People ran to keep their bodies tame, searched for every secret before the leaving.
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We don’t come to this decision lightly, & we believe the extra breathing room is truly necessary to publishing Issue VIII with care & intentionality.
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My grandmother introduced the piano to me through AM radio. She didn’t know piano, but she knew piano.
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How many times can you choose the thing that hurts before you can’t call it an accident anymore.
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Thank you for teaching us the grace of sandpaper, the razor-kiss of wreckage, staccato-sharp skeleton strung up to a 4/4 time signature.
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The songs our team has been spinning as we work to curate your—& our own—burning & cracking & aching into something beautiful for you.
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Is the sforzando the registration or the dread?
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We said to the universe: Please drive faster. Said: Wait up, disaster! Maybe we have an inkling of what we’re summoning even as draw the circle on the floor.
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This issue is not a crescendo but a car crash, perfect as death, sudden as becoming. It eats its ghosts alive, mouth raw & open. It refuses to blink.
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It’s a strange thing, to have a relationship with an instrument as complex and fraught as mine is with the harmonium.
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