Issue 53 (April 2017)
It was another sweltering night in New Bangkok, and Jharkrat wasn’t selling anything.
Statement of LINUS CARTER
July the 27th 189_ 1919
Rewritten by Cpr Samuel Llewellyn due to [unclear]
God save King George.
I rummaged through the anatomical heart earrings, the patches with anarchist symbols and hand painted skulls, and the necklaces made from doll hands and clock parts. Great stuff, but nothing I hadn’t seen a thousand times, nothing I didn’t already have stashed in a drawer at home. I hit the switch on a lamp that looked like a human femur.
I’ve never seen the forest, but I know it well — every branch and twig and leaf. I know the tangled underbrush that tugs my cane, and the scent of bark after a downpour. I know the current of leaves above and their crunching underfoot. I know the shadows that fall across each other and the intangible world that exists in the space between trees. Because I know this forest so well, I’m caught by spontaneous nostalgia when it arrives at my doorstep on a foggy morning in May.