Transmissions from a dystopian present to an imaginary future — a letter from the editor
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I dream of a reality in which we redefine what “mental health” really means.
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In Asian cultures, foxes are powerful, cunning spirits, full of trickery and deception. They might bring you good fortune, but more likely they’ll destroy you.
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It’s difficult to break through barriers of language and space and time. Worlds and generations away. Space-time distanciation.
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My dreams as of late have been attempts to live up to the grandeur of my ancestors’ wildest dreams.
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i don’t remember the last time i prayed to my ancestors / hands are disconnected from the incense at the altar
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The memory of her and her love come washing over me, like the cloud of steam from the rice cooker—a warmth that I can feel, but can’t touch.
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escape runs bloodlines / what is it that the harano womxn / keep trying to run from
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In this parallel dimension, whenever a man calls me “exotic,” his eyes are sprayed with garam masala without me even having to whip it out.
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My mother’s skin is painted gold/ She’s shimmering in the rice plantation/ As the sun roasts her back
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I continued to let her dance in the wind. She felt free. No longer constrained by the way I imagined things were supposed to be or suggested to be.
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When we become afraid to present reality as it is, then we have let fiction become stranger then the truth.
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