Issue # 9
Hello and welcome to Earth Is Huge And We Are All On It, issue number 9. This will likely be the final issue. About one year ago, I decided to start up a zine, open to everyone, up for just about anything. Since then we’ve put out 8 great issues, with art and writing from a number of interesting, fun, thoughtful and talented people. A few issues in, I wanted to try to grow the project, to attempt to drum up an income stream that I could, in turn, use to expand the way Earth Is Huge was offered, and to reward contributors for their efforts in whatever monetary way I could. The truth of the matter is, drumming up support for the arts is almost as full time a pursuit as the arts themselves, particularly if the goal is to gain enough momentum to generate income. Setting creative prompts, adjusting guidelines, creating reminders, fielding submissions and doing the layout was a challenge. It was a good and welcome challenge! Taking it to the next level, however, presented some stumbling blocks for me; real success in an endeavor such as this requires hustle, it needs time and effort to reach out to people—many people— very directly and to up the outreach efforts a great deal. To wit, it requires dedicated marketing to locate readers, contributors, people willing to share the project, and especially people willing to help fund the project. Doing that right is a big deal, and although I made some beginning steps, I knew it needed more effort—more than I realistically have to give—and I wasn’t willing to settle for just “kind of” going for it. Although I had high hopes, scaling back the release schedule wasn’t quite enough to make it manageable. The workload I need to keep the wheels of my life running has grown since I first got started, too, and I found myself with a mismatch of wants and needs. It was time to make a tough call. So now, a year after beginning, I am presenting what may be the last issue ever of Earth Is Huge And We Are All On It. A number of people stepped up to provide writing and art for this issue, and as always it is a joy to bring them to you! Although there won’t be any more regular issues (for the foreseeable future, anyway), I want to make an effort during this year to put together something special, like a print compilation of all 9 issues, for release either later this year or early next year. The blog will also continue to periodically post information about our contributors, info about other zines, art and writing resources, and past issues. It’s been an excellent run and I have met some truly wonderful people as a result. I couldn’t have asked for better if I tried. Ever your gratefully humble editor, GHN 05/11/15
Contents Shadows
1
• Lynn White
ghost
2
• Dessy Baeva
4—11
• Neil S. Reddy
Camp Nine holy, holy, holy
13
• Aaron C. Snow
Summer in Gaza
14
• Lynn White
#OminousEvents
16
• @direhellswan
17—18
• AlmightyBob
naked
19
• Dessy Baeva
numb
20
• Weasel
CoffeeLyfe
21
• Jillelaine Condon
Sketchy Jellies
22
• Heather Chen
The Very Short Story of How I Got Kids Banned From the Clubhouse at Cheney Stadium
Exile + sparkly eye
23—26 23
• Weasel + • Dessy Baeva
natural
27
• Dessy Baeva
Untitled
28
• Ian Parker
Contributor info: 29—30
I think I am less afraid of the dark than of the light. I can hide in the dark, seek comfort there. The light is a different matter. Exposing that which should be hidden. Shining into my hidden places and yours, exposing us to view.
I am afraid to see these hidden places. Afraid of what the light will reveal in me and you. What lies beneath the skin is best hidden in the dark, lost in the shadows where it should be. I don't know what the light may reveal only that I'm afraid to see it By Lynn White
1
First Published in Calliope, January 2015
ghost
•
Dessy Baeva
2
1
Camp Nine
By Neil S. Reddy
Inspired by and dedicated to Brian Blessed.
Opposite: The East Face of K2, photographed from Skyang Kangri during the 1909 expedition to the mountain Source: Wikimedia Commons
4
5
I should be able to see Camp Nine
best and join them in another manner?
by now, I should be right on top of it but
Finish my expedition by tearing off my
the clouds have and visibility is desperate, I
clothes complaining of the heat, convulsed
hope that’s all it is…and what a thing to
by hypothermic delirium, or do I just
hope for, it’s that or I’m snow blind, my
succumb to fatigue and drift off into
eyes are on fire. I know what’s happened,
sleep, knowing I mustn’t, knowing that to
that window that all important weather
sleep, to dream, is certain death. I’m cold
window, has slammed shut against me,
already, numb to my core, even the pain in
shattered around me. Time to find shelter.
