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  1. If you had to fuck a Huxtable, who would it be, and why... and how...?
  2. I like little kids in tunnels...and I don't think I'm alone on this one.
  3. 12oz is no joke. This shit be in lights!
  4. Aaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!!! Omar, Nicas, and fancy beers!!!!! And I probably did smoke too much. And a Camry: the company car And the mission with UPS, a POS, CGI's, and a crazy rave at the port of Miami. I also remember it hailing on the way to your crib. The fumes in that place did things.
  5. Misk, the wordsmyth, the boy wonder. Ah, the early days of 12ozprophet.com, back before HTML was a four-letter-word. In the mid-nineties, shortly after 12oz established itself firmly as the best graffiti zine on any market, I was brought onto the team to keep this domination on the 'net too-- it was time to get the net on lock. The journey there merits some discussion. I grew up in Miami, and subsequently, on 12oz Prophet Magazine. There were other zines I bought, but they all fell short of displaying graffiti in all its manifold splendors—12 oz Prophet encapsulated it all: full-rich color (a writer demands no less), crazy new places, fresh ass mediums, real interviews, and, quite simply, the great fucking resource for tips, gear, information, news, commentary by relevant writers, etc. anywhere. I was a fan-- still am. I was a writer. I bombed daylight/nightlight/nolight, pieced @ pennants, illegals, rooftops and highway signs-- I earned stripes. I wouldn't call myself a fresh writer. In fact, my style when I write now is like frozen in time. It's funny, it's like a time capsule. But, I wrote. I also hacked. My fame came from there insofar as 12oz is concerned. I contacted MisteRaven. There had recently been some news about some Miami graffiti writer playing with local police computers and taunting them. I'd figured he heard about it too, so I thought, what the hey. After some intelligence-gathering I contacted MisteRaven in an unconventional manner about something (a hyperlinked IM to something or another, help me here, Raven), we later met IRL at a McDonalds, and he fell in love with me because I had a Mac laptop (go apple!). So we’re clear: I was now on board with the most prestigious and inarguably the best zine ever created on graffiti period. Now, to build a site. What was great about 12oz, as I mentioned earlier—content—lacked on ArtCrimes.org. And so we’re clearer, Artcrimes.org was at the forefront of graffiti information dissemination. I, as well as any self-respecting writer in the 90’s, was a daily visitor to Artcrimes.org. Artcrimes is the shit, straight-up. But, it lacked what 12ozProphet.com endeavored: a world-accessible, wholly-integrated, interactive community of graffiti writers, trading more than flix, but information. In short, not a bench, but a limitless wall where all writers can paint—a tall order indeed and a dream still very alive. Shit was different back then. Bandwidth was laughingly expensive and building a site is nothing like it is now. Scripting for shopping carts was complex, especially dealing with all the different primitive garbage out there calling itself a shopping cart script. Achieving the uncompromised aesthetic appeal of 12 oz Magazine on mid-nineties internet tech was also a tough gig for everyone. Web graphics was basically new thing and that was a challenge for some artists to ‘acclimate’ as it were to the constricted climate of the internet from the open climate of massive data print. The software was not as evolved per user needs as they are now—to say the fucking least. Fuck, registering and hosting the site was a pain in the ass. The internet was way more nuts-n-bolts back then, more esoteric. Not so anymore. The base, Straight From The Bottom’s office-warehouse, was far from my apartment in downtown, so the commute was a real fucker for me, indeed. Also, where I worked, like my car, there was no air conditioning—remember, this is in Miami. I worked under the stairs in the warehouse. All the artists worked upstairs, along with the captain, shit even Julio had air conditioning in the front. I never got paid a cent. And I didn’t give a fuck. As far as I was concerned, I was fucking dreaming. When I began working for 12 oz, I was 16. I’d recently seen the absurdity of attending high school every day, left high school and immediately got my G.E.D. then enrolled in FIU for computer programming. I worked fucking pro bono for 12 oz Prophet Fucking Magazine spearheading its endeavors into the internet—the biggest wall out there. The internet is graffiti. But that’s another essay in itself. Essentially, I was happier than a pig in shit just being there. I drank free coca-colas, got videos and stickers, some t’s, markers, and the company of the some of the planet’s best graffiti writers and artists. Never any drugs or shit like that—never. Not even Masm…well maybe Masm. Straight up, though, it was for hip hop. I know that’s cheesedick, but it’s true. It still is. I learned zealotry there. Eat, sleep, 12 oz Prophet, shit. That was Raven: fiercely resolved to excellence. It’s a manifest quality that is on every issue of 12 oz. We did end up getting 12ozprophet.com working—to a degree. Although I left team 12 oz to go to college, 12ozprophet.com remains there today. You should know, you’re on it. Now it’s my time to get up on it—again. I am a 12 oz Prophet veteran. I am Misk One, BN Crew, Miami, and beyond.
  6. Roll call: Misk, the wordsmyth. Bomb Nation Crew - Miami, FL
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