If you follow me in any capacity on social media, then you don’t need me ta outline it for you just how much I adore to get a line wet. Don’t know what I meant? Well let me try to rephrase it, what I mean to say is more and more these days I can’t be fucked about the race. Which race you may ask, talking ‘bout that of the rat; job, house, car, Instagram star. Eat at all the right places, with all the right faces. Wear the best brands, hippest fitness plans. Free shoes, free gear, influencer to your peers. But it feels meaningless, surely more to it than this? But what? But what? Feeling stuck in a rut, I mean, if I’m being honest, all I really want is… to go fishing, to go fishing, to go fishin' man, I wanna go fishing. I wanna go fishing, yeah, that’s what I’m wishing, all I really want is to go fishing. But why fishing? Hey, I’m glad you asked. Simple answer? Man, it’s a blast. But more to it than that, let me expand, when I’m standing out there, feet upon the land, mud on my boots, dog by my side, in some remote forest, with bugs buzzing by, well that’s where I find the meaning that I seek, social media recedes, and I can start breathing deep. Yeah, that sounds sweet, but still why fishing? You could just take a hike and still find those things. Good point, hmm, let me break it down, put it this way, any given lake in town that you pass normally without a second thought, could hold monsters lurking that could be fought. Prehistoric creatures with sharpened fangs, guaranteed to get the adrenalin flowing in your veins. So the question really should be “how couldn’t I fish?” ’Cuz in the midst of this mundane existence that we live it gives direct access to feeling tapped in to a way that we were way back when: in touch with the land, in touch with ourselves, not touching a screen, just focussed on smells, and sights and sounds, really all senses heightened, focussed on the task at hand; finding and fighting the aforementioned creatures of the deep. And that’s why I fish, oceans, lakes, rivers, creeks. Fishing, I wanna go fishing. I wanna go fishing, yo, let’s go fishing. I wanna go fishing, so check the conditions, then grab a rod and reel, ‘cuz it’s time for a mission. Fishing you could say is an escape from reality, but I would say it’s more like an escape to reality, ‘cuz sadly the supposed reality we’re living in seems lackin’ in its focus on what matters for existing in a balanced state. But still I’m not naive, I understand that unlike me, not everyone has got the means, nor the time to just up and leave society when they decide to; a luxury, a privilege, however you describe it dude. Look, what I’m trying to say is I acknowledge the dynamic that not everyone can escape their problems when they can’t stand it, I’m being candid when I say I feel guilty for disengaging rather than using my abilities, voice and platform to advocate for those less fortunate, I used to more so, until an inordinate amount of hardship came into my life, leaving me needing an escape from all the strife. And so I escape it, fishing is the means, so if you need to find me, go check you local stream. I’m gone fishing, I'm gone fishing, I’m gone fishing, I'm gone fishing, we’re gone fishing, we’re gone fishing, we’re gone fishing, we’re gone fishing.

These boots, when I slide my feet in the leather wraps around ‘em so naturally it’s like breathin’. Or like receiving a warm hug from an old friend, providing respite from December’s cold wind. But understand it wasn’t always this way, ‘cuz when I first bought these boots, much to my dismay, they flayed my heels, pinched my toes, everyday I could feel the blisters growin’. For days I wore wet socks in ‘em to try to mold the leather to my feet, that just left me shiverin’. Bandaids on my heels helped even less, they’d just get messed up in my socks, much to my distress. I must confess there were moments that I just wanted to get rid of them, but something made me keep putting ‘em on without giving in. ’Til at last they started giving in- crementally, leather stretching as if some sort of still-living entity. Eventually conforming to my feet, these boots a part of me now, like my heartbeat. These boots, these boots, these boots, talking ‘bout these boots, yeah. These boots, these boots, these boots, these boots, these boots, these boots, these boots, these boots, baby these boots, Talkin’ ‘bout these boots, yeah. These boots, it’s clearly time to let ‘em go, the soles worn out, water gets in through the toe. The once rich oak turned to a dull grey, stitching on the top long ago started to fray. There's really no way to justify not trashin’ ‘em, but hard to follow-through given all the history that’s stashed in ‘em. I rocked ‘em on stage, from continent to continent, wore ‘em deep in forests, where big fish were prominent. Had ‘em on my feet visiting hospitals in times of grief, wore ‘em out on dates, helpin’ make my outfit complete. Also just rocked ‘em on an everyday basis, nothing special going on, no need to tighten up the laces. Man the places they’ve been, the adventures that we’ve been through, the trouble that together these boots and I have gotten into, then back out of again, no worse for wear, gonna miss these here boots, but I got a new pair. [chorus]

We’re douchebags as a species collectively, incontestable premise and so the subsequent question to me is what role, did the internet play?
Did it cause said douchiness? Or simply shine a ray on a long-since pre-existing, widespread phenomenon of humans acting douchey for generations and on and on. "But douchey how?" Is maybe your question, well first and foremost, it’s this seeming obsession with external validation for our very existences, chasing likes, comments, views, with persistence. Decisions no longer based on what feels right for us, but rather on what generates the most likes for us. But you can’t take likes with you when you die, so why do we spend so much of our time tryin’ to generate ‘em? An entire generation obsessed with blue thumbs and red hearts for motivation. But fleeting the sense of fulfillment that they provide, so we need more and more likes to maintain the high. And so the screen time increases, living life in pieces, neat and postable, otherwise they seem meaningless. Well I’m sick of the cycle, see I’m seeking something more significant than just some likes y’all. I’m not quite sure what it is yet, but I do know I won’t find it on the internet.