Look, basically, it’s been a shit six months.
We all know it. You don’t need telling. When we’ve woken up, reached under our pillows and taken our first bleary-eyed scroll through our phones, there’s been a good chance we’re going to be reading something unprocessable.
Orlando, Don Dale, Nauru, Kanagawa. Canberra. Too much to even attempt real coverage of, in a brief zine foreword. And this feeling, a sensation like concrete thickening over your diaphragm, week after week.
It’s a communal sensation. There’s this synchronicity in social technologies, allowing us to hear news all at once, react all at once, grieve together, make meaning of it together; ‘us’ being the communities we build through it.
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