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ISSUE no.19 / ANTAGONIST PIECE no. 362 / ANTAGONIST PRESS no.

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Dear readers! For this issue we did a little experiment. We felt the staff needed to write and empathize with the monsters. So we forcedly strapped a few colleagues onto gurneys with one arm stretched out for hourly injections of monsterinfected blood. You will be glad to know they are now hunched over their desks, scribbling out the pages you now read. They are the alien Marissa Bea, zombie Eric Wallin, and yes, myself as the vampire, (please note, I will not be in Twilight). Kristin Brzoznowski is the mad scientist in the white lab coat watching us maniacs tear each other apart. Megan Hanford will be playing the femme fatale who will slaughter us all in the end. So be ready to be anally probed by Marissa, have your brains eaten by Eric and I will drain you of your blood and all your worth. These names should be etched into your mind as up-and-coming superstars, wait and see. Spread the infection. Pass on this fanzine, let people know.

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF EDITORS

Ethan Minsker Marissa Bea &Kristin Brzoznowski Eric Wallin Gothic Hangman

LAYOUT COVER ART

STATEMENT OF PURPOSE
THE ANTAGONIST MOVEMENT encourages new works of art and challenges the art world to do something different. We are not based on any one style or form of art, but believe that the piece should provoke. To this end, the Movement hosts the following events. PSYCHO.MOTO ZINE - is a branch of the Antagonist Art Movement’s press and has been in existence since 1988 under the original title East Coast Exchange. It acts as a venue for our writers, artists and editors. In an attempt to create new forms of art and writing, the content is a mixture of ction and non ction. When a story we are interested in comes up, we will cover news of the art world, from street to gallery. Back issues can be found at “Psycho Moto Zine archives” at Antagovision.com So, if you enjoy what you read here, please take a moment and look up our lms and books. There are digital copies of each for $1.99. We believe the price shouldn’t hinder you, so we do our

-Ethan Minsker

best to have a cheap alternative to the hard copies. We are passionate about each project, mixing love and attention with great detail to create a unique work of art. Our goal is to make something the large entertainment companies fail to do, which is to create inspired works that cater to like-minded individuals. All the money we generate goes directly back to creating new art projects and supports a large community of struggling artists. You will nd ads throughout this zine for many projects. Questions? Comments? Stories? Suggestions? Contact us at Antagovision.com or email us at pmzsubmissions@gmail.com NEW PROJECTS - We are currently organizing a free school of art in Ecuador under the non-pro t, Citizens for the Arts. The Antagonist - a novel about everything we have done for the last ten years and more. There is a back story to every project, including this fanzine. Want to know how we operate? This is the book for you. FARENHEIT - Sunday night open mic features new writers. Sign-up starts at 8pm and the readings start at 9pm at Black & White 86 East 10th Street between 3rd and 4th Ave. MUSIC MONDAYS - Live music on the second Monday of the month. 7pm-10pm. Motor City Bar 127 Ludlow St. between Rivington & Delancey.

The Return of the Red (and Bloody) Menace
by Megan Hanford
a l is a real and true fact, at least according to the internet

Note: everything marked with

The rst indication that

anything was amiss at New York City’s South Street Seaport, a once-vibrant commercial maritime site turned tourist-trap, was when a man with no skin stumbled out of the “Bodies” exhibit holding a basketball. At rst, the mildly interested tourists assumed that he was an actor wearing an impressive makeup job, hired to promote the controversial exhibit of plasticized human remains, but this impression was immediately dispelled when the man threw his basketball at a small child’s head and began yelling vehemently in Mandarin Chinese. As a present Chinese tourist later translated for news cameras, “He was saying that we are all capitalist dogs who make excrement on the heads of the poor and then use their clothes to clean our buttocks.”

This rst man was soon

followed by eight others, male and female, all in various states

of skinlessness. One of the men was cut in half vertically; he hopped in circles for several minutes before falling into New York Harbor, not to emerge. The others joined the rst man, screaming imprecations in Chinese while viciously tearing apart various kiosks selling cheap jewelry and sunglasses.

shiny suits who usually take care of such disturbances in casinos.

