bus story: graffiti artist part two
as he got on to the bus the driver asked, "where are you headed?" "how far are you going?" the passenger responded. the driver said, "just tell me your street." "jackson" was the answer. a couple of blocks before my stop, i noticed.
happy boy was happy to (not know where you're going, any road will take you there) sit parallel to me.
"excuse me?" he said. i turned to face him. "what do you think of this on the floor?
he was referring to the graffiti. "i think it sucks" i replied.
"you don't feel the colors and expression are worthy... i mean...without the fact that you might know who did this, people that don't have a canvas..."
"in a different context it's fine" i said. "like if it's up on a wall or something."
"yeah man." and then he proceeded to give that marvelous speech that no one can reproduce unless one has a tape recorder: the mundane articulated with the propane of the membrane i believe the specimen of the regimental content is specialized and forbidden to the public of the doubters because the restrictions of the few aren't given the tools of the rich and therefore their expressions must be let out to this..."
actually, he wasn't that bad. or that good (pat on my own shoulder), just young. and energetic and therefore not bitter and stupid. nevertheless, i had to interrupt his gibberish:
"it depends on context"
and he responded:
"the colors can be beautiful if you didn't know where it came from and it gives the city a difference to the mundane. it's about perspective and seeing it from a different angle."
and i said, "yeah, character" and for the longest time i meant to say character but he had to describe SOMETHING NEW. by the way, if you've taken as many psychadellics as i have, you wouldn't want character,
it just so happens that a week before this conversation ,i saw graffiti in my own neighborhood for the second time in five years. and this time i thought it was very beautiful. so how timely this funky punky was to talky to me.
i said again, "it depends on context."
he didn't have enough from me to overlap into his world so i offered by sticking out my finger to say he didn't get what i was saying. he held back and looked at me inquisitively.
i said: "i'm saying yeah, i get why people don't like this. but i'm not saying that's why i don't like it. i don't like it because it's bad graffiti. i've seen so much better."
at this point he slapped his hand on his knee and on the seat next to him. i don't think he hit the foil that once housed a pizza slice on top of a paper plate. two nights later i had sat next to a chicken bone without a paper plate. thank goodness no one sat next to me. but that's another story.
suddenly, he started to use my word, 'context.' he wished me a good life and a good night. while i don't give a flying fuck about him...i mean, while i wished him the same, i thought about how all i ever really want is some distracting conversation like this, one that drags out of me something i didn't think i had. graffiti. who knew i liked it? not even me. but he reminded me of the week before where i liked it in my own neighborhood. and it's nice to come down off of my perch and mingle with the common people. i said to him "one has to draw the line though, where i take my shit and smear it on the wall. it's like bleh" and i showed him the puking gesture.
he nodded. and continued to think.
expression is funny that way. to express from above or express first thought best thought.
i like that neither of us mentioned the words graffiti, gang banger, or tagger.
happy boy was happy to (not know where you're going, any road will take you there) sit parallel to me.
"excuse me?" he said. i turned to face him. "what do you think of this on the floor?
he was referring to the graffiti. "i think it sucks" i replied.
"you don't feel the colors and expression are worthy... i mean...without the fact that you might know who did this, people that don't have a canvas..."
"in a different context it's fine" i said. "like if it's up on a wall or something."
"yeah man." and then he proceeded to give that marvelous speech that no one can reproduce unless one has a tape recorder: the mundane articulated with the propane of the membrane i believe the specimen of the regimental content is specialized and forbidden to the public of the doubters because the restrictions of the few aren't given the tools of the rich and therefore their expressions must be let out to this..."
actually, he wasn't that bad. or that good (pat on my own shoulder), just young. and energetic and therefore not bitter and stupid. nevertheless, i had to interrupt his gibberish:
"it depends on context"
and he responded:
"the colors can be beautiful if you didn't know where it came from and it gives the city a difference to the mundane. it's about perspective and seeing it from a different angle."
and i said, "yeah, character" and for the longest time i meant to say character but he had to describe SOMETHING NEW. by the way, if you've taken as many psychadellics as i have, you wouldn't want character,
it just so happens that a week before this conversation ,i saw graffiti in my own neighborhood for the second time in five years. and this time i thought it was very beautiful. so how timely this funky punky was to talky to me.
i said again, "it depends on context."
he didn't have enough from me to overlap into his world so i offered by sticking out my finger to say he didn't get what i was saying. he held back and looked at me inquisitively.
i said: "i'm saying yeah, i get why people don't like this. but i'm not saying that's why i don't like it. i don't like it because it's bad graffiti. i've seen so much better."
at this point he slapped his hand on his knee and on the seat next to him. i don't think he hit the foil that once housed a pizza slice on top of a paper plate. two nights later i had sat next to a chicken bone without a paper plate. thank goodness no one sat next to me. but that's another story.
suddenly, he started to use my word, 'context.' he wished me a good life and a good night. while i don't give a flying fuck about him...i mean, while i wished him the same, i thought about how all i ever really want is some distracting conversation like this, one that drags out of me something i didn't think i had. graffiti. who knew i liked it? not even me. but he reminded me of the week before where i liked it in my own neighborhood. and it's nice to come down off of my perch and mingle with the common people. i said to him "one has to draw the line though, where i take my shit and smear it on the wall. it's like bleh" and i showed him the puking gesture.
he nodded. and continued to think.
expression is funny that way. to express from above or express first thought best thought.
i like that neither of us mentioned the words graffiti, gang banger, or tagger.