Through Dark Scopes and Under Misty Skies, Egged on by Promise.
“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.” – Paul of Tarsus
Our visions of the future were always going to be inaccurate. We’d glimpse futures, and they’d wriggle past, gifting us with uncertainty instead. I suppose the very act of visualizing or observing the future, like Heisenberg’s particles, makes it self-aware, tips it into change – those things you thought you knew taunt you, the wind titters and snickers as you fall stumbling, grasping after it. Will the future bring us a harsh nuclear poor dusty chaotic cannibalistic apocalypse? Will the worst part of ourselves win, like in our dark fiction? And what is their strange allure of dark science and futuristic tales, anyway? The Road. I am Legend. Bladerunner. 1984. Terminator: Judgement Day. Elysium. Resident Evil. Contemporary seers, just like John the Revelator, think we are heading for much worse, on an express train. But could there be hope in carnage? Can we avoid carnage? Are our lofty goals- equality, justice, liberty, fulfillment, friendship, family- just that, simply lofty? Will we barrel by bootstrap propulsion and serendipity, past our many woes? Where will our searches for global and personal dynamic equilibrium and forward motion towards ideal take us?
We only know the future imperfectly, but we can let the parts teach us, we can let the path show us where it’s going. We can decide if we want to go there. We can say where we’d rather go. We can ask difficult questions. We can strike out, as prepared as we can be, towards an ever-nebulous future, with never-nebulous resolve to get what we need- that better life, here and after. This issue of Klorofyl, therefore, is not an exercise in soothsaying- a dubious art many times, but an examination of cause and effect. Where are our decisions taking us? What does, could, tomorrow hold? What lies within those gearboxes of yearning, longing and nostalgia? What are the infinite possibilities of our infinite choices? How differently could our humdrum turn out? How much can we do, or low can we go? How will we perpetuate the sameness of humanity tomorrow, or the refreshing flourishes of human difference, on other tomorrows?
Klorofyl brings, as a small beginning of an answer, the Tomorrows Issue. What we present are our stories,our imperfect views of possibilities, real and fanciful, as through a glass. I think dark words push us to find clefts of safety, evasion, alternate possibilities, and imperatives for action, just as bright tales renew our ideals, our quest for light, and if possible, our hope.
We have lovingly coaxed this issue forth, as usual, distilled it from the aether of grave maybes, and purified it seven times. We give you this answer- blurry, sometimes fantastic, always striving. I thank the contributors, collaborators and editors that have slaved over this issue, and have given more, more, and even more- simply for the joy of art, our story, and our partnership. Thank you, thank you, and thank you. I thank you, reader, for stopping by this fourth issue of ours, incidentally coming in our fourth year. In this issue is our mix of poetry, photography, prose and digital art, all in pursuit of our answer, our question. We are also experimenting with a slightly different presentation. We crave your feedback as always, so do drop us a line sometime: feedback[at]klorofyl[dot]com, and @klorofylMag, on twitter.
Tomorrow beckons. Come, let’s. Onwards, onwards!