….Reptiles dressed up in human costumes, conscious without consciousness. The only horror in the men in black franchise is that sadly, in reality, these freaks don’t morph into 60ft fanged worms. Somehow that would make things better. Maybe one day, stripped of all identifying characteristics (of which there are few enough already) they’ll be seen for who they are: empty little hermit shells clothed in fashions latest monotonous offering.
“I live in a city but I,
Belong in the fields”
Stokes front man and pretentious city dwelling tosser: Julian Casablancas
Where the fuck did he get that from? Maybe with a $500 haircut and a leather jacket I’d get away with such bare faced hypocrisy. He couldn’t survive in the wild! The absence of clamouring hipsters outside of New York would be the stake through his cold dead heart. Who made him so ‘unearthly cool’ that he thinks he can get away with these lies anyway? NME? They’d hype a living breathing turd if they thought it would keep them in circulation for another few months. In summary, he was just full of shit.
“I’m city born but I love the country life”
Folk Hero: Don McLean
Sat here, roll up in hand, having made love to a beautiful woman in the only quiet spot left in the lake district I’m inclined to agree with their sentiment. Even if the former did just steal it from the latter. Anyway, I’m flying off on a tangent here, or at least running parallel… Either way it’s going to take some shunt to get this thing back in line. Lizards? Something to do with Julian Casablancas piracy of sentiment a million miles from his own? Christ what a mess. I think, and I’m hazy on this myself, that the point of this nonsense was to write an angry piece on the acquisition of the outdoors and its ideology by the rampant swarms of extra-terrestrial no brains, who now seem to be the genetic makeup of this sad dying planet.
One race to rule them all. No class, colour or creed, stupidity their only shared trait. Rampaging around attempting to extinguish thought wherever they can.
Give them the cities but Christ leave us the rest. The increasingly bland mix of glass, concretes and architect’s dead dreams where made for them. Unfortunately, some twisted melon-heads gave them a taste for the outdoors and they want in. Even fat corporate wankers can be seen living in vans at the weekend now. Walking and camping: Saturday and Sunday, back to mergers and acquisitions on the Monday. ‘Radical Maaan’.
This scourge is clearly your fault, you venerable old guard. Whilst Kesey may have meant well with his acid experiments in the end he turned a movement about righting American wrongs into a free for all; the matt-grey masses poured in. That was the first taste of fresh meat the vultures got and they’ve been hankering ever since. Their dull collective psyche stirred by the idea of rebellion without the need to rebel. So here they are, still blandly fitting in, just with better furniture.
They’re need for this can be easily observed; go down to the coast and observe the vampires spending money in their droves to be told to jump off rocks. Grown adults; the fucking millennials and the MTV generation, Christ what I’d do to not be a part of them.
‘which one sir?’
‘that one there so’n, good job ya’ came with us like, dangerous place, tha’ sea.
ste’dy noo so’n bit slippery… tha wet rock’
‘quick mummy…. get the camera’
‘aye that be 40 poond’s like’
Babies the lot of them. Excitement without danger, that’s what they crave. Money spent, picture taken, who could be happier? Coasteering? Fuck me I need a drink. Make it a shot. Straight to the head, through the temple and out the other side, maybe then I’ll rest easy.
Long live the old guard, the heroic elite, the previous generation of anti-athletes now residing in their grandiose homes, geriatric millionaire with clothing brands, shops and tour companies to boot. They are the ones sucking the last of the air out of the outdoors’ cold crippled lungs. If there was any justice in this world Yvon Chourinard would be hounded from the table by an angry mob, it’s a sad state of the times that he is the leading light for business everywhere.
“And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite
I saw Satan laughing with delight
The day… the music died”
Miss American Pie
Long rue the day that contract was signed between climber and Coca-Cola. The transformation complete, the skies darkened and the jester cackled, the newly formed athletes arose. A very small chip of a very big block, reduced to rubble by the self-serving elite.
‘No haha, of course not sir. very good joke sir. No, no culture to be seen here… now where do I sign?’
Of course there bloody isn’t, everything’s been whitewashed and sold to the highest bidder. It didn’t take long for the vultures to swarm, they’d long seen the mysterious climber and now, in the absence of drugs, dirt and danger they are preparing to swoop. ‘There’s money to be spent here boys’, the shrieks will echo long into the night, there’s water cooler stories to be made.
It’s too late, already the wolves can’t be seen for the sheep. The red mist has descended and there’s nothing to be done, fingers pound the keyboard in a frenzy ‘is there no justice in this world?’. What’s the point, I’m a fragile wreck and this will only send me further into the abyss. I’m not even sure why I care, climbing was long dead before I arrived on the scene, I’m just the protest at the funeral pyre.
“Do not go gentle into that good night
Rage, rage, at the dying of the light”
Dylan Thomas (But you knew that anyway didn’t you)
Footnotes for the modern millennial:
 The blatant plagiarism I assure you is not lost on me. You’re probably wondering what I’m on about. What plagiarism? Who wrote that? It’d probably be obvious if the last book you ever read wasn’t spot the dog.
 Funny really given that this cancerous stream of bullshit is just a grubby page torn from a HST essay.
 I’m not your educator you’ll just have to look it up.
 In reality I fully support what both Yvon and Doug Tompkins have done. However that would somewhat spoil the tone of the whole piece wouldn’t it? It’s a real shame I had to break the fourth wall to tell you that.