manifesto season

we felt it boiling up like a new pandemic

while I forefronted a name in the first note, my overall goal little-publishing with goathead-as-masthead is to carve into what it will take to keep alive now and here—the wind-raked greater southwest borderlands and high desert—which in my experience includes

collaborative regionalism, 
care, 
ferocity, 
experimentation, 
cross-pollination, 
open-endings, 
the drawing out of dreams (many neighbors are good about this), 
bravery, 
shade, 
sneaking out but staying hydrated, 
treating injuries, 
seeing things, 
tuning into howling and nocturnes, 
facing histories as they rear up, 
asking advice from the dead and buried nearby (e.g., my great-grandmother on my not-tubercular side who, exiled from her upbringing, moved that part of family I was also born into here), 
proper grieving,
photo by mw: tiny desert dog in adobe window with sad succlent and box fan. a couple years after this scene and the covid-19 pandemic rolling out, an E.R. nurse told me she was unnerved by the quantity of injuries from dogs biting people she’d been treating all week. she grew up in the San Andreas Fault system, she said, gluing my nose back together because teeth from a different dog (not pictured) had ripped it. you can give all the love you want right now, she said, shaking her head and dabbing, but this many dogs biting could warn of something like an earthquake.

the more nuts-and-bolts of what I’m striving for: repurposing my formerly inkstained habits to publish musings of mine and other deserted collaborators on a weekly basis, though this initial revving up will see posts arrive more erratically, so thank you for your patience. more in-depth or investigatory items especially take more time and effort, and as there is a lot of wretched community political theater of the grotesque not being booed earnestly enough, be forewarned that critical local reviews may also appear.

monthly posts for longform or experimental detours, also open to collaboration with other contributors, will be especial for subscribers (thank you already!!!).

another wish is to migrate to a publishing form that’s useful but not terrible, building this up as a shared and multimedia effort.

pretty please, share goathead dispatches that speak to you. and even better, if you can, subscribe and encourage others to join us here. the material benefits of your support are real, with proceeds used wisely for basics like paying contributors, internet, keeping lights and roofs on, public transit fare, etc.

practicing journalism professionally infested my brain with many bad things but also a code of ethics; your subscription income and expenditures will be disclosed regularly.

in keeping good confidence, you can send (encrypted as possible) email about story and collaboration ideas as well as investigatory tips to: margaret.wright @ protonmail. com. please think about reaching out if you’ve found yourself rooting around a high deserted place and would like to contribute and conjure up more good works.


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staying alive in the desert & up late to let moonlight in

People

staying alive in the desert / up late to let moonlight in / by Margaret Wright & friends / via New Mexico, USA