When reporters ask for the secret, you are good at hedging: hard work is a sweet way to say obsession. Pathology is prettier when masked in music.
Read MoreElegy can be messy. Elegy is sometimes unhappy with itself, too. Elegy is regrinding the lens again & again & again. Elegy is a reconstruction of joy.
Read MoreElegy is birthed from such discomfort, a speaker navigating a world that hurts precisely because of its horrible resemblance to the one left behind.
Read MoreThe oval and circular shapes speak of an ancient world, a world where everything is whispered to life by its surrounding details.
Read MoreElegy is the séance we hold as we pray for a visitation from the ones we have lost. We invite them to haunt us. We sing to them, and listen for song in return.
Read MoreI was praying the only way I knew how. I was trying to build a boat, to take me through the waves of grief on your street, right up to your door.
Read MoreIn 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.
Read MoreThis collection was born out of the search for something bigger than the silence & static. On Friday, I think we came close to finding it.
Read MoreI am at a point in my life where the question most on my mind isn’t what am I asking from a place, but rather what I owe a place I have made a home.
Read MoreBy 2020, Waiting for Frank Ocean in Cairo had become a kind of phantom; a project that haunted me, yet whose future seemed illusive.
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