Clever Name Posted February 20, 2002 Share Posted February 20, 2002 Haha -- exactly. ^^ Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
niseNSF Posted February 20, 2002 Share Posted February 20, 2002 the only way i can understand what all your problems are is thinking maybe this is the whole urban vs. nonurban problem. first yall were hating on IRAK, then someone set you straight, expalining that they are ill. tehn, the debate became, ok, maybe they ARE up, but their lifestyle suxx. now kids are saying "im indifferent to their lifestyle, but publicizing it is "using" graff culture, blahblahblah" WHAT!?! IRAK is up as fuck. like la,philly,sf, paris,berlin,etc... NYC is one of those cities where graff isnt about giving a SHIT about all you fuckin nerds in ohio. king = all city, not all mag or all internet. in real cities, theres a culture to graff that many of you do not understand. right now, nobodys really fuckin wit snoty sace fanta and posse (although my nyc heads will debate it, thats a seperate issue from all these clowns on here!!) they kill shit, like similiar crews in other big cities, and dont care about fr8s, weirdo piecing styles with circles and loops and design school garbage. they care about getting up and destroying. part of that lifestyle, when you live in the city, from ages 12/13-30/? involves all kinds of crazy shit. that means anwhere from one to ALL of the following hobbies: robbing people, getting robbed, stealing cars, racking food, racking paint, racking gear, racking tvs, racking CDs from house parties, drinking, smoking weed, snorting coke, banging heroin, eating any and all pills uppers and downers, smoking pcp/wet/sherm, racking bikes, messengering, being sXe(although very rare post 96/97 on east coast),banging chicks, fighting, being gay, pool hopping, tunnel ratting, roof climbing, turnstile hopping, clubbing,getting kicked out of clubs, hunting the newest unplayed-out clubs, ruining house parties, smoking crack, going to shows, fighting details magazine dudes, and writing GRAFF on everything..... thats how every kid in most cities lives for a good portion of his/her youth. some do all this but no grafff. some do lots of graff and nothing else, but thats fucking rare. about 95% of any kid growing up in a city does anywhere from half to most of this shit on the regs. if you think its scandolous or out of hand, its proly because youre not from a city, or at least not a big one, and/or youre a fucking loser. sorry. which take us to the issue at hand-- IRAK does deserve press, tehy kill shit. and yes, they live ill, but no iller than any one i know in la, paris, london, etc....the only difference may be a LITTLE iller but thats nyc, everything from rent to happy meal prices are a LITTLE iller in nyc. its fuckin new york. so if its not your lifestyle, fine, but shut the fuck up about it...no ones complaining that youre a fuckin square, let us city folk roll how we wanna. i hate to break it to yall new-age "pretty graff", painting in the woods in nebraska writers, but most of the graff that spawned your culture was DONE by thug ass city people who also robbed, stole, and painted a majority of their shit coked up/on pills/or dusted. most of THE illest graff you sweat is the product of a hard living lifestyle. the fact that theres healthy sububranite types painting MADD FR8ZZZ in idaho isnt justification for hating on a lifestyle that was around way before you downloaded your first fr8 thread on 12oz. finally, for the argument that their lifestyle is ok (gee, thanks) but the article is exploitive....how? its an article by another wild ass new yorker about a wild posse posted on a NYC webzine. its for newyorkers, and/or people interested in tthat lifestyle. go look at the vice website. its NOT FUCKIN NEWSWEEK. no one is blowing all you fuckin bumblefucks "culture" up by writing an article about wild ass writers in ny. if you dont like IRAK, fine, but shut up about it already. theyve already done more graff than 90% of you kids. and their lifestyle, shit, thats how most of us fuckin live. ESPO coined the whole lifestyle i think as "the art of getting over"....(or getting it in, in some cases). thats life in the city, if you dont feel it, dont come here. wed prolly rob your ass anyway...or at least go over your futuristic fr8crap graff. SNOTY for PREZIDENT.... Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Jewish Task Force Posted February 20, 2002 Share Posted February 20, 2002 Originally posted by cheerleader the only way i can understand what all your problems are is thinking maybe this is the whole urban vs. nonurban problem. first yall were hating on IRAK, then someone set you straight, expalining that they are ill. tehn, the debate became, ok, maybe they ARE up, but their lifestyle suxx. now kids are saying "im indifferent to their lifestyle, but publicizing it is "using" graff culture, blahblahblah" WHAT!?! IRAK is up as fuck. like la,philly,sf, paris,berlin,etc... NYC is one of those cities where graff isnt about giving a SHIT about all you fuckin nerds in ohio. king = all city, not all mag or all internet. in real cities, theres a culture to graff that many of you do not understand. right now, nobodys really fuckin wit snoty sace fanta and posse (although my nyc heads will debate it, thats a seperate issue from all these clowns on here!!) they kill shit, like similiar