakes you in the night
.
In your sleep, your chest rises and falls like civilization
But we don’t use that word anymore
.
I told you I loved you when you came out of her room, your eyes finally still
But we don’t use that word anymore
.
Margaret, the long haired jammaker
who taught us to juggle
Lived in the original stonehouse
With the rest of the nomads and creatives
She keeps books stacked in her bus,
And paints it fresh in the spring
She keeps candles for emergency
But I’ve never seen her use them
When the big light goes down, she goes with it,
Guarding the sunboat on its slow glide through the dark
.
She collages her clothes onto her body,
Glues them with thread
Enjoys a homeless, wandering life
But we don’t use that word anymore
.
We don’t really speak at all,
We tend to our children
In separate rooms
Artist Statement
Before coming to UVIC, Lila grew up in the forests of North Vancouver, which instilled in her a tremendous urge to get lost and climb trees. When she’s not articulating fricatives for Linguistics, Lila can be found running, making art with her friends, or talking to strangers.
Georgia Bulgacov (she/her)
“A short piece that imagines what could happen to the GEM room if it still exists after we get extinct. The main idea is to explore different possibilities that take us away from the center of the narrative, and imagine other ways in which community, love, pride, feminism, and safe spaces can exist beyond us. Even if the worst happens to our species (and unfortunately to many others), many of the things we appreciate can still exist in the world that will outlive us.”
No one has been counting the many years since the last human has been in this place. There is nobody left to tell how much it was loved by an ever changing group of the now extinct Homo Sapiens species. It is a sunny morning. The light shines through open shapes that used to be blocked by glass, now lying in pieces on the ground with leafs, sticks, and all kinds of organic matter. The fridge no longer makes noises. The clock is still broken. Most plants have died, stuck in their pots, but other kinds of vegetation have made their way in.
Everything is quiet, except for the birds. With the openings to the room somehow hidden by growing foliage, a special family of White-tailed Deer has made this space their safe haven to spend their nights and winters. The sun has risen, and yet some of them, the young ones, are still waking up from their peaceful sleep. The two fawns haven’t had anything to fear since they found their new parents: a group of three deer who never shed the soft “velvet” covering their antlers.
The older deer had adopted the orphaned fawns after finding them wandering the nearby area by themselves. It seemed natural to take them in. After all, the three of them were familiar with being left without a family. Not having shed the softness out of their antlers meant having been rejected by the male-dominated groups they grew up in, especially since two of them were female, and the other had been born with a deformed external male genitalia.
But having found each other, and a safe place, they were now the start of something new. A close community of deer that took care of each other like no other, and welcomed those in need.
Though the group rarely struggles to find food nearby, the variety of strange things found in their haven has made them quite curious. The fawns are spotted chewing on paper sometimes. Different kinds of paper seem to have different tastes. The illustrated faces of a now extinct species who also found peace in this room must certainly add some flavor.
They have also found new things to love between the items. One of the little ones is quite fond of a soft and colorful blanket, while the other has become attached to a soft yellow toy with a long forgotten name. They live comfortably. Happily.
That small group of deer has no idea of what “feminism” is. They cannot read the books, zines, and pamphlets decomposing around them. They don’t understand the imagery on the walls of their strange cave, and have no use for the fancy menstrual and sex supplies. But without knowing, with their love and resistance they have made the long overgrown room into a feminist home once again. And if you spot them walking around, you might notice them holding their heads high, as if proud of the softness of their antlers.
Artist Statement
A proud gemlin who loves to explore this world to imagine beyond it.