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Digging In the Crates:


ETHREADZNY

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i don't even know how you found that. well, if you wanna read that thing, and there is no pmer thread, i might as well post it here so at least someone can appreciate it.

 

Lifted from Quality Of Life, Issue III

 

In the middle of the graffiti circle jerk the toy stands up to proclaim a new king. The crown is given out symbolizing power and imagination, but it all reveals the same shit as the politics behind the madness turn the crown to dust. Critics scream, “graffiti belongs on trains, getting permission is for suckers, old school! Old school!” I want to tell you people now, fuck the old school, fuck this so called “media made new school” and from the bottom of my heart – fuck you! Why should any of us follow in the footsteps of some dirty 16 year old ghetto dweller from the 70’s that rocked an afro and chased polka dots? Classics? Shit, that word is only a safe haven for the kids that never made it to the next level. I was shitting my pants in the 70’s. Why the fuck do I want to glorify the art of that time? “Yeah, but that’s how it started”. So what, Beethoven influenced music, but if someone rocks it in the crowd they are liable to get punched in the face. It’s almost 99, the old school either graduated or got suspended long ago. Writers from the 70’s and 80’s are carefully trying to rebuild what graffiti destroyed in their lives. Most of the surviving writers have as much heart as a guy waiting for a transplant. Soldiers went from bombing lines to sniffing them, trading in their pilots for blunt and walking the streets with liquor in their pockets instead of ink. 90% of my past associates are better off dead, including me. Then you have this new generation. The hardcore has changed hands and now lies within some stupid 14 year old hopeful king. He knows shit about shit, but will pay his dues in this society harder than any other past writer. The beef is stronger, the cops quicker and the system less forgiving. And lets not forget he is still the fucking toy that gets no respect from his fellow contenders. Then you got the magazine hustlers. Most of ‘em are one hit wonders trying to claim fame and disguise their failures in this graffiti rat race. A chosen few are distinguished and wear their battle scars triumphantly, but then there are the ones that continue to make a mockery out of the vandalistic system they’ve sworn to represent. They seek cash and acknowledgement for their graffiti milestone, the rest of us just want a little star on the artistic prostitures walk of fame. Graffiti is setup like a bunch of garbage cans on Sunday night. The kid comes for the pickup, he discards it into his mind and lets his originality set it on fire, then he simply recycles anything and everything available. All a writer wants is to stick out like a knife in a cops stomach. They’ll do anything to reach the top, but the truth is, the golden ladder has steps missing and the plastic trophies have already been given out. The underdogs are fucked. Graffiti went from tunnels to sunlight, street corners to gallery stage. What’s next? Who decides? Could it be these little fucking punks are the saviours of the graffiti world as we know it? After all, they know all there is to know about graffiti because they have old pictures they bought for $5.00 a piece. But they still have no idea what it’s like to sit in some bombed car staring at the tags in a fucking trance totally oblivious to what is going on around them. Shit, years ago they destroyed a car with in and paint, now its nails and sandpaper. Pretty soon we will be voting for the king of the dust tags. I know most of you steal from your mother and abuse illegal drugs, you occasionally have a social drink with your peers in some piss stained hallway, you have young women to use and abuse and places to bomb, hookers to buy, and Springer to watch. In today’s world the graffiti writers role in society is very complex. Just remember to always keep your photo album up to date with a special section for the shit that happened before you were born. Wrap this and other magazines in plastic and save certain nails and discontinued sandpaper (they’ll get you big cash or vicced at a trade show in 20 years). You can love graffiti, but it doesn’t mean she’s gonna love you back, especially when her big brother watches her every move. Sometimes, she’s a real bitch! FUCK OFF!

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