crews in other big cities, and dont care about fr8s, weirdo piecing styles with circles and loops and design school garbage. they care about getting up and destroying. part of that lifestyle, when you live in the city, from ages 12/13-30/? involves all kinds of crazy shit. that means anwhere from one to ALL of the following hobbies: robbing people, getting robbed, stealing cars, racking food, racking paint, racking gear, racking tvs, racking CDs from house parties, drinking, smoking weed, snorting coke, banging heroin, eating any and all pills uppers and downers, smoking pcp/wet/sherm, racking bikes, messengering, being sXe(although very rare post 96/97 on east coast),banging chicks, fighting, being gay, pool hopping, tunnel ratting, roof climbing, turnstile hopping, clubbing,getting kicked out of clubs, hunting the newest unplayed-out clubs, ruining house parties, smoking crack, going to shows, fighting details magazine dudes, and writing GRAFF on everything..... thats how every kid in most cities lives for a good portion of his/her youth. some do all this but no grafff. some do lots of graff and nothing else, but thats fucking rare. about 95% of any kid growing up in a city does anywhere from half to most of this shit on the regs. if you think its scandolous or out of hand, its proly because youre not from a city, or at least not a big one, and/or youre a fucking loser. sorry. which take us to the issue at hand-- IRAK does deserve press, tehy kill shit. and yes, they live ill, but no iller than any one i know in la, paris, london, etc....the only difference may be a LITTLE iller but thats nyc, everything from rent to happy meal prices are a LITTLE iller in nyc. its fuckin new york. so if its not your lifestyle, fine, but shut the fuck up about it...no ones complaining that youre a fuckin square, let us city folk roll how we wanna. i hate to break it to yall new-age "pretty graff", painting in the woods in nebraska writers, but most of the graff that spawned your culture was DONE by thug ass city people who also robbed, stole, and painted a majority of their shit coked up/on pills/or dusted. most of THE illest graff you sweat is the product of a hard living lifestyle. the fact that theres healthy sububranite types painting MADD FR8ZZZ in idaho isnt justification for hating on a lifestyle that was around way before you downloaded your first fr8 thread on 12oz. finally, for the argument that their lifestyle is ok (gee, thanks) but the article is exploitive....how? its an article by another wild ass new yorker about a wild posse posted on a NYC webzine. its for newyorkers, and/or people interested in tthat lifestyle. go look at the vice website. its NOT FUCKIN NEWSWEEK. no one is blowing all you fuckin bumblefucks "culture" up by writing an article about wild ass writers in ny. if you dont like IRAK, fine, but shut up about it already. theyve already done more graff than 90% of you kids. and their lifestyle, shit, thats how most of us fuckin live. ESPO coined the whole lifestyle i think as "the art of getting over"....(or getting it in, in some cases). thats life in the city, if you dont feel it, dont come here. wed prolly rob your ass anyway...or at least go over your futuristic fr8crap graff. SNOTY for PREZIDENT.... People need to read that twice........very well put. GRAFF LIFE, live it or leave it alone. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Smart Posted February 20, 2002 Share Posted February 20, 2002 if you're replying to me Cheerleader what I'm saying, and have said from the start, takes no position on IRAK and their work. I said: THE ARTICLE IS POORLY WRITTEN BY A DICKRIDING (not a comment on his sexual orientation) REPORTER WHO KNOWS NOTHING OF THE SCENE AND ONLY USES IT TO SELL HIS GAY MAGAZINES, IT HAS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH ARTISTIC MERIT, THE ONLY REASON IRAK WAS FEATURED IS BECAUSE THEY ARE GAY AND CONTROVERSIAL, AND THAT, TO ME, IS FUCKING WEAK JOURNALISM. is that clear? Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Clever Name Posted February 20, 2002 Share Posted February 20, 2002 Originally posted by cheerleader the article is exploitive....how? its an article by another wild ass new yorker about a wild posse posted on a NYC webzine. its for newyorkers, Hahah, it's an article posted by a graf-jocking wannabe who thinks writing a "wild" article about a couple of people who's life means more than his will make him seem cool. Read between the lines "tough girl." Smart beat me to the reality check. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
