Welcome to the 19th Issue of Waccamaw,
We are almost a decade. We are almost. We are a reach that with its open extended hand may catch a loblolly in its grip and not let go. Our eyes in the night were replaced with a giant’s and we are digging down now, excavating, ablaze. Some of our categories are classic: ribbons, antifreeze, undiscovered facts. Some scrape at the film of class with clever little ham soft fists.
We have been sent into a frenzy of chalk print dances listening to how we thought of ourselves as the static of speckled debris.
The whole piñata gut of the world has been hazed.
Despite it we are brazen. Vibey. Locating us where we try to be.
This issue gets us subcutaneous, where we dream wealth in a drain of stars, our giant’s eyes wide with mutter. We search the pronoun mouths of your firsts where I turns on itself. This issue bows toward the frost of our ignored homes and with its head to the ground, points us on our way.
We are on our way.