Presenting our summer issue, in equal measure supplicant as a field mouse and a portal out of linear time’s bleeding & busted fist. This time, we’ve found that the sky isn’t really blue. That Armageddon is the word for a mountain, crowned in snowmelt or the harp of an angel. If you, too, are hungry like a mermaid, then like a field is here to offer dinner. We’re serving nopal thorns, gravel stuck to skin, and the grain of stars. When finished with your abundant transformations, we hope you feel like a butterfly sucking salt from a carcass or cyanotype on cotton. Please tread gently. The transition between color and ashes is tender and violent, something completely and naively human.

— the editors

supplicant as a field mouse
the sky isn’t really blue
a portal out of linear time’s bleeding & busted fist
Armageddon is the word for a mountain
crowned in snowmelt or the harp of an angel
hungry like a mermaid
dinner
nopal thorns
gravel stuck to skin,
the grain of stars
abundant transformations
like a butterfly sucking salt from a carcass
cyanotype on cotton
The transition between color and ashes
must be tender and violent
something completely and naively human