HeyJaredDUSTSCEAWUNG
Darkly funny stories, personal essays, and crazy lists: DUSTSCEAWUNG is filed every two weeks from a roof terrace somewhere in rural Catalonia.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 5
- Latest publication
- Sep 18, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 4, 2026
Latest issues
BECK - Ride Lonesome (September 2026) (opens the original)
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Beck is 56 but the photography for his new album and its accompanying PR snaps appear to claim Beck is in his mid-twenties. No wrinkles, no sags. He looks like he plays oboe in Geese. Why? Are these airbrushed poses, straight from a Rock Cliché Book — a pastiche of 1966 Dylan, complete with toddler hairdo and dark sunglasses — a concession to the ageist machinery of the corporate music universe? Are they, shiver, ironic? Or does Beck have a rare physical condition which has frozen his body as it
STILL LIGHT OUTSIDE (opens the original)
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The message has travelled twelve hundred kilometres at the speed of light from my wife in a hospital in England and in the magical time before I tap the screen and the code and the icon there is a chance the message does not say what I know it will say.I am a child who does not want a birthday party to end, asking for one more game, one more song.Look, it’s still light outside. We still have time, don’t we?We still have time.I play that sil
MICROCOSMIC SALT (opens the original)
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Part One: In Which There Is No CrimeY, he will later recall, is on his way to the second-nearest recycling quad an hour before curfew’s end when he hears the original noise of the expansion of the universe, the depressing burden of eight bags-for-life on his forearms, palms upturned as if for alms, talking about himself and to himself in the third person, too superstitious on a day like this to meddle with the first person before any prosecuting clink of bottles, lodged in godless prayer on the
A CURE FOR DISTRACTION (opens the original)
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Someone whose name is forgotten had told Jorge about a man in the Sant Antoni neighbourhood who had discovered a cure for distraction: a man who lived alone in a graced and echoing top-floor apartment on the Carrer del Comte d’Urgell, in twelve rooms which were either devilishly crowded with timeless antique modernista looking-glasses and cabinets and fine Iranian carpets or which were puritanically spartan and without any comfort or decoration save for a single and inexhaustible iron-frame bed,
NOBODY WILL KNOW WHAT YOU AND I KNOW (opens the original)
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9. THE FUTURE PERFECTI will have died by 3077. Yes, the future perfect is the wearying tense of deadlines, the pet tense of the actuaries and the bookmakers and the long-game con artists, the tense which most acutely reminds you of your own deathday, the tense used by those tyrannical conquerors who tell their generals they will have subdued northern China or Gaul or Anatolia by the summer solstice. Heavy, administrative, and reeking of the new calendar already mouldy by February, the future per
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