Note from the Editors
While compiling the pieces of this edition, searching for a thematic throughline, I turn to Sydney and ask if you could be reincarnated as an inanimate object, what would you be? I always ask this assuming consciousness would be maintained in this new form. An answer is expected, but in reality, I am waiting for the inevitable follow-up: having my question asked back to me. I, of course, have the upper hand here—I came up with the question, so I’ve thought about it a lot. I want to be a rock. A rock with consciousness, so that as weather takes its toll and chips me away, blowing microscopic sediments apart, my consciousness can be split. I want to transform from a rock to a million pieces of sand, simultaneously experiencing everything as I travel across the world in multifarious forms.
This edition, strangely, is centered around rocks. Inevitably, depth pervades the spaces above and below. We are raised up, peering over the lighthouse railings of Emily Younkin’s “Dusk at Julian Rock.” Enjoy the view up here, but not too much—memories slip away in the wind of Emily Forslof’s “downing the memories / alzheimer’s anonymous.” Dulany Bloom’s “Australia” travels far above the treeline, narrowly avoiding the jagged edges of a cliffside. Our rocky interlude subsides on a hill, reveling in the pouring rain of “Out of Bed” by Oscar Lledo Osborn.
In a final dive, Eva Millay Evans brings us beneath the surface of seaweed-riddled waters in “Lake.” Here, clarity and confusion mesh; as most literature does, we invite you to reincarnate into the subjects of each piece, spread your consciousness far, and eventually, come back to yourself.