EDITOR’S NOTE

The second issue of The Greyhound Journal finds us in the backlit alleys of Tokyo, half-illuminated by the warm glow of convenience stores and caught in the syrup of orange-red modernity. We are walking back home in 1951, observing Tokyo Station in 2013, running for our lives in 1853.

For me, Tokyo has always represented ambiguity, something outside the rigidity of modern urban anatomies. I have been able to find affinity with pieces that echo this uncertainty. Specifically, we chose work that moved back and forth, presenting images of a precarious landscape at the precipice of breaking, wherein the speaker experiences subtle emotions beyond their comprehension. Characters often occupy the role of “observer” or “visitor” in the periphery, but they are just as often locals, and their struggle for belonging in a world that reveals itself to be increasingly chaotic surfaces as they navigate the city’s winding streets and disappearing landscape. Emotions in Tokyo are complicated because it is always mutating; nostalgia is omni-present. Historical developments rarely directly afflict the characters, but the sense that a change has occurred pervades every narrative. Characters, set into motion like fish in a pond, often find themselves reaching for a vision of the past that will never come back into existence.

I hope that these emotions, scattered throughout space and time, are able to enrich the experience of the city. Welcome to VOL. II of the Greyhound Journal.

我们置身于东京的小巷中，便利店的暖光照亮了半条街。夜晚像是浓稠橘红的糖浆。 1951年，我步行回家；2013年，到达东京车站；1853年，偷偷溜上了一艘去印度的船。

对我来说，东京一直代表着模糊与不确定的情感，一种城市以外的边缘地带——我通常将其与霓虹灯、河流联系在一起。它变化的太快了，导致故事里的所有人都拥有着一种淡蓝的伤感，好似他们曾在一瞬间中意识到了自己的宿命。短暂的二十年内，这片土地变得高楼林立，而在二十年后又被夷为平地。那些楼房内的记忆都是真实的吗？一个人的生命又有几个二十年？

历史就是现在，一切正在发生。然而我莫名地想念那些永远不会重现的景象，那些破碎的转瞬即逝，如同斑驳的蝉翼。于是我回到了东京。

With love,

Bella Zhou

总编辑 / Editor-in-Chief