niseNSF Posted February 20, 2002 Share Posted February 20, 2002 reply to "smart" and "clever name" both ironically and appropriately named considering your response were niether smart nor clever. a graff-jocking wannabe? what? sell gay magazines? what? what the fuck are you talking about? 1st, IRAK is not a gay graff crew, get you shit str8, second, we could debate the merits of a graff article forever, but what makes THIS one exploitive of graff? BECAUSE its written by a gay porn director? what?! its a fuckin WEBZINE about NYC culture...obviously your NOT from nyc, because youd knwo that IRAK are practically like moviestars there. the article hardly fuckin talks ABOUT graffiti or details of it, its a LIFESTYLE article about some of the most sweaatted personalities in ny right now. i dont understand how this escapes the two of you little haters. where are you from?? that might help shed some light on your thickness. *slowly* IT..IS..AN...ARTICLE...ABOUT...NYC..LIFESTYLES....PARTICULARLY...OUTRAGEOUS...ONES. ITS....NOT..."ABOUT"....GRAFF...OR...USING...GRAFF....TO ....SELL....MAGAZINES. THE....AUTHOR...DOES....NOT...NEED....TO...SEEM...."COOL"...OR...."CONTROVERSIAL".....................HES A FUCKING PORN DIRECTOR?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!? god hating really forces people to take soem gigantic leaps of logic. its like youre so determined to hate, youre not even making sense. journalistic integrity??? need i repeat? ITS NOT NEWSWEEK!!! its an article about outrageous living in nyc. which is what IRAK does. great article, great story, well done. u two should rub some of the braincells u used to choose your screenames together and come up with some actual sense. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
whiteboy 516 Posted February 20, 2002 Share Posted February 20, 2002 DAMMMMMMMMN....CHEERLEADER YOU SURE YOUR NOT GROWIN A SET OF BALLS DOWN THERE??---A CHEERLEADER WITH A STRONG SENSE OF WILL...A RARE FIND THESE DAYS.---------GOD U MUST BE GREAT IN THE SACK. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
niseNSF Posted February 20, 2002 Share Posted February 20, 2002 im not the hottest cheerleader on the squad, i only have 36 Bs....but i love fucking, so yeah, im ill. i like getting my hair pulled from behind while im getting fucked. i suck at graff tho. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest blood as ink Posted February 20, 2002 Share Posted February 20, 2002 earsnot fuckin' rocks...as for the article i think it's well done...some of the drug stuff kinda bugs me but whatever.a good read. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Can you sign my book??? Posted February 20, 2002 Share Posted February 20, 2002 Wow cheerleader well spoken!!!NYC home of the ill...And anyone ever have the cops come to your house at 5 in the morning?That shit sucked.... Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Can you sign my book??? Posted February 20, 2002 Share Posted February 20, 2002 Oh but I do think the articles were sensationalized to a degree, if not the Vice, the Dazed one was...I know for a fact a few people were a tad embarassed, and a few people were quite angry at the kid who did it...And I hope youre not thinking Im hating on them, theyre all my friends, and I just might have been there when some of those things happened... Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
zen Posted February 20, 2002 Share Posted February 20, 2002 The fact that both Ryan and Earsnot are openly fag in the circles in which they travel is pretty remarkable, but its something you dont really think about when you hang with them because they are so unfaggy. i love it. this gay porn director really has a way with words. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Smart Posted February 20, 2002 Share Posted February 20, 2002 Originally posted by cheerleader a graff-jocking wannabe? what? sell gay magazines? what? what the fuck are you talking about? the author 1st, IRAK is not a gay graff crew, get you shit str8, second, we could debate the merits of a graff article forever, but what makes THIS one exploitive of graff? BECAUSE its written by a gay porn director? what?! it's just poorly written no matter who penned it and it avoids the issues of being a writer entirely... they could have been crazy dog catcher for all the influence it had on the outcome of the article... you gotta get off this thing where you suggest that I'm hating on IRAK in all of your posts, AGAIN I'll say, I'm hating on the writer. I also think I was pretty clear about the reasons for that in my previous post... Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cracked Ass Posted February 20, 2002 Share Posted February 20, 2002 Cheerleader needs a Valium...defending shit that wasn't attacked. And since when does anyone from New York care what people are saying on the Internet? Just relax. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Clever Name Posted February 20, 2002 Share Posted February 20, 2002 Cheerleader -- I sniff coke, shoot heroin, burn shit, eat dead people, and write "dicksludge" -- so can I pull your hair and fuck you from behind? Nevermind, I'm dickless and prefer hermaphrodites. Believe that! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
niseNSF Posted February 20, 2002 Share Posted February 20, 2002 SMART: lord, you are annoying. "the author"?? what a witty response to a question not asked. my question was clearly what are you talking about. you are a slow one. second lame response: who cares how poorly its written? finish reading my response BEFORE you respond, jesus. its not for you or about you if you have problem wiht it. leave it alone, go back to your fr8 lay-up. and finally, im responding to at least 2 or more people. i CLEARLY delineate that, "smart", if you can read. i address the people dissing IRAK in one point, and YOUR issues with the "author" in another. learn to fucking read. CRACKED ASS: try scrolling up, dude, yeah, a few peopel said IRAK didnt deserve exposure (an attack) a few other said they suck becasue of their lifestyle (attack #2) and finally dipshit "smart" has "journalism" issues with it (attack #3). you, not unlike "smart", should READ before you make stupid comments. lordy, you guys are having a slow week. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
