Here is a folding that opens up a hole, our seventh issue, or something to fall into. Join us under a silver ball to listen to new noises: jazzy & jagged, sometimes together sometimes not, astral voices or ants dispersing. And how are we supposed to dance to any of this? As the muscle stretches to hear it tears. Scattered ears. Strummed bodies, gargled wor(l)ds falling out our faces like broken cameras leaking water leaking sun. The stage is lit up with all these wounds where other things rush in, things we could not keep unworded. Red rag / new blue. What is a hole if it is not a nothing? Particles travelling faster than the speed of light. No one believes that we know what we know, that’s why we do this. Keep doing it, like a soft flame that goes out. You have to throw a body out of the van, otherwise it’s just philosophy. You have to pick up the phone, ring the wrong number, ask: What is it you are trying to tell me? Bring to my notice? Or: Is there still time to act / on impulse? And answers in the pages blank between the folds, so much thinking between the thoughts, so many days between me and you. And every new day opens as if to say, read on!
Our seventh issue contains new writing and artwork from Riel Bellow, Richard Siken, Gelare Khoshgozaran, Ágota Kristóf & Chris Andrews, Tatum Howey, dove, Christine Kirubi, Kevin Jerome Everson & Alan Martín Segal, Solvej Balle & Barbara J. Haveland, Richard Phoenix, Ektoras Arkomanis, Moyra Davey, Kami Enzie, Julius Eastman, Suma G & Richard Prins, Jăk Skŏt, Rodrigo Toscano and Adrienne Herr.