.:|ISSUE FORTY SIX|:.

EDITORS' NOTE

Letisia Cruz & Heather Lang

In our first 2016 issue, we contemplated Bob Dylan's words: “All I can do is be me, however that is"; in our ISSUE 23 editors' note, we explored how the past might affect the future, and how sound shapes our experiences.

 

Over the course of the year, we delved into everything from scars to Still Life, porosity to badass ladies, to prom queens, to shadows, to monsoons, to superstitions. In ISSUE 29 we talked about the "many interacting worlds" hypothesis in quantum mechanics, and we explored the possibility of many versions of self. ISSUE 42, on the brink of the presidential election, contemplated change and transformation.

 

ISSUE 46, our final issue of 2016, brings us fittingly to the swooping motion of the current. We have no idea what 2017 has in store, and not knowing is often what terrifies us most. As we dive into the vast unknown—“the wild blueberries bleeding out over steel-cut oats,” we once again take comfort in the familiar.

 

Here at Petite Hound Press, that means coming full circle and closing out the year in the same way we started. It’s not difficult to do—in fact, the opportunity perfectly presented itself.

 

Anyone who has seen Patti Smith’s performance at the 2016 Nobel Prize Award Ceremony this month knows that she brought the house to tears, and with good reason—she was transcendent in the way that only Patti Smith can be. Rain is essential. And perhaps Bob Dylan said it best when he wrote: “And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.”

 

Happy Holidays from Petite Hound Press! See you in 2017!

ARTIST Logan Riley made his way from the Mountains to the sea, snuck down under then hopped to the big city. Now he's in the desert writing and drawing strange news and strange things. >>https://strangenewsfromlasvegas.wordpress.com/<<
 

POET Andrew Romanelli is a Las Vegas native and rapscallion who can’t seem to decide between a bottle and running miles in the dark. Writing is the only constant and his definition begins between the pale blue lines of a composition book before ever finding the acceptance of eyes that lay upon it.   

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