Happy New Year!

Another gorgeous issue, another fantastic year thanks to all the talented individuals who help foster the love of the written word and the arts. I am forever grateful to all of our readers, and champions of small press and indy magazines & journals. Remember, keep writing. Keep submitting. Keep your passions burning!

Much Love and Ink—
Grace

 

PROSE

photo by Boris Boden

Unlearning

How did Newton unlearn the Church, and quantum physicists unlearn Einstein? It is when the intuitive becomes counterintuitive. Patterns in life are a quest of unlearning, for it is harder to shed the robes of knowledge than to weave them. Remembering, memory, forgetting. The biggest acts of forgetting were the American Indians or the Mayans or the Aztecs or the Incas or the Australian Aborigines. Poor souls screaming in the darkness. Education and healthcare as cornerstone of the welfare state. A grand human idea, like Rawl’s just society. If you could combine Plato’s Republic and More’s Utopia everything would be perfect. Between the lines Darwin meant might doesn’t make right, it conceives right. Might as well enjoy the ride. What does your soul look like? Dorian Gray’s portrait? Or a Raphael cherubin? The senses create and the mind consumes. We are all models for someone else’s painting. Schopenhauer is the founder of modern microeconomics—the will and incentives are the motor behind it all. The church is the greatest economist in history. It’s had the best returns, even in the afterlife. Money is like junk, William S. Burroughs said. We are fiends, going out and baring our souls in the street every day, just to get our fix. When the act of material acquisition is essentially impossible and not in the foreground of the mind, room is left for receiving other stimuli, the immaterial ability to act, or the peace of mind to be able to receive. Start from the beginning. Become counterintuitive.

by Chris DiGiorgio


3 Line Poetry

photo by Oleg Chursin

Wind and water chipped away until only
The rock’s heart remained, a foreshadowing.
Blinded by the beauty, you fail to see the irony.

by Carlos Orozco


POETRY

photo by Mario Ho

 

Microtonal Tragedy

You know it’s over when,
watching them sip Friday afternoon
mimosas on the porch, you realize
he’s lost interest in her hair. Doesn’t even
see it anymore.

by Shannon Lise

 


 

 

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About the Author Grace Black

Grace Black mingles with words as she navigates this realm.

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