The Pleistocene Revolutionary's Manifesto

Accepted fact: a sustainable humanity is a fertile lie, furthering the fat humanist belief in the rigors and virtues of progress. Elevating human pursuits above the blood-soaked wonders of the earth. To them, the snorting and passive enemy, the future unfolds at our feet, like a carpet, or maybe a ribbon. Potentially, a ball of string. Or, like, say, an open road. An open door, I guess, would be apt, as well. Something open, is what I'm getting at.

But: Collapse is imminent! Progress is frailty! The future unfolds for nobody!

Too long now - humanity has acted as caustic agents of extinction!
Too long now - clawing, massive hulks dragged into the tar pits of eradication!
Too long now - have we gorged at the trough of convenient lies, of history, of sustainability, of progress!

We propose an immediate return to the pleistocene. No time to dismantle anything. We begin now, calling for a comprehensive and graphic re-wilding of megafauna, refining bio-diversity, overhauling the ecosystem.

Home to saber-tooth tigers, giant bears, mammoths only 13,000 years ago, Los Angeles is the place to begin. Standing atop Dante's Peak in Los Angeles, the Pleistocene Revolutionary sees bison stampeding down Hollywood Boulevard, hunted by a small pack of Marsupial Lions. Hippopotami drift lazily through the Silverlake reservoir. Gerenuk herd in Griffith Park, where Ancylotherium browse the trees. Mylodons placidly thin the avocado trees of Echo Park. The restoration of natural processes! The Holocene collapsing into the Pleistocene! As if the tar pits in La Brea spewed out its countless victims back into the recently populated prairies. The prehistoric spears of our starving ancestors being thrust out of their targets' hides, leaving no feast, leaving no nourished ancestors, leaving no history, leaving only the inhospitable and gentle pandemonium of an eco-system that must not cede to the demands of any one voracious, confused species. Silence, except for the sound of grazing.

Warm nights, in Los Angeles. The scent of musk ox floating out from alleys in Chinatown. The digestive grunting of Glyptodons alongside the sounds of the 101.

The tactics: simple. A full-collapse. Art and science crashing into the other. Art and science aren't even things anymore, they're the urge to mate, the urge to graze. Where once stood images, now stands beasts. Where was once your face, now is a proboscis. What was once a mob, is now a herd. Long hides sway in the wind. Hunters stalk from a distance.