An exhibit called “Body

The initial shocked reports from

New York were almost simultaneously joined by news of similar incidents at the two other “Bodies” exhibits in Atlanta and Las Vegas, the latter suffering the worst damage, with a swarm of deceased radical communists smashing every slot machine in sight while yelling at confused and drunken tourists (in Mandarin Chinese, of course), that they were slaves to the almighty American dollar, which was crushing the world with its stranglehold on commerce. One man, who did frequent business in Shanghai, tried to inform the zombies that their information was slightly out-of-date. China now controlled vast interests in many American companies, he told them, but to no avail. Casino security and local police of cers rushed to stop the horde, but the zombies proved to be immune to bullets, Tasers, and also to the giant men in

Works,” which uses a similar method of body-preservation, also erupted in undead violence at its locations in Guatemala, Sweden, Turkey, Mexico City, Germany and Richmond, Virginia. The behavior of the reanimated bodies was much the same, except that many shouted and cursed in Russian instead of Chinese. The owner and developer of the “Body Works” exhibits, a Dr. Gunther Von Hagens, declined to comment on the ongoing debacle. He has long been dogged by accusations of purchasing corpses illegally from prisons in Russia, Kyrgyzstan and China,

Artist: Eric Wallin

where he runs a plasticization centerl. He has also been accused of buying some of his corpses from psychiatric institutionsl, which may explain why a fraction of the zombies have been seen making hats out of tin foil and crying for the overthrow of our Martian overlords.

all countries, unite!”

onlookers snapped photos as the late Pope John XXIII scrambled at the inside of his bulletproof glass cof n. Eventually a member of the Swiss Guard fetched someone with the key, and the cof n was opened. As the late Pope rose up in his resplendent red and gold robes, most of the Catholics in attendance believed whole-heartedly that they were witnessing a miracle, even possibly the rapture itself, until the Pope opened his mouth and announced, rst in Italian and then in English, “There is no God, you slack-jawed automatons! Religion is the opiate of the masses!” The pious visitors seemed unable to decide whether to kneel or ee as the man known affectionately as Good Pope John continued to quote Karl Marx, “Let the ruling classes tremble at a communist revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win. Workingmen of

Meanwhile, in Rome, shocked

the perfectly preserved body of Pope John XXIII was evidence of his holy and incorruptible naturel, but one Professor Gennaro Goglia, now 78, has come forward to admit that he was picked up from his house in a Vatican car just hours after the Good Pope John had died, and was part of a covert team that surreptitiously injected “a mysterious liquid” into the dead Pontiff’s veinsl, despite the current rule against papal embalming. He adds, “I am the last one of the people who were there that night who is still alivel.”

The Vatican had long held that

spread, thousands of people ocked expectantly to the Moscow mausoleum of Vladimir Lenin, the rst public gure to have been permanently embalmed using the advanced technique developed by Russian surgeon, N.I. Pirogovl. Pirogov himself was embalmed using his own method, and it is said that through the years the only maintenance his body required was to be dusted every once in a whilel. (His current whereabouts are unknown, which is somewhat odd considering that he was a notorious shut-in at the

As word of these curious events

time of his deathl.) Unfortunately, the group attempting to replicate the process on Lenin botched it, meaning that the former Premier’s body must be touched up twice a weekl. Thus, when he rose from his glass cof n, his visage—being covered with unsightly gray spots—was not quite as lifelike as the Pope’s, though it was a good deal more attractive than the ayed denizens of the “Bodies” exhibits.

descended, tearing up the earth with their bare hands, until an extremely lthy and wormridden Joseph Stalin stood before them.

