Song of the Broad-Axe Publications

Notes from the Editor's Desk - 7/27/21

Notes from the Editor's Desk - 7/27/21

Without an open heart, the dynamics of the world appear steadfast, resolute but lacking utterly in resolution, and thereby the point is missed. Sitting on the platform’s farthest bench with Q— under arm brought to bear the wondrous calm. Fibril ends, whether in foliage’s extremis or the lusty song of birds guised, formed a constellation whereby the idea that all there is is all, myself a nothing, was proved. Bikers passed on the trail just beyond the divisions of the fence. The atmosphere continued to shift; and then, as the twig and songbird at first, the train arrived and it was time to part. In the wake of her absence, the entity that strives constantly began its workings, which, because of the scale of the space created by sitting with my sweet, had yet to create the illusion of captivity. So it was that a rare glimpse into the genesis of toil was afforded me. This entity needed to, or seemingly did, work upon itself before it could obtain its preferred station at the forefront of this condition that allows it to be. Its work on me was forestalled by my interest in its workings. In a fully developed state, we fail to recognize this striving, although we recognize its byproduct, anger, frustration, hopelessness among these, but this nonetheless takes place within an ultimately neutral condition. We are like a mountain that mistakes itself for the mining done within it. Proust’s testaments to what reading was, was not only a testament to the knowledge laid down in literature, but it also suggests the special relationship of the neutral space, the one that allows for the often terrible workings of the entity we call self, and for abiding literature. Literature has the power to transport; and as with leaving one’s love at the train station, appreciating the difficulty of this act, but also recognizing that the parting will not be long, to close a book and watch the state of reading subside demonstrates that the entity that produces grief is not entitled to a special place within the neutral principle of being.

On the Waning Hours, a Passage -- by Alex Ranieri

On the Waning Hours, a Passage -- by Alex Ranieri

On a Coyote, a Passage -- by Alex Ranieri

On a Coyote, a Passage -- by Alex Ranieri

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