Do you ever feel like something big has found a home on your shoulders? An uninvited parasite that can see no color and hear no sound. It’s presence slowly pecking away at the safe that contains your life. 


Posted in Nick MATSAS, Original Photography | No Comments »


Some part of me thinks this life is one giant school week
The girls and the apartments and the jobs and the dreams
And soon we’ll be on our bikes again
Chasing dogs
Dodging kids from Berkeley
Talkin’ Eyeball Chambers
And babes and old songs

Some part of me thinks this life is one big distraction
Filled with fury and fun and laughter and longing
And soon once it’s over
we’ll be roaming our kingdom again
enforcing lost laws, repealed in our absence
and we won’t turn around in Glen Ellyn anymore
we’ll keep riding and we’ll never turn back ‘round


Posted in Bad Poetry, Eddie O'KEEFE | No Comments »


Screen Shot 2015-05-17 at 11.54.47 AM

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Gary Numan – M.E. 
The Velvet Underground – Coney Island Steeplechase 
Nina Simone – To Love Somebody 
Leonard Cohen – Tower Of Song 
Graham Nash – Military Madness 
Jorma Kaukonen – Song For The North Star 
Lloyd Cheechoo – James Bay 
Michael Hurley – Tea Song 
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds – Into My Arms 
Mountain Men – Around And Around 
Lewis – Let’s Fall In Love Tonight

Subscribe on iTunes!

Posted in Mixtape | No Comments »


Posted in Nick MATSAS, Original Photography | No Comments »


what's happening back home

As Nurse Keyes opened the door, Tom quickly hopped back onto the examination table.

“Your mother is on her way,” Nurse Keys said.

Tom forced himself to cough so hard he lost his breath.

“Poor thing,” Nurse Keyes sighed, “This blizzard is getting everyone sick.”

Tom watched as she walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her. After waiting for a moment, he hopped off the table. He crouched down and grabbed the heating pad he had hid a few moments earlier. He brought it to his forehead and quickly worked it around his face, all the while keeping his eyes locked on the door.

The heating pad belonged to Tom’s father, who used it on his shoulders after getting off his shift at the warehouse. Sometimes late at night, Tom would sneak out of bed and hide in the shadows by the staircase. He’d watch his father sit crouched in the fluorescent light of the refrigerator, drinking Budweiser and rotating the heating pad around his shoulders. Sometimes when Tom woke up in the morning, he’d find his father asleep at the kitchen table, surrounded by empty bottles, the heating pad resting on the back of his neck.

Tom stuffed the heating pad into his backpack. He sat back on the examination table, looking at the laminated posters of gorillas and spaceships hanging on the beige walls. He wondered if all the other chumps in Mrs. Driskell’s class were still taking that math test. Tom reclined back on the table, thinking about what movies he’d watch when he got home.

Muffled voices bounced off the other side of the wall, followed by footsteps. The door opened and Tom heard Nurse Keyes saying, “He’s right in here.”

Tom’s father stepped into the room. He was wearing his charcoal grey work uniform. An unexpected chill ran through Tom. He had never seen his father wearing his uniform by daylight. He felt like he didn’t know the man standing in front of him.

Tom meant to ask him why he wasn’t at work, but it came out as, “Where’s mom?”

His father looked him up and down, his face stoic. Then he crossed the room and grabbed Tom’s backpack and said, “Let’s go.”

Sitting in the backseat of his father’s Buick, Tom rubbed away the frost from the window. Had his father discovered that the heating pad was missing? Was he in trouble? Tom tried to focus on the rumble of the old engine and the snow crunching beneath the tires. He didn’t ask about the red suitcase with the broken handle that was sitting next to him.

“So you’re sick?” Tom’s father asked, his white knuckles grasping the steering wheel. “You don’t look sick.”

“Nurse Keyes said I have the flu,” Tom said.

His father’s eyes darted in the rear view mirror, looking at Tom as he pulled the Buick into their snow-lined driveway. He threw the Buick into park and stepped out, keeping the keys in the ignition. The idling engine continued to rumble.

Tom got out of the car, following behind his father to their back door. He noticed that their garage door was open, and a man he had never seen before was sitting there, shivering on a fold old lawn chair. He wore a tweed blazer with no shirt on underneath. A dark circle covered his left eye. When he saw Tom’s father approaching, he stood up.

“You,” Tom’s father said, pointing at the man in the garage, “You stay put.”

The man raised his hands up, taking a step back. He looked at Tom for a moment, and then looked away.