After walking back to Lenin’s

demanded angrily. Stalin had been preserved and entombed next to Lenin, as the friends had planned, but his body was removed and buried in 1961 due to his unsavory reputation as a cruel dictator and mass murdererl. The crowd called out questions to Lenin, such as, “Why are all these dead people coming back to life?” and “Are you aware that your left ear is falling off?” but Lenin refused to answer before Stalin was retrieved. The gravesite was only about 300 feet from Lenin’s mausoleum, so the military police—who ordinarily guard the grave—agreed to dig it up. No sooner had they begun, though, when a ghastly and mottled hand shot up through the dirt and grass. The crowd
Artist: Eric Wallin

“Where is Stalin!?” Lenin

mausoleum, the two old friends shook hands and nodded at each other. “It appears that the time has come,” said Stalin cryptically, although the audience could pretty well guess what he was referring to. Stalin then turned to the crowd. “Why was I buried there in that cheap box?” he asked, in a surprisingly wounded voice. “Lenin got to lie here prettily on satin pillows and I’m dumped next to that peasant, Mikhail Kalinin?!” No one particularly wanted to explain to Stalin that he was now widely regarded as

one of the worst people ever to have existed, what with the gulags and the millions of murders and such, so they mumbled that it must have been a capitalist plot or something. “Oh yes,” Stalin enthused, excitement gleaming in his dead eyes, “When we hang the capitalists they will sell us the very rope we use! l”

Russian President Vladimir

Putin called a press conference. His regime has not often been known for straight-forwardness, but as Lenin and Stalin were going around bragging about their amazing top-secret plan, he felt it best to explain the situation. It turns out that back in the 1920’s, the two Soviet leaders, with the help of Pirogov, conceived of a plan to have “sleeper cells” of Soviet agents placed all over the world. You see, Pirogov’s method did not simply preserve the bodies, it held them in a state of suspended animation, which could be deactivated with the literal push of a button. A big, shiny button that Putin had always been curious about, as the knowledge of this scheme had died with the fall of the Soviet Union. And, well, one day there wasn’t much going on, and the button was just sooo shiny…

project was continued by Gunther von Hagens, who of cially “escaped” the Soviet Union in 1969l, but now admits to having been in a Soviet training facility. He further developed the embalming technique to not only preserve the body and mind, but also to implant ideas into the minds of the subjectsessentially brain-washing them after death. The project was meant to culminate during the world war presumed to be inevitable between the East and the West. At a key moment, cabals of undead communists would rise up to strike terror (and death) into the hearts of Soviet enemies. However, when the Cold War failed to heat up, the project was largely forgotten about, and von Hagens began to focus more on the money-making possibilities of allowing tourists to ogle repulsive human remains. He claimed to be as surprised as anyone by their sudden awakening.

After Pirogov’s death, the

Eventually, the zombies were

convinced that there was no communist revolution for them to take part in, and they were given jobs at Halloween haunted houses and in anatomy classrooms. A few of the women found work in extreme niche pornography.

Eva Peron, who, though an avowed Socialist (but not a communist), was kept uninformed of the plot by her husband. (Juan Peron himself failed to revive, probably due to the fact that his body was desecrated with a chainsaw in 1987l.) Eva’s body, in fact, had gone missing for 16 years following her death, when a military coup overthrew Argentinal. It has since been speculated that her body-nappers were attempting to learn the incredible body preservation technique used on her, but they evidently failed. It is unclear whether they actually knew the true purpose of the technique. After Peron’s body was nally recovered, it was secured in an impenetrable marble tomb. (Impenetrable, that is, except for the convenient trap door leading out of her cof nl.) Her biographers Marysa Navarro and Nicholas Fraser write of the nuclear-bomb-proof crypt, "It re ects a fear, a fear that the body will disappear from the tomb and that the woman, or rather the myth of the woman, will reappearl."

The last person to awaken was

over to “get rid of this deathly pallor,” then went shoe shopping. When a fan gave her a copy of the 1996 movie Evita, Mrs. Peron was entranced, and for months afterward was in the habit of calling press conferences merely to sing, “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina,” including the eerily appropriate lyric, “Know that I never left you.”

Vampire are Eternal, But You Kids Have it So Easy
by Janine Annett

Argentina had little to fear from
the return of Eva Peron, though. After recovering from her initial shock, she requested a make

I have never read the Twilight books, or seen any of the Twilight movies, because I am an old person (one who ages normally and is not immortal or bloodsucking). But I get it, vampires have been enduring in popularity for centuries and seem to appeal to teenagers

especially. After all, the vampire is a nocturnal creature who gets to stay up all night AND kill people; but it's not his fault, he HAS to do it! No impulse control is necessary, which I'm sure is very appealing to the teenage mind. Besides, there's all that sucking and penetration going on. I am sure Freud would have plenty to say about that.

