The days are starting to race. Winter is still mild, in that vaguely threatening climate-change way that we’re getting worryingly used to out here. Email and social media are now thoroughly tamed, and the shape of the next year is starting to announce itself. 2016 took a while to get moving, but now the connections are happening and the words are coming. Sometimes it’s like that, I guess, especially in those winters when the cold and damp gets into my bones. Hooray for climate change and our eventual doom, I guess. Approaching horror has its own kind of adrenaline rush, maybe. And it’s clearly going to be an insane year that I need to be in better shape for. I said, the other week, to some consternation and horror from my few readers, that “even my dreams work for a living.” But that feels good, right now. It feels like progress and energy. If I can’t pause, then I may as well race. Not dead yet. Onwards.
Peter Sjostedt-H has a fantastic essay called “Antichrist Psychonaut” in issue IV of PSYCHEDELIC PRESS.