“Humans have evolved to their relatively high state by retaining the immature characteristics of their ancestors. Humans are the most advanced of mammals – although a case could be made for the dolphins – because they seldom grow up. Behavioral traits such as curiosity about the world, flexibility of response, and playfulness are common to practically all young mammals but are usually rapidly lost with the onset of maturity in all but humans.”
This is to say that humanity has advanced, when it has advanced, not because it has been sober, and cautious, but because it has been playful, and rebellious. We are observing a case for evolution through a world that a man now must define in the face a world that questions it.
We must know to stand, speak and to write—to give to the voices whose music has been silenced, to seek the common dignity of man.
In the absence of consciousness, our world traverses into crisis. It is the work of artists to give back ideas as explorers to the universe, to our own species. And so I seek a haven in the words of this issue:
But really it is we who need the words, and we give them
hoping that at night when the fox rises in his brand new
golden coat and rides like a king to his throne,
he will not judge us too harshly.
That’s the dark part of a dream, not the dream where I’m
at the plate, bottom of the 9th , bases loaded, down by three.
Not that dream. Although left-handed, I should’ve been a pitcher,
or an infielder, or outfielder. No, I should’ve been a pitcher.
My first quote would’ve been,
“I didn’t give up a hit. I was setting up a double play.”
We are both children of Radio Armenia
painting the sky with doves in the movie seen together
through the tears welling carving “it was all in vain”
on the gravestones of the uneducated
the light coming through your body with a star in your hand
to explain our way of reacting to the world.
I feel as if I have stepped out of time into a realm where there is only this moment, the baby on my lap, the soft murmur of prayer, the brilliant stars in this deepest, darkest night. And I may not know who I am anymore, but for now, I don’t need to know. It is enough to be here.
This is to say that words transcend to convey more than meanings. They contain beauty that abounds in playfulness of our minds. So much bigger on the inside. So different, unlike anything we have ever seen. It is not perfect. It need not be. But there is consolation in knowing that our minds touch. Our minds touch.
Do we not live for such miracles, such warmth that embraces, that is playful? I am beyond elated to introduce the first issue of The Cerurove to you. So let yourself be kindled. Let yourself journey this vast consciousness, and beauty of these poets', prose writers' and artists' works, whose playfulness steers humanity. Allow your minds to be touched, even if it’s brief. There is so much that is waiting to happen.
Founder & Editor-in-Chief