eyes and my aching legs won’t warm me,
Time to hunker down and wait out the
I can’t go on much further. The
storm to pass; if I dare, do I dare? If I
question is survival, the problem is
stop now, I may never move again. So
working out the odds because the solution
much can go wrong, that window may not
is hidden within them, but I can’t let fear
open again for days, weeks…at the mercy
dictate, I must focus, find the logic, the
of avalanches, starvation, madness, shut
best odds for survival because I must
up, shut up… think, think.
survive, I refuse to die here. Think, focus,
So, is the question how to survive or
do what you need to do to survive. Find
how to die? To survive, of course, so then
shelter, pitch up, rest, you’ve got enough
how to survive? Do I go blindly on,
oxygen for a few hours more and then try
through a wall of cloud, wind and ice and
again, don’t give up and try again, and to
risk losing my footing and breaking
try again you have to be alive, so stay alive.
something or even worse just walking
That’s it, decision made – where’s the rock
straight off the mountain, and falling into
face? There, on my right. Solid rock on my
the mountain’s death stats; the roll call of
right, just where it should be. Wait… what
the lost. Or do I dig in and hope for the
is that? It feels like an old rope and yes
there’s the ring and the pinion… which
again… no, it’s a turn, it’s a crevice, it’s a
means I’m still on the right track, still on
bloody crevice. Get out of the wind, get
the path! If I set up here at least I’ll be
out of the wind and get that tent…
sheltered on one side, and then when it clears, if it clears I’ll be able to follow the rope, get my bearings at the very least. The snow will gather around me but that will
just insulate and protect me from this wind. All I have to do is get the spring loaded tent up, no big deal…really? Think again Mastermind, that wind is a blade; it will rip the tent from my numb hands as soon as it opens and take you with it if
you’re not lucky… and if I am lucky? I’ll be alone on the mountain with no shelter,
“Hello there, and welcome to the mountain!” I don’t believe it… look at this, sitting there like lord muck on a day trip to Ben Nevis, he’s got a stove, the beautiful hairy bastard’s got a stove. “You did well to find this spot in this weather ah? Just in time for tea. Well done you. It’s been on the go for a bit now so won’t be long, lovely cup of tea. Sit yourself down then, sit yourself down.”
and then I’ll have to go on, against all logic
This is incredible, I can’t believe my
against the odds, it’s no good I can’t risk it
luck, and look at him, he’s strong, a
here, I’m too exposed. I’ll follow the rock
survivor.
face for three steps or more, there may be
an overhang or some tiny crevice, a modicum more shelter, a slither more hope, and then I’ll try my luck with the tent. Wait, I’ve lost the rock, where did it go? Where did the bloody mountain go!
“Come on sit down, sit down, tea, a
brew, do you speak English?” Say something, say something to him. I can’t, my bloody lips are cracked to buggery. Wave, nod, bow, do anything for crying out loud.
Back up, back up, find it, find it… it’s got to be here… please, yes got it and gone
6
“I see, I see, you poor chap. Sit
“Come on lad, steady now. You did
down; a cup of tea will soon loosen those
you’re best, remember that, you did your
for you. Sit down by me here, get warm,
best.”
come share my warmth, plenty of room. Soon be time for tea.”
He’s right, he’s right, the summit isn’t everything
but
survival;
survival
is
What a voice, it’s as broad as he is; at
everything. I have a chance now, a real
least I know there’s no risk of an avalanche
chance… with a real mountain man on my
here, if there was this beautiful bastard
side. The odds have shifted in my favour.
would have bought it by now, safe, I’m safe, sit down, calm down.
“The weather turned on you didn’t it; she’s like a woman in a fury. They can
“That’s the lad, well done. Tea made
turn on a penny and leave you ragged
from the pure driven Himalayan snow,
without a second look! She did didn’t she;
could anything be sweeter in this weather,
the weather turned and left you reeling.
pure ambrosia, the food of the gods.”
