The West, sad old monolith she is, had lost her fun and enigma, her spark emptied of all mystery, her spontaneity carved out and $old on.

Holidays are sombre, serious days devoted to dour consumerism, but April Fools is our sole still-surviving celebration of mischief and madness. Anything goes; normal life and the sensible, safe world are flipped on their heads, and the risk-averse are finally put back in the passenger seat while the wild hearts take charge. For one annual all-too-short moment, we see the possibility of a world playing jazz, an entire planet skipping beats and lurching into the next movement and moment with no plan but the mad intoxicating crazy-heart ideas and ideals hiding deep in the wells of our untethered, inner insane selves.

At this vital moment, in the unprecedented times, as climate spins out of our control, as financial systems shatter and collapse, when every election the world over is a cruel joke played on upon the will of the people . . .


Let's make some fucking trouble.

Let's get together, all of us troublemakers and rabble rousers, class clowns and mavericks and across-the-board rebels. Let's get ecologically, psychologically, and aesthetically charged up and pull off some crazy shit.

Here's a concept:

out of cash

Let's take to the fucking streets, make sure the joke is on the system this year . . .

out of cash

We'll prowl out late Saturday night and early Sunday morning, putting OUT OF CASH signs on ATMs everywhere. . .
With any luck, many will still be there Monday morning.

A world without instant access to endless excess- Not a bad joke to play on the banks and the bastards who've been playing pranks on the world for years, is it?