The 2020 Event |The Sideshows|

|Front Cover|I-1.1|I-1.2|I-1.3|I-1.4|I-2.1|I-2.2|I-3|II-1.1|II-1.2|II-1.3|II-1.4|II-1.5|
|II-1.6|II-1.7|II-1.8|II-1.9|II-1.10|II-1.11|II-1.12|II-2.1|II-2.2|II-2.3|II-2.4|II-2.5|II-2.6|
|II-2.7|II-2.8|II-2.9|II-3.1|II-3.2|II-3.3|II-4.1|II-4.2|II-4.3|II-4.4|II-4.5|II-5.1|II-5.2|
|II-5.3|II-5.4|II-5.5|II-5.6|II-5.7|II-5.8|II-5.9|II-6.1|II-6.2|II-6.3|II-6.4|III-1.1|III-1.2|
|III-1.3|III-1.4|III-1.5|III-1.6|III-2|IV-1.1|IV-1.2|IV-2.1|IV-2.2|IV-3.1|IV-3.2|
|Boardtrip|1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12|13|14|15|16|17|18|19|Back Cover|


1| Forward

A Pleasant Winter Day

Every day my grasp loosens. I once held it firm like a hand to the loop of a chihuahua’s chain, but the chain’s been greased. Oiled. Slicked in pot smoke and left out so simmer, to decarboxylate in the sun on a pleasant winter day when the temperature hits seventy for the third week in a row. The birds are falling out the sky. More corpses litter the road every day. The bears are coming out of hibernation early and deer are slaughtered without mercy, not even consumed; a woken bear kills for sport, nothing more.

And nothing less.

There’s nothing left of my hold. The platform wobbled. I dropped him off the tilt.

I’m so sorry, but only towards myself.

Never for myself.

I can still see him, he falls slowly into that great black abyss. Darkness samples this one only gingerly, with no onion nor garlic powder to speak of.

It wished for him to marinate before he’s cooked and grilled.

Very well then; from this day on, we move forever forward.

The maned man rides again.