Dear Readers,
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away….
Zhihan L. starts us off in this very special space issue by rediscovering the space closest to all of us, home (1). Bahar T. falls waxes poetic about love, the moon, and the faces in the stars (2-3). In the fourth installment of Allison W.’s ghost-hunting serial It’s Not For Everyone, there’s a galactic storm a-brewin’ with aliens and authority on the horizon (4). Ross T. illustrates just office work will be like once we outsource it to space; the same arguments about whether the coffee is caffeinated or not still occur, but this time there’s a view (5)! A lightbulb goes off for Will S., who hops aboard a sentient space probe and reviews 17776, a multimedia speculative fiction narrative that tackles what happens when humanity solves all of its problems 15,750 years from now (8). Ross T. draws up and diagrams out just how we’ll all be preparing for spacewalks by then (9, 13). Next, queue up “Supermassive Black Hole” because it’s time to play ball! Lightning-bolt Dragon Ninja gives their account of the strange, unearthly sights encountered after the game, and makes you wonder whether you’ve been whacked in the head or just drunk too much cherry slushie (10). Finally, as spring break approaches and we complete the final countdown before blasting off to our own corners of the cosmos, Betsy W. invites us to kick the space dust off our boots and bids us a farewell that’s out of this world (14).
See you space cowboy,
Your Spring 2021 Editors
Aislin Lighter Steill, all this science, I don’t understand.
Bahar Tarighi, rocket man.
Erik Beserra, thinks it’s going to be a long, long time.
Lauren Mondroski, missing the earth so much, missing my wife.
Fiction by Zhihan Lei, Allison Wallace, and Jules Dubel
Illustration by Betsy Wight, Ross Tidwell, and Bahar Tarighi
Review by Will Stevens
Playlist by Grail & Friends
Playlist:
Space Walker
Odes to spacewalkers and aliens alike.
Reach for the stars,
The Grail
The hallway of our apartment complex was dim. The light turned on only when I made a noise. There was only one window, looking out from the narrow gap between apartments on the end of the hallway, and the sun never shone in. I had lived there, on the second floor in a twenty-story building, since the beginning of my memory. White paint hovered over the ceiling and ended by my calf, and the lower half was just grey.