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April, 1999 Greetings. Thanks for coming. And once again I offer an apology for delays. I should probably abandon the notion of deadlines for Eye Caramba because it just stresses me out and the world probably doesn't notice that much anyway. I am pleased to have received a lot of positive response over the past few months since the premiere issue hit the virtual newstands. Also, I have noticed a few reviews out there on the internet and those too are encouraging. I will post some reviews, awards and feedback after i finish getting this issue up and running. As for the rest of the 'State of the Magazine,' all is well. You will notice more of a balance between the photography and writing in this issue. There is some fine writing here, so do a little reading please and offer feedback. Also, you will notice fewer features among the visual artists and the introduction of 'The Salon,' an area where I am going to curate selected works from photographer submissions. Next issue will bring another addition which will be an announcement section for publishing opportunities, call for entries, contests and the like which will be of interest to artists and writers. As always, I will gladly entertain suggestions. Now that the pleas and announcements are out of the way. It has been a busy few months really. Besides pulling together this, the second issue of Eye Caramba, I have been producing new work for a show which went up at Occupied Space, here in Minneapolis a couple of weeks ago. Throw in a couple of quick trips, a couple of photo jobs, updates to my own photography website and a couple of guest lecture gigs and it feels a little tight as far as time goes. Ah, just how far does does time go? I truly do not mean to get too philosophical on your nickel but it seems i cannot write off the top of my head without getting quickly mixed up into an absurd sequel to my original thought and, in a blink, i am somewhere else, on a time-space sabbatical, where a young River Phoenix, is my neighbor up the street, circa 1974, and we have this bitching bike ramp in the woods and Janet Leigh runs a sweet shop where a bloody knee will buy a shake and a sucker and it seems that there is nothing more important than to get over to the high school basketball game because Julie is going to be there and on and on. Do you know what I'm getting at? So, I struggle with my tendency to digress. Luckily, I am not an Air Traffic Controller and my condition doesn't seem to present too many problems. Reality is but one frequency on the FM dial where 'F' is for 'freely' and 'M is for 'mutable'. Speaking of which, I click the signal left, clutch, ease into second, three on a tree in a velvet roadster, release, glide smoothly, loosen my grip on the steering as the wheels right themselves under me and I am out of here. To the artists and writers, thank you again. It is really a privilege to publish such work. That's all for now,
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