From Our Desk: Daily Poser Issue number One, Sept. 2023
“Sure, it used to be a simpler time,” I muttered, my fingers desperately grasping the tumbler of whiskey, the ice clinking with each agitated gesture. A haze of nostalgia enveloped me as my eyes scanned the room, adorned with a tapestry of old photographs and scattered remnants of a bygone era. The scent of a fading rebellion mixed with the swirling fog of disillusionment, and I couldn’t help but ponder the question that gnawed at the very core of my being: why were all of these mountain towns losing their soul?
Once pristine, untouched, and regarded as an escape from the clutches of a decaying society, these once small towns now played hosts to a swarm of eager developers, aka “dirt-pimps”, trust funders, and Porsche Cayennes. The inhabitants who once danced on the fringes of society, reveling in the freedom of these untamed lands, now found themselves estranged. The battle had become one of survival, with opportunistic vultures circling overhead, waiting to devour the remnants of authenticity. The imminent demise of a unique culture loomed over these hallowed grounds.
It was as though a plague had infected the very essence of these Indigenous lands, much like our ancestors had done in the past. The character that once defined these places, the grit and rebellious spirit that fought against conformity, had been steamrolled by a seemingly unstoppable wave of commercialization and arrrogance. The neon signs of gentrification flickered to life, drowning out the echoes of the past. The locals watched, helpless, as their beloved haunts were overrun by boutiques selling overpriced candles and trendy cafes brewing cups of pretentiousness.
A devil’s bargain struck with progress laid waste to these once vibrant communities. Like ghost towns in the making, the heart and soul were torn apart, swapped for a façade of wealth and anonymity. As the narrow-minded rolled in, brandishing their checkbooks and brazen entitlement, they transformed these once pastoral towns into playgrounds for the privileged. Authenticity replaced with superficiality, camaraderie with social posturing, and the almighty dollar reigned supreme.
The Porsche Cayennes, sleek symbols of excess and status, roamed the streets with an air of arrogance. Revving engines drowned out the voices of the marginalized, the forgotten, and the true guardians of this fading spirit. The mountains, once revered as temples of solitude and introspection, now echoed the hollow cries of a community grappling with its own identity, struggling against the relentless tide of progress.
But amongst the despair, a flicker of hope persists. A fire that refuses to be extinguished, kept alive by the few who dare to resist. These mountain towns may be battered, bruised, and gasping for air, but their soul, though fragile, remains resilient.The core of their being lies in the hearts of those who refuse to relinquish the fight, who choose to stand as sentinels against the manufactured march of civilization.
For it is in this struggle, my dear confidants, that true character is forged. The battle may be arduous, and the forces of modernization may seem indomitable, but as long as there are dreamers, rebels, and warriors who cherish the essence of these mountain communities, their soul will persist. It will rise from the ashes, like a charred Busch Light can in the middle of a toasty bonfire, defying the Porsche Cayennes and their soulless masters.
And so, my fellow wanderers, let us rally together, heed the call of defiance, and fight to preserve the spirit of the past. For when the vultures depart, and the dust of development settles, it will be our perseverance and unwavering rebellion that remains etched into the very fabric of these sacred lands. -Daily Poser