Never mind, never mind, you made it here
Look at him, how pathetic am I, I’ve
and this is a good spot, out of the gale but
never liked this hugging business and one
on the main route, they’ll see us on the
quick squeeze from this giant and I’m
way up and on the way down, I guarantee
ready to blubber. A hug at 28,000 feet, a
it. Fear not, be not afraid.”
brief, painfully fragile human gesture;
What a laugh he has, as hearty as any
ridiculous really at this altitude but it
boozed up raconteur could wish to muster.
warmed my heart. To acknowledge hope
Has he ever known fear like I’ve just felt it?
one has to acknowledge terror, I thought I
I think not, the mountain wouldn’t dare
was going to die.
take this one, he just wouldn’t stand for it. Bless him; I know it’s all cock and bull but it’s doing the trick, I need it, bless his
7
sparkling eyes every breath he takes raises my confidence.
Here we go mountain philosophy; I love it, this guy’s worth his weight in gold.
“You wouldn’t know it now but when
“…the very edge of his endurance
the wind eases and the clouds lift, the view
that we remember, no, we experience the
from here is spectacular, unbroken. Of
purity of mountaineering which is of
course you’d expect the view below to be
course… the purity of being human! We
good looking down but from this height,
do not climb to die but to live, fully,
when you look up, you’ll see the peak…
vividly from the bone! To taste life,
the holy of holies, the peak ah? In the early
stripped down and stripped back but vital
morning, when it sheds its wake of snow
and rich and meaty, man triumphant
you see a million rainbows sparkling for a
within the elemental, living, truly living!”
hundred and fifty miles, spellbinding,
He’s squeezing my knee hard enough
enthralling, and then at night, on a clear
to hurt, the man’s got hands like spades
night, the Milky Way sitting like a crown
but it’s good to feel my legs again. Why
upon the majesty of the mountain. What a
isn’t he wearing gloves? He’s wearing
sight, what a sight…”
fingerless gloves? What a reckless stupid
Clearly fancies himself as a bit of a
thing to do.
poet, so what? Let him I won’t begrudge
“Kendall mint cake, you want some?
him his floorshow, he knows what he’s
I’ve got some here in my pocket. I’ve had
doing, it’s a tonic, a distraction. Blarney,
the taste of it with me all day, need to get
beautiful blarney, I need its warmth, I need
something else down my throat before I
his strength.
dare face another bite but you’re welcome
“It is at moments like this… man touching his limits…”
to some.” My aching lips, will I ever speak again? They feel as stiff as leather but look
8
on the bright side; at least if they’re
altitude… unless… oh god, where’s his
hurting it’s not frostbite. Why the
oxygen mask? Where is it?
fingerless gloves? It’s a bloody stupid risk to take, surely he knows that?
“I once had a pot of tea on the go halfway up the Matterhorn, only to realise
“Admiring may gloves? Yes handmade
I’d forgotten to pack a tea strainer! Can
for me in Aberdeen fur lined, woollen
you imagine, I was still spitting leaves
outer layer. Incredibly comfortable. I had
when I reached the summit!”
some leather gloves to go with them but I
No oxygen cylinders, he’s a crank;
seem to have misplaced them, never mind,
he’s a Mallory nut. He’s tried to do it
they’ll turn up. Anyway can’t risk spilling
without oxygen, the fool, the sorry
the tea ah? Need the nimble fingers for the
doomed fool. He’s resting in the dead
tea.”
zone, he’s stopped in the dead zone! He’ll Is he crazy? He’s just asking to get
never move again. I can’t believe this, of all
frostbite. And that jacket although it looks
the people to stumble upon up here, he’s
robust it’s an oddly eccentric choice for
done for, no matter how long he rests, no
such a climb, his trousers too – tucked into
matter how much tea of energy rich mint
his socks and those huge boots, look at the
cake he devours, his body is leaching
size of those things, they must weigh the
oxygen; he’s too high for his body to
same as my bloody pack! Look at him, he’s
process the thin air. He’ll never move
all natural fibres. Impressive actually,
again… I thought he was my saviour and
cutting edge, I’ve read the research, despite
instead… I’ll be the last face he ever sees,
what everybody thought natural fibres
his last comfort, his last human contact.
really are the way ahead but this is the first
The poor beautiful fool…there was I
pro I’ve seen go for the full garb at this
getting all Halfleur to his Henry the fifth, and his summoned up blood and stiffened
9
sinews are no-more than the onset of
but these Sherpa chaps have to live right?
cerebral hypoxia; his brain isn’t getting
But what a way to make a living!”
enough oxygen, he’s as mad as birds…poor beautiful bastard.
