A Letter from the Editors

It is I again. How are you? Are you finding this all still fun? Am I? Don’t know for all but yeah why not? Well maybe cancel that “why not?” because I still have sightless eyes that see and if I get to thinking, a little too much you know, oh hell I’m ready to pack it all in and considered what’s lived good enough. I remember what Mom always said as she neared her equinox “you’ll never catch me kicking and screaming”. I’d always think back then whenever she’d say this as she drank and smoked, “Wow, she’s not tethered too tightly to this Earth.”
And she wasn’t. And she died at age sixty-six from a cerebral stroke, brought on by excessive cigarette smoking and alcohol drinking. She was born in 1935. Just think of what she must have seen. Just think of what she must have experienced. During World War II she was a young girl. By 1955 she was elected Queen of the Snows at the St. Paul, Minnesota, Winter Carnival. Married in 1957 by July 20, 1961 she gave birth to me. For the life of me, though I was present at the time, I wonder what that was like? What it must have been like giving birth to my mind? For how else would she continue to experience herself except through me? Or was it the other way round?
Oh Lord Yeah! Lord Yeah, may we ask, how for us to be cool? Lord Yeah say: “Read ‘Beatnik Cowboy’ young-wet-behind-the-ears and look for the new Beatnik Cowboy Press book coming out”.
And we, the editors here at this, well, this “magazine” if you could call it that, have no reason to discount this statement. At least not yet anyways do we harbor quarrelsome doubt but nonetheless we’ll keep you posted on this for the time being.
As for what we do have dig these new and older poets we are discovering. And groove on with your righteousness as it most certainly shall be.
Randall Rogers

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