Well, here it is: the fifth issue of Twisted Moon. Don’t mind us, we’re still sweeping up the cobwebs and drawing dicks in the dust on the mantelpiece of the Twisted Moon Manor — it’s been a little while, but we’re still here.
Like so much other work born amid “unprecedented times,” “the new normal,”, and all the other fever-pitch idioms that litter our communications, we can’t pretend that we’re making art entirely separate from a pandemic, but we can find pockets of comfort, care, compassion, craving, wanting, and aftercare.
Here, we hope to offer a respite. We are leaning weird and tactile in this issue, delighting in strangeness. The erotic is, after all, about embodiment, texture and touch — whether or not bodies are even involved. Where else but the speculative can we explore a myriad imaginings of what forms sexuality might take, from insectoid to flora to alien to beyond comprehension, but sparking something erotic despite ourselves.
So: Make yourself some tea or a stiff drink, pull up a big cosy blanket, settle yourself down, maybe take off your pants, breathe into your own body, and read. Maybe even escape.
We hope you and yours are well. Stay safe and sublime, dear cosmonauts.
Hester J. Rook, P. Edda, Liz Duck-Chong & Selene Maris