We have a fondness for music.

This is to say: we like music that claws at our ribcage and steals the air from our lungs. Music just as soft as it is sharp, just as intimate as it is limitless. We like music that kisses hard and loves deep. Music that never flinches. Lightning storm music. Tiger claw music. Music tender and tremulous. Music grounded in reality, shrouded in enchantment, born from stardust, bathed in sunlight. Music that knows living is an art in itself. Music that guts you, then turns around and makes you feel unfathomably whole.

Half Mystic, established in July of 2015, is an independent publishing house and literary journal dedicated to the celebration of music in all its forms.

We like creators with √©tudes nestled between their ribs and sonatas shivering beneath their spines, creators of work that thrums deep in our marrow and kicks us in the face with drumbeats of ache. Our staff, readers, contributors, and authors have been published and profiled in Best of the Net, Best American Poetry, Best New Poets, The Paris Review, Rolling Stone, NPR, The Huffington Post, The Chicago Tribune, and The New York Times, and are Pushcart Prize, MTV Video Music Awards, and Grammy nominees. Our international community is based around a love of music in every transcendent, resonant form it dreams throughout the universe. Our semi-annual issues are limited edition, keepsake collections of art, lyrics, and writing celebrating a musical theme. Our books are experiments in love and wildness and uncertainty, the heartbeat of humanity set to a 4/4 time signature.

Everything we create is another one-man dance party, another half-empty jar of rosin, another yellowed score. We believe in music as harmony, as dissonance, as wandering, as wondering, as running, as hiding, as finding, as writing it all down afterwards. We believe in music as cataclysm. We believe in music as listening to the ghosts. We believe in music as the language of truth.

Our work is like a city teetering on the edge of silence, and then it is song.

If you like that sort of thing, we will probably get along beautifully.