As I get older, the good conversations I have are fewer and more abstract in the best possible sense. A shift in consciousness seems to be occurring in the world that, conversationally, we are just now learning a language for. It is a language largely void of particulars, and knowing this—and that names are mere approximations—is instrumental to speaking it. Good art has always known this language, and it, along with nature, seems to remain our most effective conduit to the sublime. C.D. Wright and David Bowie both knew this, and served bravely as pioneers into, and translators of, the great beyond. With their deaths this month I thought, yet again, of the toll such kinship with "otherness" takes on an artist, and how isolating it can be. I wondered how much ballast one needs to live in this world, while also thinking beyond its confines. I also wondered what I would do without so many people in my life who routinely take to the air, defy convention, and snatch stars, songs, and poems from the sky. Fogged Clarity, more and more, feels like a family to me. I'm so grateful to be doing this, and to be working with so many individuals fluent in forgetting the limits of the world.
Enjoy this issue, may it speak to you.
Editor, Fogged Clarity