Anyway, in case

any of you young people even read zines, this is for you. Back in my day the hip new vampires were Anne Rice's tormented vampires. (While we're on the subject, let me also point out that I have not read 50 Shades of Grey either, because Anne Rice also already wrote a bunch of smutty, S&M-themed books under the pseudonym A.N. Roqulaure and I read them a trillion years ago—not literally a trillion years because, again, I'm not actually a vampire). When I was a youngster, we didn't have the Internet (really!) or Sephora or

anything, so if you wanted to show the world you were into vampires or any kind of a Goth or something, you had to basically wait until Halloween and stock up on black lipstick and black nail polish and make it last all year dammit. Those were hard times. In fact, I remember scouring a dozen separate stores to nd suf ciently black and chunky shoes: Doc Martens. I had to travel to a different state to get them (although I did save on sales tax that way). And we didn't have cell phones back then either! OK, Artist: Gabriel Garcia so that really has nothing to do with vampires. I just wanted to be able to say, in an old-person voice, "You kids today have it so easy."

Now, where was I. Oh yeah.

Vampires. I haven't seen Twilight but I have seen True Blood. I like it, but I stopped watching it after the second season because I got rid of cable so I can't really comment

too succinctly on that. I'm so behind on TV watching (I guess vampires have seen like every TV show ever?! They have a lot of time to kill. Oh god, I'm going to write a series of books for young adults called "Time Vampires") that I'm still catching up on shows from the

'90s that I haven't seen yet. I haven't ever watched "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and I'm just now watching "Twin Peaks," so please, no one tell me yet who killed Laura Palmer. I'm not even kidding. Was it a vampire? Don't tell me!

Things Not To Do With Zombies
by Ethan H. Minsker

1. Don't ask zombies to watch your kids, pets, or plants.

Zombies can't keep track of time and often forget to water or feed.

2. Don't date zombies. It's nearly impossible to communicate
your feelings.

3. Do not move in with zombies.
They never buy toilet paper, or do the dishes.

4. Do not let zombies drive your
car. They have poor eyesight.

5. Don't let zombies do your

taxes, even if they used to be your accountant. They cheat.
Artist: Ethan Minsker

6. Don't take dance lessons from zombies. They only know one
move and it's from Thriller.

7. Don't borrow clothes from zombies. They’re lled with blood
and puss, but more importantly they never clean them.

8. Don't let zombies pick restaurants for you. It's always the
same, BRAINS!

9. Never show zombies your secret hiding place. They can't
keep secrets.

10. Don't take zombies to zombie movies. They hate it when
the zombies get killed.

DO let zombies eat your brain. It's only polite.

Prince Iluntasuna
by Patrick Craig

Bums shiver in the doorways,

alleys choked full of trash and shit. Junkies and crack heads sick with full-blown AIDS, the wailing cries of homeless psychotics. Manhattan’s festering hole disgorging its indigestible human waste onto the streets of my endless night. Gladys, the sickest of the neighborhood junkies, should be along any minute now. She will drag her swollen foot behind her like a wounded mule. She will sit in front of The Temperance Fountain and she will cry hot tears. Festering tears that steam in the cold. Wonderful sobs of deep anguish. Her blubbering and saprogenic breath will gladden me, for she will be weak enough for me to kill. I wish I were quicker; the rats that scurry through the park make wonderful meals. Oily fur, small bones that are easy to break, juicy with sweet blood but they are very fast. Too fast for me to catch.

feet for one instant they would value their lives in a way they could scarcely imagine. I pity them, that I will take whatever remnants of living they have left so that I can go on. Most of the time though, I’m hungry. Murderously so. It is no easy thing to kill.

Earlier, as I walked by the St.