Let him talk, it would be a kindness, he’ll pass quicker if you let him talk
“I once climbed with a chap who
himself out and if…if he does lose it,
insisted on bring Earl Grey to a mountain,
start acting out, keep the ice-pick close by.
I mean Earl Grey? What sort of tea is that
“I’ve got to know most of them, not
for a mountain? No body, no strength and
by name of course, but by their stance and
you can’t drink it without lemon; no
height. I can tell them apart from a mile
lemons up here say I, no, no, no,
away; don’t bet me you’ll lose your money.”
Darjeeling or Gun Powder Tea for me every time…” At least, if he’s lucky he’ll die smiling. Think…survive; I’ve got to make sure he doesn’t take me with him. He could turn nasty, he’s a big guy and if the madness takes him in the wrong way, they’ll be no stopping him.
If I can just get my hand to the icepick’s shaft without him noticing.
“Some wave you know, most just nod, others salute; even seen some stop and pray. I think that’s a bit much but better than the others that refuse to look. I worry about them. They’ll not be down this way again I say to myself, don’t get me
“Of course you were very unlucky
wrong I don’t mean them any harm, any
with the weather; really this is the best
man willing to chance his arm on the
time of the year, the only time. It gets very
mountain deserves respect but if you’re not
busy these days, they can be going past for
willing to embrace the mountain, in all its
hours, to and fro, up and down all day
splendour and terror then what are you
long. I don’t like it, I don’t think its right
doing up here?”
10
Nod just nod, keep him talking as
truly do, who’d want to listen to this old
soon as he turns his back you could finish
windbag day in day out? I do know how to
him, it would be a mercy, really it would,
be quiet I promise. I really do like the
he’d bleed out in seconds.
silence, but if you want to stay you’re more
“Of course I wave, I always wave not that they see me, can’t say I mind really.
than welcome more than welcome… but you’ll have tea first of course.”
I’ve always appreciated the solitude, never
“My lips don’t hurt anymore.”
was a problem for me. I think the same
“No of course not, you’ll never hurt
must be true for all true climbers don’t you? Why else would we do it? We climb as brothers but in the end…it’s the individual against the mountain, a man who takes on a mountain must be at peace with himself, comfortable with his own company don’t you think?” Nod, try to smile for mercy’s sake,
again now. All over with now.” “That’s good to know.” “Isn’t it, isn’t it just. So will you find your own spot on the mountain, what do
you think?” “I don’t know… I’ll think about it. Perhaps after tea?”
try to be kind smile, yes I know it hurts
“Yes of course, after tea, shouldn’t be
but smile. There he goes again that mad,
long, been on the go for a while now…
deep laugh, belly shaking laugh, not long
shouldn’t be long. Hot tea, lovely hot tea
now; his body won’t be able to take much
just what we need.”
more. “Listen to me! Solitude! And here am I talking, talking, talking! Solitude my arse! Of course you’re welcome to stay, welcome to stay but if you want to find your own
11 spot on the mountain I quite understand I
“Cuppa tea.” “Cuppa tea. Can’t beat a cuppa tea. Not long now…” “Not long now.” “Not long now.”
What are you doing?!
Just SATAN around. Top: Walter Bonatti (left) and Erich Abram (right) at the K2 base camp during the K2 expedition 1954 Source: Wikimedia Commons Bottom: Aleister Crowley during 1902 K2 expedition. Source: Wikimedia Commons
WATER you doin?
