It appears I’ve been a scoundrel and a wastrel and a general No Good Nick. My brother, Saint Nick has been covering for me, thank God. Although, it occurs to me, I don’t actually have such a brother … I do have a li’l brother named Adam who lives many time zones away from me, but that is neither here nor there.

The point being, I have a piece in the recent issue (# 9/10) of Black Scat, a counterculture magazine specializing in everything that undermines or subverts consumerist America or something along those lines … I was never an expert in the Underground. I was too busy groaning out my consent to intellectual liposuction under Category 1(ii) of Subsection B.C. of Government Regulation Number 9. Which is to say, I was otherwise occupied and useless to The Cause. So I wrote a piece of drivel for the Thing they made, and you must pay beaucoup Dineros to have it shipped to your address. Hey, go for it! This Underground features a Starbucks, I’m willing to bet, and you should order the Grandest Grande, just to show ’em who’s Who! Okay, tell ’em Yarrow sent ya, see what they say. Just don’t tell me what they said, please. I’m thinking damages to my somatic self might be averred by hooligans behind Starbucks counters who were told who sent ya …

Oh, I must not forget to mention that Vestiges, a new publication from the new publishing venture called Black Sun Lit, has agreed to publish one of my stories. I hope that I will manage to mention that publication here in a timely manner when it occurs. But if I fail, you can always check them out right now just to verify the state of affairs.