Preorders are Open for Half Mystic Journal’s Issue IV: Grazioso

(on 19 October, 2017 & with 2 Comments)

Dear friends, it’s such a joy to share with you that preorders for my baby music magazine Half Mystic Journal’s fourth issue, around the theme of grazioso, are now open. As the editor-in-chief & creative director at this gorgeously soft-stepping endeavour, assembling Issue IV over the course of past months has been a much-needed ray of brightness in a world that often seems overrun with shadow. I know I speak for our whole team & absurdly talented set of Issue IV contributors when I say that the grazioso issue is full of the rare kind of light that never drowned anything, the kind of light that knows only song.

Contributors to Issue IV include such lovely faces as Terry Abrahams, Devin Kelly, Kate Bucca, Emily Paige Wilson, Jill Mceldowney, Yves Olade, Diane Bluesolis, Sydney McNeill, Emily Blue, Eli Winter, Alexandra Eldridge, & more. If you are interested in joining the magic, Issue IV writing & music submissions remain open until November 17th. Send our team your best, your tenderest work. We’ll receive it with open arms & cradle it like the light it is.

Until then: please do preorder Half Mystic Journal’s Issue IV: Grazioso, to keep you warm on winter nights ahead. All Issue IV preorders will be shipped on December 12th & arrive on your doorstep in time for Christmas; they make beautiful gifts for yourself or the music lover in your life. Preordering Issue IV ensures that we’re able to keep Half Mystic up & running for many years to come – & we have hope that this creation might help draw our aching world out of its endless, cacophonous dusk. xx

 

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p.s. not sure if issue iv is for you? subscribe to our blog in the sidebar; we’ll be releasing interviews with & essays from contributors, columns from our team, a playlist for grazioso, an exclusive giveaway, & much more in the coming weeks.

p.s.s. what does grazioso mean to you? please do share your personal definition with me in the comments; i’d so love to hear it.


World Mental Health Day

(on 11 October, 2017 & with 2 Comments)

today it is world mental health day, & i am thinking of the colour of this prickly, lightning-messy, eyes-too-wide-heart-too-big sky. i was diagnosed with anxiety & depression three & a half years ago, & soon after that hyperacusis, & soon after that obsessive-compulsive disorder. i have forced my body to hold so much ache, so much knotted soaring silence. i have been so cruel to myself, & so much crueller to the people i profess to loving. & through it all, that sky. that sky. that sky & how it laughs in thunder & sobs in sunlight, that sky & how it forgives us ceaselessly, how it sings constant & graceless & true, how it blurs all the shattered edges, remains soft even when we deserve anything but softness.

i think there is much to learn from that. still, three & a half years later, there are countless days that break & bruise & bend. still, though i have long since ceased to be ashamed of the person my illnesses have shaped me into, there are times when i regret speaking about them as openly as i do. on those days i try to be like that sky. to cry when i need to. to forgive again & again. to reflect all the same shades of light.

happy world mental health day, my loves. thank you for coming with me on this gorgeous, brokenhearted journey. xx

 

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p.s. world mental health day is one of the best times to share the struggles you or loved ones have been through with mental illness. in the comments, please do share your story with me. i will cradle it with hands softer than clouds.

p.s.s. my new book is about the experience of healing in every wild & tender form it takes. here is where you can purchase it to keep you warm this world mental health day.

p.s.s.s. seasonal & healing still & love letters for more


“Keep your hands closed & your eyes up, not the other way around.” (Little Horoscopes for October)

(on 5 October, 2017 & with 8 Comments)

How are you doing this month, friends? I have been focused on the upcoming Issue IV of Half Mystic Journal as well as the launch of poems for the sound of the sky before thunder – my author copies arrived last weekend & so I’ve spent a slightly obscene amount of time gazing at them adoringly. Really, I never understood the magnetism of seeing one’s own words in print until this book, & I doubt I will ever tire of the feeling.

If you are in Singapore, a reminder to come & hang out with me at the November 4th book launch – I would be so pleased to see you. You can also purchase copies of the book directly from my publisher’s website (!). Also, please do consider becoming a Patreon sponsor of my work if you find light in it; my lovely Patreon fireflies are the ones who allow me to keep putting the majority of my art in your hands for free.

&, without further ado, here are October’s little horoscopes. I hope they make a home someplace soft & warm inside of your chest. xx

 

Little Horoscopes for October

Aries, this is worth every ounce of the courage it takes.
Leo, second chances don’t always look the way you’d expect.
Gemini, if you cry wolf, you’d better come back leading the pack.
Cancer, not every interaction needs to be a poem.
Pisces, keep your hands closed & your eyes up, not the other way around.
Scorpio, your existence does not warrant an apology.
Taurus, it’s time to air out your most secret hiding spaces.
Aquarius, your eyes are not a window but a door.
Sagittarius, the key word in outgrow is grow.
Virgo, you are so close to the song that grounds & lifts you all at once.
Capricorn, there is room here for all your soft bright yearnings.
Libra, you do not have to be brave.


“I wanted to murder him, but his body kept getting in the way.” (a poem for you)

(on 29 September, 2017 & with 4 Comments)

A new poem for you today, originally featured as an Editors’ Choice in Brain Mill Press’ Student Poetry Month contest. This is a raw lil piece, a snippet of collapsing thunder, but there’s something I adore about it anyway. A hard ache, like a right hook, like the period at the end of a sentence.

Please do share your thoughts on this poem with me in the comments, my loves – positive & negative feedback are always welcome. This week has been full of squalor, my health dipping up & down, hands shaking like a hurricane, bones singing to pieces, nerves chewed to unrecognisable shards, & perhaps this is why I’m choosing to share this particular poem on this particular subject at this particular juncture. I hope there’s a bit of truth here for you to hold. xx

 

When My First Boyfriend Learned I Was on Anti-Psychotics, He Laughed & Told Me He Always Suspected I Was Crazier Than I Let On

I wanted to murder him,
but his body kept getting
in the way. We learn to
live with that sawtoothed
loudness, caught halfway
between the wonder &
the wanting. & how I
wanted. I wanted his eyes
blue & razed shut. Wanted
apology like unbent knee.
Pulse cold, childish. How
much can a thing whistle
before all that’s left is air?
Such a strange syntax we
live inside. Waltz through
aurora. Gulp down bullets
instead of the pills that
could make this all better.
God, I am tired of writing
poems about sickness.
When he spoke, I heard
my father: you know I only
ever wanted the best for you.
As if I were afraid of
leaning into wounded.
As if I couldn’t gut him
& run, easy as birthplace.
Easy as the voices finally
shocked into silence. A
kind of hook here, say it:
careful, darling, you’re
showing your hand. So
many times my body
has been more ache
than human. In which
direction must I search to
find a name for the curdle
in my throat? Slipping
on melting beasts, forcing
open memory’s jaws. &
how I wanted. I wanted
to snap that lovely neck
the way a gun cocks into
song. I wanted not to hurt
anymore, my kneecaps
halfway shattered, the
dark consuming itself
over & over again. Just
once, I wanted reciprocity.
I wanted not to be the
crazy one. Just once, I
wanted the sky to wake
up on time & remind us
of the little mouths with
no names except erasure.
I could have lived on that:
every angle a limb could
break. Every way his body
yawned into my grasp,
treading the bloodstream,
light going limp, his eyes
that swum & stunk of
remembering.