13
•
Aaron C. Snow
Summer in Gaza In the rain of the rockets there’s no water. Metal rain. In the rain of the rockets there’s no sunshine. Smoke rain. Black rain. In the rain of the rockets there’s no life. Death rain. Life ending rain. Death without life rain. In the rain of the rockets there’s no hope. Deaf rain. Deaf rain. Deaf rain. Death rain. By Lynn White
First published by Rain Party and Disaster Society, November 2014
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# O m i n o us E v e n t s By @direhellswan The radio is playing atonal shrieking in place of election results and no one but you notices the change The tip jar will only accept the secret regrets you #ominousevents have concerning love #ominousevents
Your blood is drawn and wasps fill the vial #ominousevents
Bioluminescent nodes appear on your back overnight, flashing morse code messages demanding you go deeper #ominousevents
The sun dimmed and then shadows began constructing their jagged communities alongside our own #ominousevents
Three hissing chickens emerge from your bathroom and leave a trail of God answers the gore across the living room #ominousevents phone
Every siren on earth cuts loose as you consider a velour fedora #ominousevents
Ronald Reagan #ominousevents A six inch long caterpillar speeds its way across burning asphalt, screaming the entire time #ominousevents
A spirit entirely
#ominousevents
Jeff Goldblum begins appearing in your family portraits, stunned and terrified by something just outside the frame #ominousevents
Fifteen dead men nest in your closet and begin paying rent #ominousevents Your housepets have a group DM circle and the goldfish is fashioning a shiv dedicated to the well being of trout has #ominousevents
You turn to the left and a massive eye blinks at you, smooth blue flesh stretching past the limits of your sight #ominousevents
taken over your bathroom sink #ominousevents
You've been poked on Facebook. The bruise appeared on your forearm and grows with every
passing hour #ominousevents Opposite: hecked up glitches by GHN
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<$surname> / baseball / 1
The Very Short Story of How I Got Kids Banned From the Clubhouse at Cheney Stadium by AlmightyBob
I was just sort of hanging out behind the clubhouse at Cheney Stadium. I liked to wander around between innings. And I'm doing whatever and this kid comes up to me and says "Hey, I bet you I can go in there without getting in trouble," and of course I take that bet because no way, right? He goes in, I wait a few minutes, he comes back out. No one yelling at him or anything. This blows my 8 year old mind. Turns out this kid is the son of a player and they let him wander around inside all the time. Back then my dad worked for the Tacoma Tigers, so I was at the stadium a lot, and within a week this dude was my new best friend. Anytime he was there, we were hanging out. He used to carry a little squirt gun around with him, and squirt random people. Everyone knew him, and everyone knew he was a little hell raiser. And so finally one day he takes me in there with him. Gotta be okay, he's a player's kid, of course he can take me in. We go in, I'm just sort of in excitement overload. I'm not really supposed to be in here, but this is like my dream. For a baseball obsessed kid, this
17
<$surname> / baseball / 2
was Christmas. We wander around for a while, just sort of looking at stuff. We found a huge jar of bubblegum and grabbed some. I don't know how long we were in there, maybe 10 minutes. We walked around and ended up in the showers, and we're just standing there and suddenly a door opens and out walks one of the pitchers. Completely naked. And we're both staring at him and he's just standing there like he's in shock, and we turn and run the hell out of there. Outside, we stop and just start laughing like crazy. To this day I can't get that guy's expression of shock out of my head. Next day, my dad comes up to me and says something like "the owner just sent out a memo saying kids aren't allowed in the clubhouse," and I'm thinking "oh man, busted." I'm sure he knew it was me but I never got in trouble for it, and as far as I knew my friend didn't either. That year his dad got traded to Detroit and I never saw him again. Sometimes I wonder if that rule is still in effect. Probably.
18
naked 19
â&#x20AC;˘
Dessy Baeva
numb look at the ocean above us— wild, the clouds clench together, holding its poise to give us the comfort that’s been missing. to free us of the belief that every jackal is a curse; that the right verse and the right prescriptions allow us to breathe. and though the west is slowly closing, the damned have never received such relief as it holds their cries, cradling them—building a wall around the history they carry. the clouds release, letting out a sigh; out of the solemnity its breath reaches the ground. we don’t dream often enough. By Weasel
20
CoffeeLyfe 21
â&#x20AC;˘
Jillelaine Condon
Sketchy Jellies
â&#x20AC;˘
Heather Chen
22
EXILE Illustration: sparkly eye â&#x20AC;˘
By Weasel Dessy Baeva
He had only been traveling across the country before hitting her irritated welcoming winds. The slightly malnourished feline had seen the inside of too many cars he had cared to remember; talked with the strangers that the world only believed were prowling the internet to get their fix. Though Ben had encountered a few giving souls, he was always destined to meet the ones that the world merely stopped discussing. Theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve always been around, but not a mouth wanted to utter a syllable of their existence. The cat walked against the winds of his home, hugging his rough, green army jacket and cursing the last stranger that simply dropped him off in some unknown piece of asphalt. But he had nothing to give, and not everyone is able to ride for free. Such is the business of being a vagabond.
