Gatherings

Do You Have the Time, Do You Hate Your Life? / Songs for February

February is at once tender & trembling, moving & still. Most of this month has been spent preparing for my upcoming trip to Europe (t-minus one week!)—buying coats & scarves, booking Eurail tickets & AirBnB’s, practising my French. & in the mean time, I’m putting things in order, tending to old scars & softened things, frequenting a small posy of favourite European places in the neighbourhood (cafés, florists, antique stores, restaurants). I’ve been planning & looking forward to this trip for a year now & I can’t wait to see the gorgeous continent in all its brilliant art-brimming winter-stained glory.

Two quick notes: Half Mystic Press’ new book, Cranesong by Rona Wang, comes out February 13th! It’s our very first short story collection, a deeply bright thing that explores the trauma that clutters our bones, the echoes that infuse our language, every dawn that insists on spinning into existence despite it all. At the same time, the book lingers inside wild wind, consumes the cartography of longing, interrogates all the colours piano music can hold. The stories in Cranesong pinwheel from realm to realm—some fantastical, some deeply modern, and some settling in between. Yet there is an ancestral lineage that braids them together. These characters don't exist in the same world, but if they did, perhaps they'd recognise each other. You can preorder the book here.

Also, if you live in Munich, Salzburg, Vienna, Venice, Rome, London, Oxford, or Paris, please do give me a shout! I am meeting several readers while I’m in the area & would be so thrilled to go out for coffee or drinks with you.

In the mean time: enjoy February’s mixtape, dear friends! Here’s hoping your month is full of unknowable sweetness & outpaced love.

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous

on earth we’re briefly gorgeous—pinkdot 2018 with readers & friends alike, the brightest smiles, the loudest songs, the tenderest souls true & imagined—so in love with this sunlit afternoon, this dizzy magic, this rainbow-scented dream, this feeling that maybe-just-maybe our country loves us exactly as we are, nothing more & certainly nothing less—i think i will forever remember our sunburns as haloes