Issue One (Oct 2008)
It began innocently enough. Christmastime and no money.
Aaron sat at the head the Seder table. “Everyone knows why we’re gathered here this evening,” he said, and talked about the meaning of Passover, the Jews were slaves in Egypt, the meaning of the wine and the matzoh…
Njàbò, my only child, my daughter, walks with me. She is as old as the forest, while I was born but three and a half decades ago.
This was his thirty-seventh season surveying the trees. Lot Bisholm knew it to be his last.
Wasn’t my intention to deal with Dutch’s son again, but the past 24 hours left me a little punch drunk. When a man’s not even sure where to find his asshole anymore, he’d do just about anything to retrieve it.
Being consumed by a gradual avalanche is extended death. Everything collects on the floor of the valley the way pain and confusion come together in the blues.
In my dreams, I flew.
I am helping Mamá pack for the move north. The deepest wells have run dry, as have our tears.
Images of spaceships zooming beyond final frontiers, captained by compassionate but bullheaded leaders, with phasers, lasers, and light sabers near to hand might seem light years away from the movie image of a cowboy riding the range, but they aren’t really.