They say this won’t sell. That our art project has run out of paint. There aren’t enough of us. We should ride a motorcycle on fire through the tube at Teahupo’o if we want to make it. Get some clicks. We’re too young. Too old. Too bold. Too abstract. Our social strategy is flawed and our lazy bodies too full of slaughtered McDonalds meat to look away from our iPhones. Well, maybe they’re right, but the credit card they gave us was declined and there’s nothing left in checking either. So they can keep the chicken nuggets; we don’t wanna eat that shit anyway. What we do have is the front AND back cover and all that’s between. And contrary to some hopes, we go on anyway. It doesn’t take much to do this quarterly belly dance of good living. We just hit record and let the things happening around us happen. And as long as there is you, there is us. And this time we made this: What Youth issue 12. It’s in your hands and has weight and is full of matter and atoms and substance. That’s Gonz on the front. Full of color. No paint necessary.