Letter From the Editors, LIT 38
How do we describe the indescribable: the start of most apocalyptical election is but a week away, there is war, there is war, there is war, and there is Nostradamus. It is spooky season and there is no costume for this. To walk in the graveyard is all the ground beneath our feet. The veil is thin my friends, have a peek.
For this issue, our themes rise up through the fog to walk the earth, undead and “Gucci, green snake skin, off-season, on sale” – from The Allegorical Doctor
Horror comes in as many forms as the imagination will allow, “scintillating in the sunlight at times, obscuring the truth beneath the surface”- from a review of “Wandering“
Magic creeps in as a gas with no odor, “but is also a creative force. Creation in terms of sex and childbirth, but then also creation in terms of writing and art making.” – from an interview with Luis Jaramillo
We are making magic, with every pen stroke, every key-click, every shutter-click; we usher in the spirits and welcome them into our skin; we raise the dead
“because a siren cries your
mother’s ghost inside your seething flesh, her heavy breath left unannounced
in the unnavigable slow curve of the wrist, waist, knee & neck of a mother, as
she goes sizzling out…” – from Dear Carole
We wear our desire. We wear out our desire. We out desire. Who is desire, but “snake, nobody
sees, sheds in” – from Mid-Wife Night Mutation
If for the spookiest of seasons this issue of LIT were a graveyard, find a bone to pick, add imagination as if a relish and try to get a whiff of something resplendent.
Enjoy.
