Durrementhor

Like an explosion, the raddest boy zooms off on a motorcycle while electric guitars play in the distance. Fireworks go off spelling out his name. He is unstoppable; he is destruction; he is the Wild.

Build your fences and your walls; prune your hedges and spray pesticides on your crops and plant quaint little trees and window gardens in the midst of your cities, far from the specter of chaos that looms over your ephemeral categories and constructions. None of it can stop the Wild. The Wild tears down your fences and your walls. The Wild causes shoots to grow and ivy to climb. You call yourselves civilized? Deluded ravings of animals who fear their own nature. So build your houses and “settle” your land. The Wild will always claim it in the end.