Despite my frequent trips to the Fretting Zoo during the process, in its own way Issue 4 was a triumphant testament to the “keep moving” idea; we kept moving and it paid off. The last issue was ripe with colors and rich with words and well worth the wait. So then, let’s keep moving! The creative prompt set up in the close of Issue 4 leading us to Issue 5 was Transition. We have a lovely cover illustration
courtesy of Silvia Carrus around the theme of transition. Many of the pieces featured within - whether directly or indirectly carry with them a feeling of change. From the soothsaying poetry of Billy Burmester, to the wordless tale drawn by Chris Baird, and each of the writing & art pieces around and in between, this issue really succeeds in taking the creative prompt to the level of theme. It’s a wonderful issue with great flow and an excellent mix of new faces and stalwart friends of the project. GHN 11/05/14
symbiote
By
Alexander James
1
Mother Autumn
By
Jillelaine Condon
2
Auspice
By
Billy Burmester
3
Swimming in Dreams of a Golden Sea
By
Heather Chen
4
High Scores
By
Alexander James
5
Tree Momma
By
Jillelaine Condon
6
The Libertine Arpeggios
By
Alexander James
7
Untitled
By
Chris Baird
my little olive cherub head @age4
By
Amy KS
goodbye
By
Chris Moody
19
Sharing
By
Alexander James
20
Generous
By
Alexander James
21
Cover Illustration by Silvia Carrus
8-12 13-18
Credits p. 22 Outro & Creative Prompt p. 23
by Alexander James
Messages are a proto-type, confidential blueprints. When we whispered, those notes, the foundations of a story later on. It's not only us. Public service announcements are secrets. Billboards are secrets. Blog posts are secrets. Dancing in public, secret ill kept - reserve those improvisations. White moving trucks, which appear frequently in summer, mean very little to me, even moving trucks lined with billboard advertisements mean very little to me. There was a time of instability in my youth punctuated by interprovincial drives. Now there is a knowledge of constant motion, not a part of life but a cause of life. I can only hope you have danced in every home you've lived in, and that's not a secret, dancing was for yourself. I once looked for confessions in myself, for conflict. I knew narrative before I could tell a story, before I was brave enough to cause trouble for myself and before I was affected enough to have attracted trouble. I was grounded, earthy and naive, searching invented riverbanks for invented slimey creatures, just for something to expose later. If I wanted a story, the Amazing Spider-Man showed me the way: I needed a mutation, and if that wasn't enough, I'd need a symbiotic alien lifeform.
1
by Jillelaine Condon [buy print]
2
Auspice
n. a divine or prophetic token; an omen. by Billy Burmester
A flock of cockatoos is visible from the international space station. A town in the Midwest vanishes from maps and nobody can recall its name. Neighbourhood dogs congregate around your house and wait quietly, heads bowed. The phone rings late at night but falls silent as you pick it up. The next morning you stand at the window and watch a dead bat shake the weeklong stiffness from its legs and wings and drop from the wire. It flaps away, chopping the sunlight into your eyes like a fan blade. Your father appears at the front
door and calls you a pussy and the blood rushes to your neck and hands, just like old times. How much more it means than his heedless muttering in a dim ward. You waited him out in there. You sat and watched him and he did not see you. The sun rose and dazzled you.
Image: Passenger Pigeon; Richard Lake; 1969 | Yellowstone National Park Service
3
by Heather Chen [View Original Post]
4
by Alexander James
As an outro, ships are making u-turns in the rivers and on the open ocean, their captains explaining aloud, to no one, the virtues of quiting while you're ahead, wrapping their heads in seaweed and becoming sealion feed mulch. It's the contents of a compost bin clogging up the blade, they go, take the ship down too. Captains who have gone so far as to memorize the gaps in the everpresent undersea Jellyfish walls, which now drift with dumb abandon and communal electrical connection, giftwrap themselves in the blender too. Those ships felt the Jellyfish tendrils licking their opaque bottoms. Captain AAA lost all of his arcade machine highscores in a power surge. Joust and Smash TV. Computer Othello. Is this the end for our heroes?
5
by Jillelaine Condon [buy print]
6
by Alexander James
I'm afraid for my Libertine, who is unafraid. Besides that there are the binoculars and the breaklights, candles and a third palm. My dear, I know. Let those who forgot their eyeglasses lead those who cannot feel to the optometrist to look at pyramids together, and letters separately. He's a prescription-label-on-sleeve kinda individual. You should be wearing your prescription too. Are you also fervent by omission? Can you also be passionate? Is it possible to be? I don't feel sorry for single-celled organisms. Is it possible to? Is it possible to be amoebas, brothers in arpeggios?
