FFR 201
Dearest Connoisseurs of the Unlaced Truth,
It is with a certain bewildered alacrity, a kind of feverish tranquility that only the damp, moss-laden air of Orono, Maine, can engender, that we present to you the latest iteration of this frankly inexplicable endeavor, the Fowl Feathered Review. One often finds oneself, after the inevitable descent into the day's mundane arithmetic, pondering the very fabric of existence, or perhaps merely the curious trajectory of a dust mote in an errant shaft of sunlight, only to be jolted by the realization that another quarter has inexplicably elapsed, demanding, with an almost preternatural insistence, the assembly of these disparate, often alarming, literary contributions.
This issue, a shimmering, slightly disheveled plumage of thought, is particularly noteworthy for drawing its intellectual sustenance, its very vital essence, from the strangely fertile grounds of Nodaway County, Missouri. Yes, Nodaway, a name that, when whispered aloud, seems to invite a gentle, almost involuntary inclination of the head, a drowsy acquiescence to the very peculiar currents of the subconscious. What obscure intellectual flora, what bizarre, nocturnal avian species of prose must flourish in those plains, to produce such singular, untamed voices? Their contributions, we assure you, are not merely transcribed thoughts, but rather the very seismic tremors of minds grappling with the ineffable, the exquisite agony of perfect recall, or the precise, almost surgical dissection of a moment's fleeting, trivial beauty.
You will discover within these pages the meticulous mapping of forgotten alleyways of memory, the relentless gaze upon the minutiae of human failing, and the sudden, delightful rupture of logic, all held together by the merest gossamer threads of narrative coherence.But wait, there is more, for this particular volume, bound not by conventional adhesives but by a shared, almost conspiratorial understanding of the world's inherent absurdity, holds a secret, a subterranean passage, as it were, into realms both proximate and terrifyingly remote.
We invite you, dear reader, should your fingers possess that delicate, almost imperceptible tremor of intellectual curiosity, to press upon the humble illustration of the canoe—that ancient vessel of quiet passage, symbol of journeys both profound and utterly pointless—and observe.
Do not be alarmed should the very pixels, or perhaps the fibers of the page itself, seem to dissolve, for you will find yourself, with a gasp perhaps, or a mere flutter of the eyelids, suddenly immersed in a satellite piece of short fiction, a narrative secreted away, orbiting the main body of this review like a minor moon, a whisper from a parallel dimension. It is a testament to the fact that even in the most ostensibly straightforward of presentations, labyrinths abound, and the deepest revelations often lie just beneath the surface of the most unassuming images.Navigate these depths, if you dare, and emerge, as always, slightly altered, wonderfully disoriented.
Sincerely,
Virgil Kay
Editor,
Rooster,
China Wok Habitué
PDF is attached.
e-Book version
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