This week we begin work on What Youth issue 11. And as we begin the purification process of deciphering what is worthy of living forever, immortally inside a print book, it’s a tiny piece of information I received from a friendly tax man that has me fucking terrified — frozen and pondering a complete drive-to-the-desert-to-bury-it-all meltdown.

This artfully-calculated man who files my annual tax forms, making sure I don’t end up with any tattoos similar to Sunny Garcia told me how each year he gets a pretty good sense of what’s happening in the world after compiling the myriad stories and financial situations that come across his desk each year. And he seemed especially worried this year.

“We’re completely giving up on each other,” he said. “The human interaction is gone and the next generation has more information than any of the previous, but they have zero actual experience. I recently looked at all of my students I coach [he coaches high school Volleyball as well] — and they’re all good kids and great students and I had to say to them: ‘I love you guys but I wouldn’t hire a single one of you.’”

And the reason is simple: no one is specialized. No one has actual real-world experience. We currently inhale more information in a day than our ancestor’s would in an entire lifetime. But the problem: we have no idea what the hell to do with it. We’re paralyzed by information at all times. We now have access to so much and are stimulated by so many things at once that our receptors can hardly tell a hot chick from a calculator. Let alone hone in on a details or a specialized skill long enough to become an expert, or an artisan. Or change a flat tire when the cell phone has gone dead.

Some of you may remember our recent rant on artisans in What Youth Issue 9. Another smart man forecasted that the key to our future were with these few remaining artisans. Those willing to raise their hand bravely and become so highly-skilled in their field that they would lead the next revolution in their field. So as you swipe up, down, side to side this week: think about what makes you special. What do you slow down your life for? What gets you so jazzed that not even the iPhone 6 can get in your way? We suggest you find that thing, and as wise and often drunk Bukowski said: “Let it destroy you.”

Today I want to leave you with our old friend C.S. Louis’ Instagram farewell that was posted this week. Maybe it’s time we all consider slowing it all down just enough to enjoy what’s in front of us a little more. —Travis 

C.S. Louis via Instagram: I want this to be personal. Thankfully I have only amassed 104 of you and it will be. 

Fuck that I deliberated this as if it were a real decision. As if it were risky and it was important and worth pondering. 

This is bullshit. 

I follow children because they are attractive and post frequently. I follow dudes who post pictures of my hometown to reminisce even though they are no talent ass clowns. I follow dudes from my new home who are ambivalent to my existence. I follow a couple of actual mates also but I’m confident our relationship is unaffected by their posts or mine. 

Fuck that I shit at work and see who posted a photo about not being at work. Fuck that I awake serene and senseless and grab my phone like a fiend each morning. Fuck that I lay next to my naked girlfriend playing with this retarded shit and not her at night. 

Call me undisciplined and you will be correct. Call me a social media pervert and I’ll remind you that so is everyone else. 

This is no longer a pastime I wish to actively pursue and this is why: Fuck you Instagram, goodbye. 

I did it to MySpace in 2003 and then Facebook in 2008. Still seem to be living and breathing. Panting in fact. Drinking draft beer, laughing with friends and getting God damned tubed just the same. 

And my last picture? It’s my dick, with an all-black filter.