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Editor’s Letter
One of my earliest memories is visiting my grandmother in the small town of De Soto, Wis. I remember being fixated on the appliance providing the air that supported her emphysema, a shiny, alien-like oxygen tank squatting in her living room. The lingering vision of that corner of midwestern space—it’s not indirect enough to be what Freud called a screen memory, an anodyne remembrance obscuring something more traumatic. But the fact that I emotionally, viscerally reacted to the news last August that David Lynch was housebound with that disease and on supplemental oxygen, indicates that maybe it did function that […]