23
He looked up at the sky as he walked in the cold, “Beautiful Texas” he muttered as he rubbed his arms to keep himself warm. He never bothered to read the sign upon his arrival to his home; some in the world remember every inch of the life they had left behind, and Ben was no different. Some nights he still smells the salt from the waters in Galveston— closes his eyes and allows the heat of the state’s breath to waft against his body as he would stand on top of the seawall, watching the murky waves lash into the sands. Blue waters were never meant for a part of the gun country. It was a hymn he had never heard before. The skies over the Bible-Belt state had turned angry as the wind began to pick up. There was a storm about to fall into the earth, and he was heading right into her anger. The cat began to run, still unsure of how many miles it would take to get to the next town. He just needed to get there quickly. His body quivered violently and he began to stutter as he breathed heavier from running. Slowly he started to lose the ability to run and the cat began to walk again. The cold had slowed him down; the rain had forced him to endure Mother Nature’s soft touch. Ben’s fur became matted and wet, clumping together as he stood in the ice that was falling on him. His body grew numb, and his knees became weak. Shaking as hard as he was, he fought for the strength to stand amidst the state’s gracious welcome. It was his home, the place where he took his heart and buried it because it was the only one that made him feel worth something, the only one that held his man at night as he left, unable to nail his feet to the
24
floor of his bedroom. He was coming home, back to the wall. It was a dream he spray painted on his lungs every night —a luxury that he could never afford. “I’m finally home.” He had never felt this way; the loneliness of his travels. Simply, the vacancy of another has never affected his heart the way it does at this moment. People always came and went as they pleased, and sometimes he thanked the universe that some left. He had the pleasure of never seeing the bad ones again. He was never a person in the other states, even where he was born he was only an invisible figure; a number, a statistic on a piece of paper because he didn’t have a home or a job. But here in front of grace he had lived and still lives, always happy to set foot at the steps of her doors a nameless vagabond who longs to just sleep at the foot her bed. He would even settle for the floor of her house if she so pleased to give that to him. “I’m home, can’t you see?” he whispered solemnly as she unleashed more of the icy consciousness on him. “I just ask to be let in,” he pleaded, a tear falling from his eye mixing with the rain. The drop carried his message to the state as her anger pulsated around him; the thunder grew louder as her skin felt the tear. The earth soaked up her anger, and lightened the rain but kept it flowing. It allowed him to walk for a bit, and as he took one step towards the next town his ears picked up the sound of a car rolling his way. Ben turned around and tried to stick out his thumb, his body being a little stiff from the cold and rain. In his sight, a red pick-up truck began to slow down seeing the
25
stranded cat. It passed him pulling over and coming to a stop on the side of the road. Ben ran towards the truck as its window rolled down. “Where’re you headed?” a rather large man had asked. His speech was slurred by his accent. Ben looked at the large bat that was in the driver’s seat, trying to gauge of there would be any further complications. “T-to the n-n-earest town,” he stuttered as he spoke, body still shivering but so numb from the cold around him. “Well, Houston’s only about 45 miles up the road. I’m headed that way myself, so I can give you a lift to there, but no further.” The offer was spoken sternly to the cat. A bit of suspicion lingered from the bat but he was willing to pick up the stranger. In this rain every needs a bit of shelter, he thought to himself. “That’s p-perfect” Ben replied as he got in the vehicle. He remembered Houston, it’s where he stayed when Jack was with him. Only 45 miles until the loneliness eases away, he said to himself. Some places in the world keep terrible memories. It’s not often the traveler can be welcomed in the warmest events. The cat leaned back and shut his eyes, still thinking of the ocean’s salt, still tasting the smell of the air as he watched the waves float out into nowhere, the place where most of the nameless go when there’s nothing else they have to offer.
