Preface to a dream, Alessandra Casini, 2023
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Black light Star Trek poster
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“Destiny” Sacred Geometry by Uusi, from Supra Oracle card deck
Moebius
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Our Wives Under The Sea
Julia Armstrong
Romance, horror, ocean, queer, lesbian, slow burn, mystery, suspense, sci-fi, grief
4.2/5
Miri’s grief is nothing new. It’s a presence she’s long become accustomed to by nature of her wife’s job — an intrepid submariner — as every time Leah leaves for an expedition, there’s always a hint of worry and anxiety and the discomfort of being left to wait.
Miri’s grief is nothing new. From the first day past the stated duration of Leah’s three-week long expedition, from the ensuing six months of MIA radio silence, to the next full year of her inexplicable, dubious and sickly return; grief is Miri’s only constant. She has thought Leah dead for a very long time.
It’s frustrating to see the two of them go about each other at times. Leah’s state of mind is fractured, her body unquestionably mutating; but Miri’s head is waterlogged with intense blooms and swells of emotions, from self-doubt to denial to normalization and hope. Life keeps going on, and so does Miri, doing her best to keep Leah going on. Her perspective is a pendulum bob swinging between now and back then, between a truth that repulses her and a past that still lives. Miri keeps going on, to a point that the reader finds utterly incomprehensible. One of Leah’s eyes pops like an underwater bubble; her skin turns into the translucent film of jellyfish; her mass reduces to that of plastic bags filled up with water. Miri doesn’t stop, and the audience goes along with her.
Until the point beyond that, which is that there is no explanation for Leah’s condition, that there is no motive to uncovered behind her sabotaged expedition, and that there is no way for her to get better. That is when the grief hits you.
The heartbreak doesn’t just happen; it’s been happening. It seems gentle and inevitable, like holding your arms out at sea and letting the waves embrace you. Leah has gone into the water. We have always known this.
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Bernie Wrightson’s Frankenstein
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William Hartmann’s “Moon Dust Illuminated by the Sun”
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From a 1979 issue of Future Life
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