I confess! / I’ve been neglecting / my postoperative physiotherapy / following the extraction of memory. / I’ve even forgotten / the simplest way of collapsing/ in exhaustion on the tile floor.
— Taha Muhammad Ali

A scalpel. Just a scalpel with which to cut and tear apart the plastic cloths with which they trap us (like nets) when taking away our memory. There is no postoperative rehab that suffices to heal the wound of the severe drill that is forget. We are all sold into slavery and our faces become anonymous, no tag or number, no eyes or lips to scream and cry in fear and ecstasy, like gone telegrams (in fields of bullets). Fallujah is our little knife for when they try to put the net over us and with the cold scalpel try to open up our heads, warm blood spilt everywhere (like Peshawar) that they’ll clean with burning; burning to the bone (Ayotzinapa), burning until the ashes rot and start being populated by microscopic worms whose eggs will hatch in tears and swords. They’ll take them and use them to rape our people, our human beings. This is our little knife for when they try to prostitute us, and even if it does not work, it’ll let us leave a mark, a scar that manifests the death of healing processes. We’ll all mourn it in the night and in the day, staying still, trying to remember how to cry, how to collapse in exhaustion.

The purpose of Fallujah magazine is to create and share, through different mediums and fashions of expression, through poetry, that which hurts us deep down (not only as individuals but as whatever else we are). Fallujah is a space for remembering, for protesting with art from any corner in the world. It is a forum to mourn and acknowledge the pain of others and our own, to hear others and to make a change, no matter how microscopic. (To make this bitter earth not so bitter after all). Fallujah is a place to love and be loved, a home. Because there is not enough poetry in the world, as there are not enough band-aids. We won’t be cured, surely; not for now, at least. Nevertheless, let us take baby steps. Or just one, or a half or a quarter. At least try. What do we intend to be? Whatever it is we can.

For the moment we are searching desperately for contributors, so anyone who is interested in participating in the Fallujah project, as writers or editors, please send an email to the Fallujah address provided and check the currently published work. We encourage any form of poetry, painting or art in its infinite forms. (Composite works, music, photography, film, whatever). All our love.

(art.fallujah@yandex.com)

Angel Aragón, director of Fallujah