David N. Zimmer
The first record album I bought was A Love Supreme, by The John Coltrane Quartet. I knew nothing about him but his face was so serious, thoughtful, and beautiful. I listened, and again, this has been my blueprint. I love music and the people that create it.
When I was twelve I sat my parents down and told them I knew what it was that I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
I said that I wanted to be a writer, and they went berserk. My mother held her head and shrieked, and my father stalked around the living room, fuming. They said, “Do you want to be a beatnik, like Jack Kerouac, like On The Road?” I took note. They said, “Do you want to live like a bohemian and live in a garret?” I took note. And that, for the most part, is how I lived my life.
My best friend, Matthew Paris, is a novelist, playwright, poet, and musician. This polymath is my mentor and writing partner. My first wife is an artist and my current wife is an artist. God bless Art.
I love everyone in this lovely magazine. In this world creating art is thankless so, I would like to publicly thank them. You spit into space and hope that it hits something and that it leaves a beautifully shaped mark.
Thank you Dominika Majewska for your beautiful, thought-provoking art.
Thank you Michael Lacare for your surprise tale of murder.
Thank you Amanda Macleod for your beautiful word blasts.
Thank you Elisabeth Horan for your evocative verse.
Thank you Paul Negri for those feathers still sticking in my throat.
Thank you Rachel Small for your twisty word usage and championing the peachy goodness of death.
Thank you Cydni Chéry for showing us the reality of the American nightmare.
Thank you Mileva Anastasiadou for your year-long study of a relationship fading.
Thank you DS Maolalai for your poems celebrating the beauty of the mundane.
Thank you Robert Appelbaum for your moving, haunting story set during the Holocaust.
Boy, that’s a lot of death in this issue. Do I detect a pattern?
Thank you Rajiv Jayaraj for your beautiful poem of love and loss.
Thank you Hali J. Cross for following your wonderful rabbit and living in your world.
Thank you Aaron Housholder for reminding me just how serious the game of Lava really is.
Thank you Sydney Brooman for freaking me out and making me look over my shoulder for those fucking beavers.
Thank you Algernon Blackwood for scaring me and making me yearn for the sweet sickly smell of death and corruption. All hail Chthulu!
And thank you Stewart and the hardworking peeps at Thorn for reestablishing my faith that spit like mine can find a home.
David N. Zimmer