Dear Reader,

A few days ago, I sent falowair issue 7 to the printer. I am proud of myself for sticking to deadlines, even if pushed to their limits.

This issue is meandering and odd, truly a scrapbook of various moments from the past two months of my life. Among them, candid film photographs from the last days of summer, some loose thoughts scribbled into my diary, and an unusual drawing I spent hours working on.

The one piece I was most surprised and delighted by was a bit of audio transcribed from a meeting I had with a friend. They spoke so openly and honestly about their thoughts on the ways in which we all perform—to covince others of the versions of ourselves we wish for them to see.

Like how I am always performing on nights out with friends that I smoke. Standing in that way smokers do, with the dart perched just so between my fingers, moving with dramatic gestures as I take faux puffs from the unlit cig. This is a gag I do that my friends are both sick of and accustomed to. Although an extreme example, this motif of the smoker is threaded throughout the issue, sometimes in ways only I can see.

The clearest examples bookend the issue: at the front, a found poem mentions it verbatim, and at the back, a note on a paper scrap reminds me to unearth a certain photo of myself “smoking,” which I was unable to find. Smoking appears in invisible ways too, like the references to time spent in bars where my friends would regularly slip outside for one, leaving me alone at the table with my thoughts.

The napkin I share on the cover of this issue exemplifies this best: The common trope of inspiration striking, catching a person off guard, in a place like the bar. I even tried to encorperate a cigarette into the drawing shared inside but wasn't loving the composition and so only the ghost of that attempt remains, if you look closely.

Found note on the back of *falowair* issue 7.

For me, finding these connections in my work is what validates my decisions in the process of putting this zine together. It makes me feel like I'm accessing some complicated truth, like math. Brushing up against some alien rule that, if I spend enough time with, I can have a bit of access to.

As usual, I'll send a note out to Patreon members once this issue ships. If you are interested in receiving future issues of falowair in your mailbox each month, I'd love for you to become a member.

Thanks for reading,

-Kolton

PS: I finished writing this letter at precisely 8:20 am, the title I gave the poem featured in issue 7.

Kolton Procter is a publisher and editor based in Coast Salish territories. His work spans zines, magazines, and artist books, with a focus on championing emerging voices. He is the publisher and editor of the monthly perzine falowair and the art and literature publication Found You Magazine.

No Smoking 🚭: Thoughts on Falowair Issue 7