26
natural 27
â&#x20AC;˘
Dessy Baeva
untitled
â&#x20AC;˘
Ian Parker
28
Contributors!!! Lynn White
lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of
social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. Her poem 'A Rose For Gaza' was shortlisted for the Theatre Cloud 'War Poetry for Today' competition in October 2014 and has since been published in the ‘Poetry For Change Anthology by Vending Machine Press. Poems have also recently been included, or are forthcoming, in Harbinger Asylum's Literary Journal and 'A Moment To Live By' anthology, Stacey Savage's ‘We Are Poetry an Anthology of Love poems’, Weasel Press anthology ‘Degenerates, Voices For Peace’, Tangent Literary Journal, Amomancies, Dawntreader and various other on line and print journals and anthologies.
Dessy Baeva (Ultraviolet) is a designer and illustrator based in Southampton, UK. Co-founder of "The Lime Collective" A new born super hero, a rebel with a cause, free thinker, thirsty for adventures, passionate about Beat poetry, collecting words, , hand- lettering, creating textures and constantly drawing in order to breathe. http://www.ultravioletillustration.com/
Neil S Reddy author of Tales in Liquid Time available via Weasel Press and Amazon. Working on new releases for Weasel Press and drama for Dank House Manor.
Amazon | Weasel Press
Aaron C. Snow Good at sleeping.
drawing
and
acsnow.tumblr.com
29
@direhellswan Trans Woman Hell Swan IRL || Call Me Elizabeth || I Am: She, Her || Ring around the rosy, a pocket full of posies. Ashes. Ashes. We all fall down.
AlmightyBob I do tweets on the internet and sometimes I even write stories! @almightyboob
direhellswanfiction.tumblr.com
patreon.com/direhellswan
Weasel is a writer and overall degenerate poet. He received his Bachelor of Arts in Literature at the University of Houston-Clear Lake, and started up a publisher called Weasel Press. The vagabond poet released a full length poetry collection titled Ashes to Burn through Transcendent Zero Press. His writing has been accepted in several publications, some of which include: Houstonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Harbinger Asylum, Threshold, Permian Basin Beyond 2014, Hunger For Peace, Everything on Earth is Huge and Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re All On It, Di-Verse-City. Weasel also appeared in a small documentary about art titled Something Out of Nothing (S.O.O.N) directed by Mitchell Dudley. http://www.weaselpress.com hitchingpoets.wix.com/poetweasel
Ian Parker Ian Parker lives and works in New Hampshire
Heather Chen GHN
Starving artist for hire.
Yr humble editor. Now in 33 flavor.
oceantealsea.tumblr.com
@oceana1009
Jillelaine Condon was born in Presque Isle, Maine. After many adventures, she has settled down (so to speak) in Sanford, Maine and enjoys the company of a dude, many dogs, a small grey tiger, an enlightened turtle, and what is almost certainly a powerful space being masquerading as a small daughter.
Facebook | Society6
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This will likely be Thank Thank Thank Thank you for
our final issue. You You You everything.
Earth is Huge and We Are All On It is an online zine that intends to publish monthly. Fiction, non-fiction, poetry, comics, stand-alone visual art, and anything that can be put on a page is welcome here. We seek to create space for all sorts of ideas and all sorts of people, and in particular want to create a welcoming environment for those who find themselves existing in the margins of society. Any brief study of historical texts will show that marginalia is where all the really interesting stuff lives. Visit us on tumblr for updates, calls for submissions, progress reports, and more: earth-is-huge-mag.tumblr.com You can also like the zine on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EarthIsHugeMag Or follow on Twitter: @EarthIsHugeZine Email giania+zine@gmail.com with questions, submissions, fan mail, hate mail, etc.
Earth Is Huge And We Are All On It by http://earth-is-huge-mag.tumblr.com/ is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. All works in this publication are subject to this license except where otherwise specified.