When I listen to music, it moves through me because it has to. The soundwaves hit my ears, and my body decides where it needs to go next.
Read MoreI could be sharp-tongued, curious, fucked-up—what had never felt available to me. For the first time, French was no longer borrowed, but mine.
Read MoreA selection of songs that have marked this era of fluid warmth, the soundtrack to which we’ve been dreaming a bright new thing into breath.
Read MoreThe artist’s dictum “trust your materials” only started to make sense in collage, with strange fabrics and colors and patterns coalescing in startling meaning.
Read MoreBut for three minutes and 23 seconds, that magic stretch of a song where my poem lives as both love letter and record player, synaesthesia is more like a bridge.
Read MoreI only noticed the color by how it happened to me; from where I stood, I was surrounded by a forest of light.
Read MoreHalf Mystic returns in full colour—welcome, dear songbirds, to the preorder period for the synaesthesia issue.
Read MoreOur heroine keeps walking, and we follow, unseen ally, shadow of hope, anticipating the thrills and horrors lying in wait.
Read MoreAs a non-religious person, songwriting is the closest thing I have to a spiritual practice.
Read MoreHalf Mystic is committed to upholding the highest standards of originality, integrity, & literary citizenship in our authors & the work we publish.
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