To begin issue 1, an anonymous valentine.
Because I was never good at staying sober, / I chase highs in laundromats, the things I do / for heavy brass soil horn need hot wash, lavender / lemonade
see me, Black as I am and call me beautiful
One enters a Hellmouth like a snack but exits like a bullet.
A comic by Tiffany Babb.
I hate the sound of Judy Jetson singing melodically in an elevator. I once cursed on the elevator in a parking structure on the Fourth of July, said they were scary as fuck, and my mother banished me from her sight long enough to find femininity in a neon garden.
A comic by Caroline Dinh.
A fact, or a circumstance, of abuse, depending on which way the glass cuts your vision: if a child experiences a significant amount of trauma, early and consistent enough, the images that make up their experiences, dreams, visions, fantasies, abuse, and nightmares become a kind of kaleidoscopic mosaic.
the last to leave were redwings. / Forests turned into harpsichords.
A hybrid piece by Kwan-Ann Tan.
