{ note 6/6/19 }

for whose body is mine a clue. sometimes I ask. yesterday I had a panic attack. not out of, but yanked into, the blue. up all night with all the ways my children might die. in reading others, I feel often that I’ve ruined another’s writing. loneliness and its quest to be an imposition. I hope it gets there.

I wrote this, previously: I am from the future. I miss you.

anyway, while working to change some of what {isacoustic*} does, or offers, I’ve decided to open submissions again. however, {isacoustic*} is not currently, as it was once, a paying market. it will be again. but not, now.

-Barton

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