Tom walked through the backdoor into the kitchen, where his mother was crying at the kitchen table. She walked over and hugged him, letting him know that there was hot tea and Advil waiting for him in his bedroom. Tom’s father hovered above the kitchen sink, his back to them.

When Tom got to his bedroom, he closed his door and threw his backpack onto the floor. He could hear his mother and father downstairs, their voices growing fiercer with every passing moment. A glass broke. A chair screeched across the kitchen floor. A door slammed. They knew that he had taken the heating pad. They knew that he wasn’t sick.

Tom crept over to his bedroom window. Squinting past the blinding white of the snow, he saw his mother talking with the man in the garage. She was still crying, and she touched the man’s left eye. He pulled away from her.

Tom got into his bed and pulled the covers up past his head. He curled his body up, trying to make himself as small as possible. He wished he that he was back at school, sitting in Mrs. Driskell’s class and taking that math test. From downstairs, Tom could hear his father screaming.


Posted in Bad Prose, Eric HEHR | No Comments »


i’m standing in the artisanal mustard aisle
at the whole foods in glendale
janis ian is playing over the sound system
it’s been ten years since I was seventeen
i wonder what my seventeen year old self
would think if he could see me now
standing in the artisanal mustard aisle
at the whole foods
in glendale
so far from home
i can’t remember which mustard is the one i like
honey dijon or whiskey oak
so i put them both in my cart
they cost forty dollars
and suddenly
i can’t breathe
i can’t see
i’m seized by a feeling of dread
like death
or something
is imminent
so i crawl toward the bathroom
i try regaining control
try breathing in and out
try being like fonzi
cool like fonzi
but nothing works
my hands are like cartoon hands
my eyelids burn
i can see the void forming above me
sucking me into its velcro-lined nothingness
and six aisles over a woman drops a jar of olives
when i get to the bathroom
i lock the door
and fall to the floor
and squirm like a worm
and i stay in there forever
and live in the cabinet beneath the sink
and eat bugs
and rodents
and my eyes adapt to the darkness
and at night i sometimes leave my sink and stalk the aisles
and eat artisanal mustards
and kombucha and blue corn chips
they still haven’t cleaned-up the dropped olives
it’s been years
i miss my old life sometimes
and the people i once knew
but i know they have moved on
and think of me seldom
i’m better off here
underneath the sink
at the whole foods
in glendale


Posted in Bad Poetry, Eddie O'KEEFE | 1 Comment »


Spinal Tap – Rob Reiner (1984)
Spring – Justin Benson & Aaron Moorhead (2015)
Weekend – Jean-Luc Godard (1967)

Capturing The Friedmans – Andrew Jarecki (2003)
Kurt Cobain: Montage Of Heck – Brett Morgen (2015)
Showrunners: The Art Of Running A TV Show – Des Doyle (2014)

La Jetée – Chris Marker (1962)

Better Call Saul, Season 1 – Vince Gilligan & Peter Gould (2015)
The Roast Of James Franco – Various (2013)
The Roast Of Justin Bieber – Various (2015)

Several Short Sentences About Writing – Verlyn Klinkenborg (Reference, 2012)
White Noise – Don DeLillo (Novel, 1985)

II EP – Sheer Mag (2015)
Feliciano! – Jose Feliciano (1968)
King of the Delta Blues Singers – Robert Johnson (1961)
Native North America (Vol. 1): Aboriginal Folk, Rock, and Country 1966–1985 – Various (2014)
Quah – Jorma Kaukonen (1974)

Father John Misty @ Coachella Valley Music And Arts Festival, Indio, CA
Jack White @ Coachella Valley Music And Arts Festival, Indio, CA
The Hush Sound @ The Troubadour, Los Angeles, CA
Castro @ The Troubadour, Los Angeles, CA
The Orwells @ The Echo, Los Angeles, CA
The Orwells @ Pappy And Harriet’s, Joshua Tree, CA
The Orwells @ Coachella Valley Music And Arts Festival, Indio, CA
The Replacements @ The Palladium, Los Angeles, CA
Ryan Adams @ Coachella Valley Music And Arts Festival, Indio, CA

Posted in Eddie O'KEEFE, Shit I Consume | No Comments »


Posted in Eddie O'KEEFE, Original Photography | No Comments »


Posted in Matt MANDARINO, Original Photography | No Comments »


Posted in Eddie O'KEEFE, Original Photography | No Comments »

© 2015 The Teenage Head | Powered by WordPress | Design by Maria Tzeka