resistance is
fertile
Vol.
1 Iss. 1
May 2017
The Talent J.H. Johns Eric Krszjzaniek Annie Liu Chris Talbot-Heindl David Thompson Ken Williams
7 6, 12 4-5 10 3 8-9
David Thompson | Justice | Photograph 3
Annie Liu | a party at the candlelit discotheque | poetry The albatross was dead. And we set keel to breakers, threw dead men offboard, mayhaps not knowing the sea we were sailing. I know how winter carves us into Russian dolls. We remove layer upon layer until there is nothing left. We remember at last innocence. And we thoughtless bite the apple. Thinking it better to die than bear this pain. Dear Allen Ginsburg I am just as angry as you but I am not a prude Dear Sylvia Plath you are much too close to home & dear Ezra Pound. In the E. Village, in Chelsea, in the Bronx, your black hair I have looked for you forever I do not know who I am so I try to find myself in the dead & write like a rabbit with myxomatosis. Under the moon I open my eyes and watch the burning city. This is a party at the candlelit discotheque a party: mums by the window, paranoia I scream with the lights out it’s less dangerous I ask: are you prometheus? This is where we come from unearthed roots laid under the sun drunk on milk & roses lined along the eastern shore & breaking water she said, pray to God I said, I am not a prude in churches I hurry her to finish praying because I can’t sit still & anyways, he would never pick up
& I like the taste of oysters can feel them bloom inside me I’ve always liked Virginia O’Keefe have dreamed of rosy bodies these girls cover me with soft white skin lips dark with wine upon my sunburnt skin watching, watching how I love your skin swallowing the sea whole Now we’re in the kitchen now we’re wrecking the kitchen now the candles grow faces now prometheus? is that you? have a drink. kiss me. I yearn for your shameless touch. O, you have undone me. What ever shall I do when the whole world is overrun with candles again, when we choose to see only what we want: will anyone see me anymore? when they force my mother into a hospital van when they hang me for being queer when they force me into a hospital van when they reject me for my yellow face when they rape me and gut me and cut off my head (when they make america great again)
I will shit fire & disappear. you ask: am I prometheus? I reply:
are you
5
Eric Krszjzaniek | Live and Let Tutu | Photograph
J.H. Johns | Enough is Enough | poetry Verizon and Con-Ed, your trucks I’ve seen, blue, white, black and red, near my house in Queens; parked up at the corner, the length of the street, day after day, week after week; acting like you’re working, but really you’re not, you read and listen, looking for a plot; e-mails and phone calls from “Joel” in Manhattan — “…what was it they said — Salim’s a Muslim?” Words like jihad and terror, names like ‘The Commish,’ bombs and holy war — they’re on your checklist. But the moment has come, to be on your way — what we talk about — is just a screenplay.
7
Ken Williams | mockery | poetry In your eyes I may be disabled, spastic muscles making movement difficult also, too fat to be suave too wirily thin for the walkway nor pretty enough to grope But my heart sings with the whales soars on the backs of eagles My depression is canyon deep What other way Gold Star parents exist? Yet you, bone spurred 4-F Purple Hearted waging golf born with a silver pacifier, moneyed cowardice bold protector of models while the poor died for the distraction that Vietnam was for the gilded, savaged our pain Your fortunes given, insatiable, multiplied by your ruthless greed fame bestowed by brutalizing others Your voice to me, those like me neither rich nor powerful, mock, belittle shame, your coinage of language My disability is physical or maybe not at all Most likely only in the eye of the beholder
Your wound is mortal Black hole for a soul warping decency expelling contempt Different than you I humbly grant, feeling fortunate even with a body that betrays You attack, slash humiliate what you don’t do is love embrace compassion walk in our shoes
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instantly
instantly
TALK
TALK
with your
with your
CAT
CAT
� � � ��
� � � ��
“Dana! Guess what Drumpf tweeted this morning!”
“CHris - what time is it?”
“seeeeven?”
“Justice time!”
“Dana! YOU HAVE TO HEAR WHAT SPICEY SAID TODAY!”
“CHris - what time is it?”
“siiiiiiiix?”
“Justice time!”
“Dana! Oh my gawd! Listen to what Drumpf said on Faux News today!” “Chris - What Time is it?” “Miiiiidnight?” “Justice time!”
“JUSTICE TIME” | Justice Time | By:Chris ChrisTalbot-Heindl Talbot-Heindl
Comic
Resistance is Fertile The Talbot-Heindls, on top of being creative types, are also political animals who love the creativity and strength of the resistance movement. And we know that people have a lot to say about the current political climate. That’s why we created the compzine project Resistance is Fertile. Resistance is Fertile is a compzine for artists, poets, prose writers, or anyone else who has something to say about the current political resistance - fact or fiction.
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Eric Krszjzaniek | Live and Let Tutu | Photograph