In Issue II of our second opus, desire is holy & heavy as the still before the train comes. Moor us in the unquenchable. We want a begging to believe in.
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I’m inclined to think life or thoughts or ideas aren’t a blur of movement so much as a collage of image and voice: layered, constant, revved, and singing.
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Issue XI lives on the currency of old speed & new dreams, & right at the moment when you think you’ve learned its dance, it dares you to circle back & look again.
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May this book teach you, when the ache looms loud & large in your peripheral vision, to invite it inside & ask for its forgiveness.
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This book is for you, yes—but more importantly, it’s for the things that tried to destroy you & failed. It’s for the past selves that live in you, still breathing, still breathing.
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Every future wears the name of a self you used to be. The body is a malleable thing here. Whatever you need, you can become it.
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In Issue I of our second opus, show us what you’re running towards, or running from. Give us speed & surreality. Surprise us. Blur the borders. Make us look again.
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If we are all the dead conversing with the dead, I like to think the language we use to bridge the space between us is called music.
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In this issue we look back on the years stolen or borrowed, hold our grief open & stand very still in the strain of song that washes from its depths.
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Welcome to elegy: the last dropped petal—the mirror in mourning—the light still on for what once was beautiful.
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