oh no teens

There was nowhere left to go. Every movement was co-opted. The only way to go was back into the mouth of the beast and so the kids in our town started wearing polos with company logos on them and loitered in the aisles of those stores. Staying underfoot.

“Do you know where I can find office chairs?”

A contemptuously curled lip. “Sure, man. I’ll show you.” And they’d lead the customer around the store until they found it, like a real employee, the irony so understated that the only way you’d be able to tell is when the teen never drew a paycheck.

A prom full of young men wearing bright vests, pins on them declaring sales, all the girls with nametags and magnetic keys.

Gang graffiti at the commuter train station. Groups like The 401Ks. The Weekend Crew. Shipping and Receiving. A gang hideout decorated with the clipped neckties of rival crews and pamphlets about retirement communities. The teens filling binders with cut out pictures of toddlers, calling them The Grandkids, comparing them like trading card collections, like statements from a diversified portfolio.

We asked the teens why.

“I’m always happy to help a member of the media,” they said.

“Is there any chance I could get back to you after my shift,” they said, straightening shelves of product.

“I will live in any suburb,” they said, “and drive any vehicle that can hold an entire soccer team. I have sliced oranges in the back. For a snack at half-time.”

Teens teens teens. Why do we ever talk to them. Why do they do anything. When we were teens, it was different. And what are we now? At some point, we changed.

“Can we help you?” asked the teens, but they don’t mean it. They’ll grow out of it.


From 2011:  At an artistic retreat with good friends, I came up with the project documented here. I had a stack of multicolored disks that were never going to be used for anything, so I thought it might be fun to label them with contents that would be irresistible to anyone who found them.

The ideal for this project would have been to next glue these disks in public spaces so that the content would be doubly unavailable: on a dead format and secured in place. But it’s not in my nature, so here’s the next best thing: images online.

The Signal: EP134

The Signal: EP134 – Exactly 45 minutes of the music you didn’t think you needed. You thought you needed to spend your time learning how to fight with switchblades. Nope. Music. 45 minutes. That’s the key, it turns out.

(I mean, if you’ve got the switchblade already, don’t let me discourage you. Get real good at it. Carve your way through the urban jungles. But when you have some down time, I’ve got some beats and whatnot for you.)

This time out we’ve got dub music from Jamaica, electronic music created by an Iranian-American in Austin with a partner in Portugal via the internet, spooky songs about witches and Frankenstein, dangerous women, jazz, percussion, humming, and sorrow.

Download by clicking on the link (or image) above. The file is available only for a limited time. If you’re interested in the tracklist, it’s in the mp3 itself, in the id3 tags. Or, if you sign up to be a member of our mailing list, The Tuned In, you’ll be among the first on the planet to know when a new mix is posted, and you’ll get a permanent archive link and the entire playlist, delivered to your inbox.

Tarot Reading: Strictly Business

[tarot reading]
The medium deals out the cards. Each one, a business card.

“Your past: Dharmesh Singh, SEO Optimization. Words have held a powerful sway over your past.”

I nod sagely.

“Your future: Emily Langtree, certified public accountant. This could mean you’re going to be held accountable for your actions.”


“Your present: This is my card. After 10 visits, get 1 reading free.”

“Are there any other mediums here I could talk to instead?”

Oh, you’ve been to concerts?

Made merrye have I on many occasion, but of all these arrayed tales lurks an single instance wherein have I covered truth in deception’s cloake as a hunter hoods his hawk, confounding you by a false night!

1) The baiting of bear, which slewe two great slaves from the Northlynds
2) A jester, covered in filth, speaking against the king
3) A soft-headed friendly fool who aite a score of eggs to much acclaim
4) A philosopher, drunk in a ditch, urinated upon by my own selfe among many
5) A trump and flute duo: Melryn and The Hound
6) A turnip that looked like the Manor Lorde
7) My children, felled by The Plague, appearing in hovering form and forgiving me my ill tempers and every trespass I made against them in life
8) A party, erupted by occasion on the burning of a landlord’s home
9) Howling at the moon, enraged by something in our bread
10) The Spice Girls

Can’st thou guess which are true and which would fetch me time i’ the stocks?



Look, it happens, so start by giving yourself permission to have made a mistake. Who among us hasn’t, on a dim night among broken branches and oily mist, accidentally made a pact with a creature from beyond the veil that, on reflection, doesn’t really suit our needs or match our preferred profile for companionship?

1) – Discover its name (if unknown). Keep guessing ’til you get it. TIP: Some computers can guess FOR you, with thousands of guesses per second!

2) – Write the name down & burn it.

That’s it! Anyone who tries to tell you it’s hard is probably also a ghost & they can eff off.

Every Bit Helps

If you like what I do, please like, comment and subscribe, give money to my sponsors and support my Plantreon.

It’s easy to do.

Go out into your garden and dig a hole. Into that hole, say “I support you, Plantreon!”

In 6-8 weeks a plant wearing my clothes will knock on your door and move in. Feed it oatmeal. Be nice to it. In this way, I will be satisfied and able to continue my very important work.

Looking on the Bright Side of Undead Disposal

When most of the reanimated dead has been destroyed (garlic in mouth, dismembered, buried at the crossroads, rice and salt scattered), don’t feel any shame if you still wish to keep one of the hands for yourself, for cold lonely nights, to let it lay on your lap and give you a friendly squeeze every once in a while, whenever the hand’s master dreams its dark dreams.