Marks Church, I eyed the homeless; their blood making noise in my ears as they huddle around garbage cans of re. Newspapers and rubbish combust and burst in the cans, sending tiny embers aloft, trailing orange spangles of spark that drift up into the night sky, past the cross at the top of the cathedral. I never understood their need for religion. Maybe it is their beating hearts that drive them to make up fables of invisible, all-powerful creators who watch over them so they feel less alone.

I wonder what it must be like to be able to eat food, any food. To simply have bread, a slice of meat, a piece of fruit and be satiated. It’s so easy for humankind. If any of them stood in my

early nineteenth-century when I paid a visit to Padre Varela–the champion of the immigrantslying on his deathbed, stricken with Cholera. His Haitian cheekbones poking through his sallow skin. His breathing hampered by wringing wet, mucus-clogged lungs. I’d been waiting weeks for him to be

I remember one night in the

“No my child. There are many like you. I have seen. So many. You were born to suffer. To take on the penance of man so he could be free. The sacri ce of the Christ was but a down payment to assuage God for the Artist: Michael L. Stewart sins of man. The Lord’s mercy comes at a very high feeble enough for me to take price. As I’m sure you know.” him. Padre Varela was raving, he saw me as some sort of angel. In my “Who comes?” asked the eternal migration across this Padre. spiritless landscape I have never “Only one who seeks to come across another such as I. solace,” I said. This country that considers itself “Please, water.” I re lled his so young is really very, very old. cup from the basin on the Odious and ancient. As ancient dresser. It goes easier if they as the blood that soaks its roots. are calm. He drank deeply from the cup. “I will take you now and I will “Bless you, my child.” show you,” I said “Are you eased?” I asked. “Yes child, grant me all your “As best can be expected, I heavenly mercy.” feel the time is short. I will be in His glory very soon.” “Yes, very soon.” I said. I slid my diamond scalpel along “You have come for me, there the jugular vein in his neck with is no need to hide it. Your a precise ick of the wrist. arrival is a relief.” Padre Varela recoiled; he tried “How do you know me?” to cry out but was too weak to “The Lord is mysterious but put up any meaningful resitance. His angels walk among us. I I placed my hand over his mouth have been seeing your and started to drink as the brethren all my life. I was born symbiotic vision began. I shared with the gift of second sight.” in the priest’s nal conscious “I am no angel. I am the only moments–this happens with one of my kind.” most of my victims, it makes the taking of their lives all the more

precious. As I greedily swallowed the priest’s blood I saw the great maw of the void open. The nal vision that awaits the living, the con rmation of all that mankind fears the mostbeyond here lies nothing. “No omnium est tenebras? Omnium est vacuum replendum?” I recognized the Latin vernacular as the dying priest’s lips formed the words against the palm of my hand covering his mouth. I pulled away from the padre’s trickling neck, “Yes father, all is darkness. All is, truly, void.” Padre Varela exhaled his last breath with a sputtering whoosh. I tongued the last few drops of his precious blood. I have heard similar words before–through many nights and many centuries.

“Oh mister you gotta’ help me. I’m real sick, I gotta’ get out of this cold. Could you take me somewhere, anywhere? I don’t think I can walk on my own.” I stared down at the stricken Gladys and said, “Yes, I will take you and I will show you.”

Now I am here and I am

excited, for here comes Gladys, dragging her swollen foot. This will be her last night. I watch her collapse to her knees in front of The Temperance Fountain; her hair matted with lth, tears streak her grimy cheeks crusted with sores. I stand over her as devoid of life as the bronze statue atop the fountain. I feel the smooth handle of the diamond scalpel in the sleeve of my jacket.

sa Bea aris t: M tis Ar

AlIen or ZoMbIe

By EtHan H. miNsKer David Bowie = Alien David Bowie = ALIEN Mitt Romney = Alien & Mitt Romney = ALIEN& Zombie Zombie
Bill Gates = Alien ALIEN Angelina Jolie = Vampire Angelina Jolie = Vampire Alan Thicke = Vampire Alan Thicke = Vampire That guy who smiles and says hello guy who smilesway to That to you on your and says work toALIEN hello = you on your way to work = Alien Canadian tourist = Zombie Your mother = ALIEN