7
by Chris Baird
8
by Chris Baird
9
10
by Chris Baird
11
by Chris Baird
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
by Chris Moody
19
by Alexander James
The deal went this way, you'll be sharing all of your white blood cells with your guardian angel. From now on, you are dispersed. You become many dots. Now the light is failing softly against the window. The lower parts of heaven, yeah they're ailing, they keep you on call. All coiled, all told, you are the solution to floats in a spring parade. You are half a tylenol and a banana before a drunken sleep. As I mix instant satellites into my water, a friend tells me 'the idea of aphrodisiacs isn't very scientific'. Wrapped in a warp, the teleporting kind, I feel your hand in a latex glove. It isn't sexy, but I take your hand, anyways. This morning I felt frail and delicate. I thought, I could do everything I normally do even if I were frail and delicate, or I could do more. You felt like an animal when you made decisions and only ever like a human when acting on impulse. Nausea is purely animal, except when it's a side effect of medication. A hand covering a mouth to conceal excitement, shy and traditional, you are trying to keep from vomiting. That's never happened but it always feels like it's about to happen. Are we or are we not probability? Would this be a bad time to mention prostate stimulation? Language is the liquid that we're all dissolved in. In heaven there are name generators, anagram finders and wait slips with numbers pulled from dispensers like tongues shaved of their senses. Dispensaries know English, and every language, and don't distinguish. Dots of your self are distributed and you receive small royalties.
20
by Alexander James
Generous feature length swallow wing span demands we are not afraid of sensuality. We are not afraid of sense measuring only around the waist of history, cones returning to their prisms on command, to a pinch. "I am not afraid of you", I think aloud to an empty room, in case there are thought entities spiraling uselessly in the corner, intimidation tactics waiting for a purpose. I won't give them any. I do this until I am confident; the anomaly revealed. My lover requests I become a wry narrator hiding in her front shirt pocket. In my peripheral field she is a shade, but I look her up and down. The plan is to paint her skin to match the thermal pattern beneath, in a temperature controlled room. Under tempura batter, her hands are red, molten. She writes on her own forearm, in sriracha, 'it is strange, strange to have skin'. I hope she has other requests, I can't think what to ask for.
21
magic. @boy_utena
Jillelaine Condon
Alexander James
Occasional believer in
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
Brisbane, frequently melts in the sun. Editor of onepagebrisbane.com.au
Heather Chen
Billy Burmester
Billy Burmester: lives in
Writes occasionally.
Artist and illustrator that likes ocean things and also admires anyone who has ever tried to figure out life. Almost 30 years old and almost ready to start living. @oceana1009
@stbooker
oceantealsea.tumblr.com
chrisbairdisdead.tumblr.com
Amy KS
Chris Baird
Chris Baird makes.
Amy is a journalist. She is in talks with bugs and the birds who eat them. twitter<3music @placethyme prism info
from the South.
CargoCollective
Silvia Carrus
Chris Moody
All American Special hailing
Silvia Carrus is an Italian illustrator and cartoonist. She likes to use Photoshop to draw cute and colorful things.
SilviaCarrus.com
22
Georgene Nunn—Editor
Certainly quite busy, after a fashion.
Giania+zine@gmail.com @giania
Content warning: Body horror (mouth) The other night, for the first time I can remember, I dreamt about teeth falling out. It was a tooth on the left side, possibly my canine, but I think it was actually the tooth just before. Two false teeth, bluish, came with it. Just like a child, there was no root, just a slightly bloody impression showing where the connection once was. Oddly, it didn’t hurt, or cause me much alarm. I was irked by the loss, but ready to take steps to replace the lost teeth (both real & false) with something more adaptable & permanent. Possible meanings that people have ascribed to the almost universal-seeming “teeth falling out dream” include: insecurity, transition, sexual repression, loss, rebirth, growth, and a need to nurture yourself. I dream often, vividly, and regularly remember my dreams. They seem to be an extension of my waking life at times; I’ve been known to wake up needing to rest from all the adventures I’ve been on. Yet this particular dream has left me with much to consider. I feel strangely more motivated to organize areas of my life. Given how striking that event was, I’d like to propose not one, but TWO creative prompts:
Teeth and
Dreams
Given the prevalence of “teeth falling out” being cited as a nightmare about loss and insecurity and anxiety, would you be willing to share your experience with that? Similarly, if you experience horror/phobic reactions regarding things with teeth, would you be willing to share something regarding that experience? What do your dreams mean to you? Do you remember your dreams? Or do you dream at all? What role do you feel dreams play in our lives? Is there a particular depiction of dreams or a dream-like state in media (of any kind) that you feel truly exemplifies the experience, and if so, why? What the heck is the deal with so many people dreaming about teeth falling out? (A good essay to tackle, perhaps by someone knowledgeable in symbolism, psychology, and/or occult practice.)
I look forward to submissions of all sorts for issue 6. Thank you all again, so much, for all you do to make this project a success. GHN 11/05/14
23
fin
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 Email giania+zine@gmail.com with questions, submissions, fan mail, hate mail, etc.
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