No. 9 - 01/07/22
Nic Anselmo’s photo essay:
“Neeses, South Carolina”
“I always find it hard to talk about this selection of photographs. The anecdotes either become too technical (I used to make photos this way, but then I did this . . . ), or too plodding and introspective (I was sad, so I made art). This is probably my fifth attempt. I’ll say this, they were made in the Summer of 2018, after a particularly difficult year in my life: fresh out of college, developing an unhealthy relationship with alcohol; dejected and generally miserable.”
Jeff Haber’s essay: “Blinking Memories”
I endlessly scrolled and clicked at work. The filing cabinets at my back silently mocked my ambition. To be something, somebody, whose voices commands listeners. At the front of the open-floor-plan office, behind the glass, the attorney and the expert commiserated on immigration. A whiny ambulance siren wafted up the eight floor from 31st Street, travelled with piercing frustration down the block, bounced from one wall of skyscraped business to the other, and then faded into the indifference on Broadway.
Tori Ashley Matos’ poetry: “had i sprouted from Plains clay and rainwater”
what silences that stretch in the orange buzz of
3am under covers that smell of your body before
that could be filled with the expanding sound
of sweetgrass
a trip around the singing bowl
a tone that never stops but
extends in all directions forever