Suburban Alien
by Janine Annett

I grew up in the suburbs of New York and had an active imagination as a child, as well as a case of insomnia. I remember many nights lying in bed, unable to sleep but trying, looking out my window at the night sky, and being terri ed of UFOs and aliens. As an adult, I always lived in urban areas and I pretty much forgot about my fear of aliens —if a spaceship ever tried to land in my neighborhood, they would have to spend an hour looking for a place to park. I never thought of aliens as being inclined toward urban encounters. Over the years, my household
had grown to include a husband, two cats and a baby. We needed more space. We had changed...but so had our neighborhood, and we were priced out. On a weekend investigative jaunt, we fell in love with a place outside of the city with a small-town feel, a beautiful library, a weekly farmer's market and a friendly coffee shop, with an easy commute to our jobs. We looked at a house for rent, one with about four times the space of our apartment. Plus a backyard!

Our own washer and dryer! The kicker was, it was less rent than what we were paying in Brooklyn.

So after ten years in Brooklyn, I
moved outside of the city this year —and I suddenly became an alien species in a nowunfamiliar habitat.

Moving was an adjustment. My routines were disrupted. I found out the cute coffee shop closed ridiculously early and wasn't open on Sundays. Nothing was open on Sundays. How very European! Also, how very annoying. I had to learn to drive a car again. The rst time I managed to drive to the supermarket, get groceries and get home without having a panic attack or getting lost I considered it a major victory. I used to have six bars within eyesight of my apartment; I used to be able to count a dozen restaurants within a block—but I honestly don't miss the tour bus going down my street, the two-hour waits for a table at the tiny restaurants, the people in the grocery store nearly slamming their shopping bags into my infant son's head. It's nice to

Artist: Eric Wallin

be able to grill in our backyard, and my son is a smiley little ambassador who enjoys marching up and down our street looking for pets, going to the town pool, and making new pals wherever he goes.

sense, I think they're probably not that different than us after all. Maybe they are living in outer space because they got a good real estate deal, and their spaceships give them really fast commutes to their jobs.

On the whole, it turns out that

people who live outside of New York City aren't really that different from urban New Yorkers. Really, the older I get, the more I feel like most people are basically the same: we eat, sleep, work, love, complain...the suburbanites might be grilling in a yard while their city counter parts are eating in a restaurant, but it's all more or less the same. So I guess I'm not afraid of aliens any longer. Because now that I've become one in a

Artist: Ethan Minsker

HorRor SCoPeS
By EtHan H. miNsKer
yourself a new ten dollar bill. Just then, a cab stops in front of you and a man is about to get out when he realizes he doesn’t have his wallet. You offer the $10 and pay his fare. It turns out he is a billionaire mad scientist who was rushing home just before the zombie apocalypse hit. He invites you up to his penthouse apartment in the sky. You are moving on up. It's on the Eastside. As hell breaks loose below, you and your new friend spend hours picking off zombies with his high-power sniper rifle. Much fun to be had by all, even the zombie on the street whose head explodes with a whoosh! and the lifeless body drops to the ground. Virgo you are the best.

Virgo: Wandering these streets of glitter and gold you find

Leo: As you eat the brains of your last living friend you realize that you were right when you told him months before that he should cut down on his salt intake. You will wander the streets aimlessly until you stumble upon a camp for overweight kids. Happy eating. SagiTtaRius: Your legs
are tentacles, but the problem is, they are also your tongue. On the planet you are from, the surface is smooth and tastes similar to strawberry bubble gum. But your anal-probing job has led you to New York City and these streets taste like shit, piss and everything else underfoot. Get used to the taste buddy, and pray for rain or tentacle-covering shoes.

Artist: Ethan Minsker

geMiNi: You will land your dream job—night watchman for a

blood bank. Don't get caught sucking too much of the product. Vampires on unemployment are pathetic. Wait, sorry, I meant vampires are pathetic. Unemployment is cool. Either way, you’re

not afraid. You always have on your steel neck protector and carry a spray-mister of holy water. You will spray vampire intruders like a bad cat!

