Well, here we are.
And where we’ll be in three months time, with the next issue, is a mystery. But the one unmysterious thing about it is we have to look after ourselves, our loved ones, and those we can help, because the US and UK governments are too busy following their usual greedhead short sighted full speed ahead ethos to see what’s in front of them.
In fact, it’s going to take all of us some time to understand what is in front of us, because everything has changed, and we have yet to understand what that means, and what’s required of us as a result.
The one thing we can all do right away is resist the temptation to waste any time looking for someone to blame. I’m sure there’s a lot of blame to go around. (Although I do wonder why the people who keep sending me that ridiculous “Plandemic” video don’t wonder why if Soros and mysterious global forces have all that power and are doing this to control us, WHY IS IT NOT POSSIBLE FOR THEM TO TAKE DOWN A STUPID YOU TUBE VIDEO?) Be that as it may, right now we have to focus on a.) keeping our families and communities safe, and b.) keeping our creativity flexible and at red hot pitch. I say ‘b’, of course, because it’s ‘b’ that’s going to find the path in the right direction. In the dark.
Once again, in this issue, the poets have overwhelmed me and poetry editor Marissa Bell Toffoli with an exuberance of riches. Once again, I know it’s because poets are always the canaries in the coal mines. (Or, in our case, the flags formerly upright in the permafrost.) Thank you, poets. Whether grappling with real grief, like Ben White always does—in this case, in American Passenger—or upholding principles that bring us eternal joy, like Charles S. Kraszewski does in all his work—here with Heinrich Boll is Dead. Long Live Heinrich Boll. Or Chris Farago, as usual, in Maps. Or continuing to celebrate our everyday connection to each other, the way Marissa Bell Toffoli always does, this time in Waltz for Strangers. Or looking at history to remind ourselves that tragedy, even manmade, is something of a human lot, but is that always going to be the case? David Selzer and Contagion.
There’s more. Have a look. There’s Sean Murphy’s half poem/half lament, Peregrinations. There’s Duncan Tierney (welcome, Duncan!) and his horrifyingly matter-of-fact On the Manufacture of Dream Dust. There’s EAP’s favorite philosopher on the expansion of the boundaries of the rational, Bruce E.R. Thompson and Moving.
And there is, once again, always love. Thank Tamra Lucid this issue for that. Thanks, Tamra, for the sexy, wistful, passionate memory in Falling in Noir.
And always, always, thanks to Brian Griffith for his clear eyed and meticulous approach to cultural history. This time with Iran’s Feminist Parties.
(On a side note, if you want to get some support for shopping less and enjoying fresh produce more, have a look at this issue’s Jam Today.)
Stay safe and well, all of you. But most of all, stay creative. Keep envisioning visions, and we’ll come out the other side of this into a better kind of day.
Welcome back.