The Struggle For Relevancy #1

Mr. Pyrka has had a tough ride in the crop circle world. Going from poster-boy for the Extra-Terrestrial Hypothesis (ETH) to the self-labelled demonised truth-teller hasn’t been easy. The struggle for relevancy is particularly evident since he discovered his truth in the world of flattened crop.

He could have shrugged his shoulders, having discovered all those naughty boys and girls who make crop circles (hence shattering his belief system), and moved onto something constructive – but as he rarely makes crop circles (adopting the role of the artist), rarely contributes any meaningful research (adopting the role of the researcher), he just lurks in his little corner of the internet alluding to knowing things that you don’t  (trying to adopt the role of the insider) and spewing out lies, half-truths and ill-informed gossip, as he struggles for relevancy in a world of visual and experiential art.

It is particularly difficult to maintain any form of relevancy when you are not only involved (very loosely) in an art-form that is on its last legs (let us be honest, the glory days of the early 1990s are long over) but you also publish some of the most pathetic content on the subject. Let us not forget the whole debacle with the alleged UFO he claimed to have touched! (Oh yes, we’ll be picking that apart later)

Locked in his self-constructed echo-chamber, surrounded by those fellow malcontents who whisper in his ear, continually pedaling in-jokes and self-referencing BS, the struggle for wider relevancy in the subject eludes him. Desperation is a terrible thing, especially in something as transient and pointless as the world of flattened crop.

The world of crop circles may be dying, so is there any point on feeding on the corpse after it has been sucked of all nourishment by those who have traveled the tramlines prior? Andrew Pyrka thinks so! What is the end-game for Pyrka? Is it some sort of pyrrhic victory? Is it avoidance of driving drunken people around Cheltenham on a Friday night? What does he get out of this? Or is it just some therapeutic catharsis to try and deal with his mighty fall, railing against those who he perceives are mocking him? Who knows? But as time goes on, as the subject becomes one of those weird and eccentric British summer hobbies akin to Morris dancing, the struggle for relevancy gets tougher…


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