AriEs: This month I will slap you in the face. You, without thinking,

raise your hand and attempt to vaporize me. You miss me, but the 50 people behind me vanish. Your powers will reach far past our own planet and destroy countless worlds in the path of your rays. I will shrink to four inches tall, sprout wings out of my back and fly away. You give chase but I’m too fast for you. You obliterate billions of innocent people and aliens on other worlds. That’s why, when you sleep that night, the government agents will sneak into your room, drug you and then you will live in a coma-induced digital reality. You will be a brain in a jar connected to wires. Don’t walk into the libraries. They can never get those right, since everyone knows government agents don’t go to libraries or read history books. Other than that, everything else will appear as normal. Enjoy your newfound god-like powers while they last, since tomorrow is the matrix for you. If you are lucky, they may change the water in your jar, so play nice.

AquaRius: A flying pink unicorn lands behind you and taps you
on the shoulder with his horn. You turn and face him. The beast whispers to you, “Groovy.” and with two taps of his hoof, leaps into the air doing a loop-de-loop around the double rainbow. Then you realize you are just high, yet again. Stop smoking the weed this month, move out of your parents’ house, get a job. Then, once you are settled in to your new life with a wife and kids, you can go back to jerking off and smoking weed in the basement. Accomplishments come in waves, so no need to rush the next swell.

Artist: Tiago Pimentel

ScoRpIo: Mercury and the Sun will be in the sign of Leo most of

this month, so you will experience severe anal bleeding and Alien abductions. Mercury will be in retrograde until November 1, possibly leading to you remembering the lost memories of probes being inserted into your rectum. This could be the sign that you need to make some changes.

CancEr: You will wake up to the zombie apocalypse, yet some-

how you have not been infected. These zombies are incredibly slow. You are now the fastest person on the planet. A leisurely walk will be like a full sprint to these rotting bags of puss. For one to bite you, you would have to stand still for at least ten minutes or more for them to get their teeth wrapped around your arm. Now is a good time to invest in track shoes and a safe place to sleep. You will meet a tall dark stranger but unfortunately he will be dead, and missing his lower jaw.

CapRicoRn: This month you will feel the need to drink the blood of your neighbors. Don’t fret or hide your shameful hunger. Vampires have become trendy. So let everyone know and they will be lining up. Enjoy the fad while you can. Next month it will be mummies in sheer bandages so you can see the bones…and who can compete with that?
starts one morning when, upon waking, you realize your cheek is resting on the ceiling. Now you can’t keep your feet on the ground. Floating upside down holding the phone to your ear, you call home to tell the only person you trust: mom. “Oh, I should have told you something long ago. Your father was really an alien.” “Where and how did you meet him?” you ask. “A bar.” Expect a lot of funny looks. Gravity no longer knows you. But on the bright side, you can always find a job as a window cleaner.

TauRus: This month you will take flight. It

Artist: Eric Wallin

PiscEs: You have been recently turned into a vampire. This new

label is at odds with your previous one of vegan. Now you will have a choice, become a blood-sucker or starve. You will come to a slight compromise. Only drinking the blood of other vegans. Get used to the syrupy lackluster taste of the meatless. Think of it this way, your friends were annoying before you turned, now you have a reason to eat them.

LibRa: This month, your writing assignment for this crappy fanzine you are enslaved to will be, "Aliens, Zombies and Vampires." Boring, you think to yourself. Well tough shit! The readers are hungry and you are the only cook in this town that can deliver. And, if my memory is correct, you were the idiot who came up with the theme? TRUE! Now you find yourself wondering if your brains would be worth eating after they have turned to mush. Answer: No. They taste like fake chicken that has been sitting in the sun to long.

