by Tracy Lyall Songs of 70s rock stars are fading, with old albums—vinyl records in colorful covers stacked on top of each other, thirty, forty at a time—lying dormant in a thrift-store window display. The roller rink is closed down, wooden floors scratched by skate wheels, molding and mildewing. The…
by Ilari Pass Anyone can say that they’re happy, but not everyone can say that they’re content. To believe the mind is not a snake, to accept the hidden thump of the heart, to rush without hesitation—this is Eden.
by Ilari Pass Dawn, the sun sliding above the mountains. The fog floats on top of the lake, morning dew. Everything emerges, fresh and fragrant. Insects burr, the campfire is almost out; hearing its sizzle and whistle means a man can leave. A bird flies, heading to the lake, disappearing…