and now you choke

who cares? take money. paint money. good to see scars getting silly...

OG Hal, should i move back to nyc or break west and try SF? yrs, neither in north carolina

weird iron/utes combo on the sou flatside.

this post was ludicrous from the start because graffiti can't ruin your life. odds are your life was going to ruin itself before graffiti hit you, it just gave you the medium to do it. you're guilty of taking yourself and graffiti too seriously. lighten up. we all get there sometimes...

BOJANGLES

Re: (nc) yeah buddy you sure don't bump yer boys y'alright. shut it down... .

word up crook msg jerx and the HOD getups. solid graf. and don't forget BORE HOD rip

Bukowski, Charles:poem for personnel managers: [from The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over the Hills (1969), Black Sparrow Press] 1 An old man asked me for a cigarette 2 and I carefully dealt out two. 3 "Been lookin' for job. Gonna stand 4 in the sun and smoke." 5 He was close to rags and rage 6 and he leaned against death. 7 It was a cold day, indeed, and trucks 8 loaded and heavy as old whores 9 banged and tangled on the streets ... 10 We drop like planks from a rotting floor 11 as the world strives to unlock the bone 12 that weights its brain. 13 (God is a lonely place without steak.) 14 We are dying birds 15 we are sinking ships--- 16 the world rocks down against us 17 and we 18 throw out our arms 19 and we 20 throw out our legs 21 like the death kiss of the centipede: 22 but they kindly snap our backs 23 and call our poison "politics." 24 Well, we smoked, he and I---little men 25 nibbling fish-head thoughts ... [Page 26] 26 All the horses do not come in, 27 and as you watch the lights of the jails 28 and hospitals wink on and out, 29 and men handle flags as carefully as babies, 30 remember this: 31 you are a great-gutted instrument of 32 heart and belly, carefully planned--- 33 so if you take a plane for Savannah, 34 take the best plane; 35 or if you eat chicken on a rock, 36 make it a very special animal. 37 (You call it a bird; I call birds 38 flowers.) 39 And if you decide to kill somebody, 40 make it anybody and not somebody: 41 some men are made of more special, precious 42 parts: do not kill 43 if you will 44 a president or a King 45 or a man 46 behind a desk--- 47 these have heavenly longitudes 48 enlightened attitudes. 49 If you decide, 50 take us 51 who stand and smoke and glower; 52 we are rusty with sadness and 53 feverish 54 with climbing broken ladders. 55 Take us: 56 we were never children 57 like your children. [Page 27] 58 We do not understand love songs 59 like your inamorata. 60 Our faces are cracked linoleum, 61 cracked through with the heavy, sure 62 feet of our masters. 63 We are shot through with carrot tops 64 and poppyseed and tilted grammar; 65 we waste days like mad blackbirds 66 and pray for alcoholic nights. 67 Our silk-sick human smiles wrap around 68 us like somebody else's confetti: 69 we do not even belong to the Party. 70 We are a scene chalked-out with the 71 sick white brush of Age. 72 We smoke, asleep as a dish of figs. 73 We smoke, dead as a fog. 74 Take us. 75 A bathtub murder 76 or something quick and bright; our names 77 in the papers. 78 Known, at last, for a moment 79 to millions of careless and grape-dull eyes 80 that hold themselves private 81 to only flicker and flame 82 at the poor cracker-barrel jibes 83 of their conceited, pampered correct comedians. 84 Known, at last, for a moment, 85 as they will be known [Page 28] 86 and as you will be known 87 by an all-gray man on an all-gray horse 88 who sits and fondles a sword 89 longer than the night 90 longer than the mountain's aching backbone 91 longer than all the cries 92 that have a-bombed up out of throats 93 and exploded in a newer, less-planned 94 land. 95 We smoke and the clouds do not notice us. 96 A cat walks by and shakes Shakespeare off of his back. 97 Tallow, tallow, candle like wax: our spines 98 are limp and our consciousness burns 99 guilelessly away 100 the remaining wick life has 101 doled out to us. 102 An old man asked me for a cigarette 103 and told me his troubles 104 and this 105 is what he said: 106 that Age was a crime 107 and that Pity picked up the marbles 108 and that Hatred picked up the 109 cash. 110 He might have been your father 111 or mine. 112 He might have been a sex-fiend 113 or a saint. 114 But whatever he was, 115 he was condemned 116 and we stood in the sun and [Page 29] 117 smoked 118 and looked around 119 in our leisure 120 to see who was next in 121 line.

yeah. especially true when if asked what his work was about he would say "i don't know". who does, really? no one really knows why they do what they do. even worse when critics act like they do know. nothing but love to bukowski for getting me through hard times with his hard knocks life.

Last Night of the Earth Poems Love is a Dog from Hell Hot Water Music The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over the Hills Sifting Through the Madness for the Word the Line the Way or his prose/book Post Office i love all/any of those.

yo man. ease off. you ought to know as well as i how little manic summaries aren't going to do a lifetime's worth. is all i'm saying.

i can't imagine how this new record could be anything but disappointing considering the wad of bullshit around their image. fever to tell is the soundtrack for washed up third wave feminist nazis. to quote Dylan, i see through it "like i see through the water that runs down my drain".

THE DAYS RUN AWAY LIKE WILD HORSES OVER THE HILLS

I'm back.

you care to put up a trailer or something? that website has nothing to see.

the wacky CYCLE the wiley SIGH and the KOS KINGS.... and mr.schmo, get at me real soon...lost your contact. you know who.

and it is also one of the best ways to die a fugitive. then again, who are you telling?

everybody growing up in new york knew harold at some point or another. r.i.p.

BORE "BE" from north carolina, rest in peace... Scar and Res...

jeez. lay off the gimmicks a bit and maybe one could read some of the above trains.

hella 2001

this is a smart bench. great job as always.

elliott smith "georgia" from an album of unreleased songs entitled from a basement on a hill II