“Where there is unclaimed space, unwritten land, there is the quest and there is mining, a sickly clawing, not only for minerals, crops, dead artifacts, but also mythologies. What tales the land holds buried. Drag them out with grappling-irons and tractors, record them. Hoard the images in mausoleums with chained walls & uniformed attendants.
What we walk is myth flattened into space. Its hide stripped & ribboned, the thong wound out. This is, or could be, the Third Virtue. Not the celibate, fasting life, the eremite in his rocky sanctuary, not the life of the materialist, forced to the service of his own goods, over-stimulated into toxic inertia, but to reconnect with the migrant, the traveler of paths, in balance with natural forces, arriving at the sacred sites at the most potent, & only workable, season, aligned with star and animal, searching for the star that is buried in the brain of the creature he hunts, taking on the qualities of that creature by eating his flesh.”
(Iain Sinclair, Suicide Bridge)