2003-2008

EULOGY

by: Chris Vieau, Co-Editor

Like a scene from “Amadeus,” a copy of Issue Two of The Means loomed menacingly over me when I came into work this week.  An unknown benefactor had placed a previously lent copy carefully on my desk, but I couldn’t help but sense the symbolism in that gesture.  I was staring at the specter of two men’s dreams embodied in this lifeless tome.  It beckoned me to be a pallbearer at its funeral, carrying home this unique and poignant issue to its final resting place in my hall closet where it will indefinitely lie until recycled, or buried with me someday as a mark of my achievements.  With a saddened heart, I announce to you that The Means has passed on after four years of joy and a final painful year of slow decay. 

This particular copy of Issue Two had seen better days, like the day that I, as its god, shed daylight upon opening the box it was shipped in.  Or when I gently bejeweled it with the soft velvety cerulean and puce striped wraps in which it was to be delivered to its new owners.  Now, after months of wear, the corners are bent and pages have creases of age.  The shelf life of any good book can be found in how tattered and torn it is.  The front cover: milk stained scars and scabs of petrified dust.  Even the pink border has turned pallid.  And yet like most of us in the throes of aging have discovered, those exterior blemishes never discount from the actual content of whom or what we are inside.  This copy of Issue Two was so much to so many people.  For the writers whose work we prominently featured, Issue Two represented a chance to accentuate our dying mediums’ precise reasons and rights for existence; for those interviewed, an opportunity to demonstrate how long fought-for prowess yields success; and for its two editors, a chance to feel an honest and pure connection with the pulse of the written word within the writing world. 

To morosely eulogize a dream like ours is also folly, I realize.  I’ve always attached this Dharmic sense of reincarnation with all texts.  That so long as a chord has been struck and an idea has been sparked, no text is ever truly deceased.  Proof of The Means’ glorious legacy can be found simply in the emails we’ve received from you, our loyal and trustworthy readership.  The single most rewarding experience I’ve had as co-Editor of this publication has been hearing not just from those we’ve published, but from those we encouraged to do more with their writing.  I will carry with me always the words of Jamie Edlin: 

Encouragement is rare, and writing poetry can be a lonely task…My greater point is that your [encouragement letter], though for you it may have been a simple gesture, resonates with me daily. You wrote it in October and it still makes ripples––and will for a long, long time to come. I almost didn't mind the rejection! I have since written a ton, understanding that none of it is publishable as of yet, but also understanding that it will be one day…As I read back over this email, I think, This is so ardent it's almost risky. Well, at the risk of what-have-you, thank you thank you thank you. 

We echo those thanks, Jamie.  We’ve encountered the most amazing human beings imaginable, many of whom are just grateful to know that some publications care.  That not all are soulless assembly-lines of rejection letters.  It was always our intention to take time and care with people’s work, because no matter how shitty or sublime, it represented a manifestation of thought we would never argue against.   

I’d also like to acknowledge those who played an integral role in seeing The Means transfer from conception to reality.  First, my parents, Donna and Mike Vieau, who gave us our first million to work with.  Sorry we’re so bad with money, we only managed to keep a grand of that startup money after wasting the rest on scotch and video games. 

To our significant others, Amber and Katie, who not only put up with us becoming recluses most nights while we stressed and toiled over our creation, but who also then, despite knowing what becomes of those who take on monumental tasks, volunteered their services to help see our dreams become realities. 

To those who have submitted, our utmost benevolent gratitude.  I can’t help but feel like a director of a play with a cast of superstars, all while hiding behind the fact I’ve barely acted a lick in my life.  Your writing far surpasses ours, but we’re working diligently to best you! 

And finally, on a personal note.  To Tanner, who has kept me honest during times when I just wanted to play video games and fester in my own stench after a hard day working the shittiest job imaginable, I thank you profoundly for being my best pal, committed business partner, and Instant Messenger confidant every night of the week.  I can only say that I look forward to our next project, which hopefully has no overhead costs but yields us millions, or happiness on par to what The Means did in its heyday.  There are still endangered species we must sup on, books on defecation to write, and our opus on relationships and gaming, while ever-evolving, will soon need to move from conception to print. 

So in fond remembrance of such a wonderful landmark in our lives, I bid farewell to The Means.  It has ultimately propelled us all forward as writers, thinkers, and above all else, human beings.  Go forth armed with sharpened quills, opal ink, and tattered parchment.   

Document humanity.  It needs you more than you know.

 

Issue One - United States - $6.50 $1.50 off the cover price! (S&H included)

 

Issue One - International - $12.50 $1.50 off the cover price! (S&H included)

 

Issue Two - United States - $8.00 (S&H included)

 

Issue Two - International - $14.00 (S&H included)

Issue Two Point Five - $7.10 + S&H