The School of Ecuador

by Shannon Daugherty

The Antagonist Art Movement,

would like to work with Ecuadorian artists on its most recent and anticipated endeavor, “El Trueque del arte con Ecuador”.

global community, the Antagonist Art Movement proposes a series of workshops to engage local and international artists, by concentrating on topics of music, costume making, building structures and creating graphics and other signage, ultimately celebrating in the fashion of a parade. Representatives from previous Antagonist projects will be encouraged to host and attend all events.

collaboration of artists from varying backgrounds, the primary goal is to create and cultivate an international community of working artists. In order to help foster this

With the exchange of ideas, and

be a curriculum, diplomas and a nal graduation parade where all knowledge will be valued, celebrated and exchanged. Each participant can ful ll a course as well as teach creative

Much like a school, there will

elements that can help participants utilize local resources, thus making the student the teacher, and the teacher the student. Upon completion of the workshops, participants will be part of an art parade that will act as the prelude to an opening

event consisting of people in costume, with banners, ags, and supplemented by music. The nal art space, or gala, will be the of cial unfolding of creations from a 10-day series of workshops and intensives.

THIS ISSUE’S ARTIST CONTACTs:
Eric Wallin ericwallin.com Michael L. Stewart pyropainter.com Gothic Hangman gothichangmanstudios.com Tiago Pimentel deformedpuppies.blogspot.com Keat Teoh keatt.com Jason Gradin downwardbound.comicgenesis.com Gabriel Garcia gabrielgarcia-searider1.blogspot.com

NEXT ISSUE
Do you hate your job? Do you LURRV your job? Do you have a really big crush on the cute girl who works the shift right before you? If you’ve already been aching to submit something to us, then you’re in luck! The next issue’s theme is… WORK! Take a minute away from the job that pays you garbage, and write something about work. And then send it to us. Then get back to business!!!

Do you like punk rock, Washington, D.C. and the ‘80s? Well we have a book for you! Rich Boy Cries For Momma (in e-book and paper back). A rsthand account of Washington, D.C.’s punk rock scene in the ‘80s and ‘90s as told by a dyslexic punk. Money goes to publishing new books. The Dolls Of Lisbon, a movie about struggling artists making work on the other side of the world. A DIY eyeball-busting bonanza. Find it on Amazon, iTunes and on DVD. Money goes to making new overseas art projects. Barstool Prophets, a book about the dirty secrets every bartender in the Lower East Side knows. Before you date a bartender, read this book. Money goes to publishing new books.

This is Berlin, Not New York, DVD and Amazon instant download. See what trouble the Antagonists can get into when you make art in abandoned buildings in Berlin.

You like this cover? Get it on a shirt. Matter of fact, get all the Antagonist shirts and know that the little money we make will support new issues of this fanzine. We have over 30 designs made especially for the Antagonist Movement by selected up-and-coming artists. You won't find these shirts anywhere else. Be the only kid on your block with one. Shop at the Antagonist shop! Get that gift for the holidays and know you are supporting the underground art community, helping the artists who need it the most, not the assholes at Macy’s or some other crappy store. That’s right, fuck you mall! I mean, fuck you all. Or did I?

Megan Hanford
Writer, NYC age 29

ARTIST OF THE ISSUE:
Eric Wallin
Eric is a modest guy. Not the “No omnium est tenebras? Omnium est vacuum replentype of person who would dum?” I recognized the Latin show his own art and write his own Artist of the Issue biogravernacular as the dying priest’s lips formed the words against phy in a fanzine he worked on. Eric has of my hand covering the palm a BA in Graphic his mouth. I enjoys away from Design and pulled experimentthe padre’s trickling neck, “Yes ing with new styles and media. Much all is inspiration is father,of his darkness. All is, truly, void.” Padre Varela drawn from pop culture, vintage and retro art with a exhaled his last breathand the sputtering whoosh.especially cinema. He is an I tongued the last few comics and classic avid fan of drops of his monster and sci- movies. precious blood. I have heard He similar jobs ranging from has held t-shirt design, on-air broadcast design and designing those tiny labels inside Victoria’s Secret underwear. Not only has he found an unbeatable group of friends in The Antagonists, he has also grown imensely as an artist and person thanks to them. This fanzine is his latest project.

The Little Mermaid
Soundtrack

The Redemption Salad of Christopher at Burrito Bar Columbus

Pastwatch:

Tostaco

Bub

Zombie, Florida age 38

from Beethoven 9th Symphony

Ode to Joy

World War Z

Bucket of People Meat

Eric Wallin

Graphic Designer, NYC age 31

Star & Dagger

Hack/Slash

Blackened Alligator

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