Editor’s Note

Editor’s Note

Nine Halloweens ago, Pour Vida’s inaugural issue was unleashed upon the world, stitched together like Frankenstein’s monster, only we had a lot more love for our creation than ol’ Victor did. Still, to think that eight years and nine Halloweens have passed since Issue #1 is somewhat surprisingly, a little staggering, but mostly humbling. This ‘zine was born out of a desire to showcase our collective of talented friends and connect with other creatives beyond our purview. I have the fondest memories of stitching together that first issue. Adam Martinez and I would come home from grad classes near 10 PM, crack a few Newcastle Werewolfs, and debate the table of contents. That issue and autumn were bursting with possibility. Which brings me to this issue and this autumn. After all these years obsessively wandering the October Country — both personally and in the capacity of PV — I’ve come to accept this very specific, incredibly special time of the year means something different to everyone. For some, it’s watching the goriest slashers every to defile celluloid. For others, it’s simply carving a jack-o-lantern on Halloween night and setting it out on the porch. And these are simply two extremes of acknowledging the season. For me, someone that lives year-round in the October Country, it’s the little flourishes of autumn that tend to take me by surprise and bring me the most joy. It’s the fleeting moment when you’re standing in an open space (maybe on the tracks of a long-defunct railway) and feeling that insinuating autumn breeze runs crisp-hot by your ears, orchestrating that high-pitch dog-whistle of a sound that reminds you that you’ve wandered into a strange land, where eerie happenings aren’t just possible but encouraged by the atmosphere and its beautifully twisted physics. Welcome to the October Country. Find your joy in its light and dark corners. - Danny De Maio, PV co-founder and co-editior-in-chief

“RE: Interview #17, John Jason, Civilian Bus Driver” by Michael Tesauro

September 09, [redacted]: Today’s subject, John Jason, 53, says he is a veteran driver. He says that this statement works two ways: first, because he is a veteran of the United States Army, Forward Command Infinite, having served during the third Gulf War, colloquially known as the Fuel Wars; second, he has also been a civilian hydrobus driver for over a decade. Veteran, he says, is a double entendre. You should take note of this, he instructs. As noted, Jason’s current occupation is city hydrobus driver for the Jurupa Valley Transit Authority. He wears the colors of his trade to his interview: pressed navy slacks and a charcoal gray polo shirt. Over his left breast pocket is a silver pin engraved with his first name. Jason says he mastered transportation during his military service, long before leaving the armed forces in 2036. Honorable discharge, he says. Take note of this. “The military was my best option,” he says. “What else was I going to do without a mind for blockchain? Driving around in circles isn’t hard. Better than dodging bullets and landmines. Plenty of crazy people though. They say it’s the metal in the air.” Jason insists that we note his current role is his second civilian transportation job. Immediately after discharge, he worked for a now-defunct charter company in the Los Angeles Inner Corridor called New Pacific Charter Systems, LLC. Jason says this brought him to both regulated and cordoned locales in the Pacifica region. This was before [redacted], he says. “We did a lot of leisure trips for old people with money,” he says. “We took them to a lot of bingo halls and casinos before you guys requisitioned the Indian lands.” Jason also says the charter company would transport firefighters from the penal colonies to the fire complexes. Records state that he is one of the last people to see living trees in North Pacifica. “Remember when the redwoods went up?” he says. “I saw it up close, not on a holoscreen like everyone else watching from home.” Mention of holoscreen indicates possible organic interaction trauma. Take

note.

[Redacted] Jason’s military records state that he spent his 11 years of service driving early century gasoline-powered transportation vehicles. He was on a team that moved fuel cells for tanks, jets, and drones. The last company to use gas powered MRAPs, he says. Take note. “Using real gas, seeing the last drops of it – that was a real honor.” Jason joined the military in 2025; after basic training, he was given a choice between infantry scout and fuel transporter, based on his predictive cognition test results. Scouts were often victims of improvised explosive devices, he says.

[Redacted] “We’d find like a boot and pieces of their guts spread across the opium fields after they stepped on a landline.” Take note. In 2030, Jason was sent to the occupied region formerly known as Afghanistan. His role in Operation Resolution and Independence was driving a refueling tanker between operational bases. He says that while he was in Afghanistan, the skies were always black, even in the middle of the afternoon, every afternoon. Take note. “I saw the oil fires in the desert,” he says. “The last of the oil and [redacted]. Right there. Burning right out of the ground in these giant pillars of fire. Biblical shit, you know?” Jason says that he and his platoon would joy ride through the Helmand Province in a gas-powered MRAP. Once, they went so far they could see the edges of Lashkar Gah before [redacted]. Another time, he says, they spent an afternoon running over civilians in Mazar-i-Sharif. He jumps from his chair, mimicking what he says it felt like for an MRAP to drive over a dead body. “Rubber wheels,” he says, creating a circle with his two hands. “I miss them. You could really feel it when you ran something over.” Jason mimics how they would shoot the mounted M2HB-QCB ballistic weapon into the open-air market place. His finger pulls an invisible trigger. “Ever seen a bone pop out of skin?” he says. “Not many people have, especially not you admin types. You people just take notes behind your screens. Everything remote. Where are you even at on the other side? Lunar base? Fucking Mars? [redacted]” Jason stands from his chair and knocks on the holoscreen monitor. “You see these?” he says, pulling out faded bronze dog tags from beneath his shirt. “It means I fought for your freedom, for your escape. So you people can piss off into space and leave the rest of us this rotten planet.” He tucks his dog tags back into his loosen collar and shakes the holoscreen monitor again. The picture wavers, then static; the transmission corrects itself. Take

note.

[Redacted]