niseNSF Posted February 20, 2002 Share Posted February 20, 2002 CLEVER NAME: finally a semi-witty response, maybe earning your namesake back a little. you can fuck me on dope, but you wont come. you can TRY to fuck me on coke, but you wont get hard. as for burning shit, well, thats all u honey. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
soopafeen Posted February 21, 2002 Share Posted February 21, 2002 Someone should post the other IRAK article. Which mag was it in? Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest fr8lover Posted February 21, 2002 Share Posted February 21, 2002 If you believe what the New York Police Department’s Vandal Squad says, graffiti is the first sign of a neighborhood that is out of control. But if you look a bit closer, and start to decipher the names that re-appear over and over again all throughout lower Manhattan - on corrugated metal storefront gates, nightclub bathroom walls, delivery trucks parked in Chinatown, burned into the glass of SoHo boutiques with etching cream - there’s actually no question as to who’s in control. In case you need it spelled out, the large public announcement that graced the Brooklyn Bridge last year made it perfectly clear: Graffiti is alive. Fuck Giuliani” - brought to you courtesy of lrak. From a historical perspective of New York graffiti culture, the Brooklyn Bridge, a protected national landmark, is the Holy Grail of tagging. It’s only been done successfully three times, one of which resulted in the fall and subsequent death of 18 year-old David Smith, aka “Sane, half of the famous Smith-Sane brothers who, along with sacred names like Cost and Revs, Ghost, Toxic, Kaws, Crash, Tracy 168 and Futura 2000, are now so legendary as to be bedtime stories for today’s new generation of graf writers. Sitting next to me in a hooded sweatshirt with glittering letters that spell-out “New York” is a bloke who’s on a hell-bent mission to achieve that same level of fame. Smooth-faced, strikingly attractive and characteristically pissed-off about life in general, Earsnot (he once misread the word “earshot” in a skateboarding magazine, and adopted the name as his tag) explains the origins of his crew, lrak. “lrak literally means ‘I steal’” he explains. ‘‘Racking’ means stealing or shoplifting, which is what some of us do for a living. A never-ending gangsta rap soundtrack blares in the background as ‘Snot” (as his friends affectionately call him) glances across the room at his partner Rehab, a Skinny young kid from the Dominican Republic. “We figure that we’re making between $40-50,000 a year each boosting, and that’s not even counting what we rack just for our own personal use. Although I don’t really know why I steal clothes since I wear the same thing every day.” Talking to anyone in lrak is next to impossible without being fluent in the languages of graffiti and New York hip hop, as well as their own secret vernacular of “islands” (lines of coke), “lizzy bags” (hidden linings constructed of aluminum foil placed inside of messenger bags, meant for passing through security checks with items that have sensor tags), or realizing that every person has a minimum of two aliases. lrak is certainly not the Only active graffiti crew in New York, nor are they the only ones to “boost” (selling shoplifted goods to a “bumpy” - retail stores that purchase the items, then resell them to the public). What sets lrak apart, however, is the incredible relentlessness of their schedule, which is essentially seven days a week, 365 days a year, as well as the sheer audacity under which they operate. Riding down Broadway on skateboards at midnight, they carry stolen $800 Gucci bags, loaded with spraypaint, cutting through the middle of traffic and kicking the shit out of anyone who gets in their way. Their politics are nil, their singular passion is achieving fame through graffiti, and their motto iS: “Every night is New Year’s Eve.” The never-ending marathon of coke, heroin, alcohol and pills is funded communally by profits from boosting, and nearly every night they spend their last dollar on getting fucked up. lrak also stands out as an anomalous, culturally-diverse crew, crossing all ethnic and socio-economic boundaries, summed up in their leader, Snot, who is black and openly gay (with a preference for large, middle-aged white construction workers). In a scene that is fiercely homophobic, he often uses the tag “Kwearsnot” just to taunt his peers. The Tattoo on his arm is of saddam hussien with a bulging cock in his trousers. “I think the man is very sexy,” Earsnot says. “I’m not going to hide my sexuality and inconvenience my lifestyle just because some people have problems with it.” A comparison to the film Kids is inevitable when you hang with lrak. And some of the crew are friends with director Harmony Korine, who they say checks in with them from time to time to swap stories. Semen is a long-haired bloke from Jersey who lives in the projects, just above a fried chicken restaurant with a huge sign that reads ‘Wings and Liquor.” His signature tag, a smiling sperm, pops up everywhere on the route to his home. “When I saw the movie Kids,” his friend Area, the youngest member of lrak, says, stretched out in bed with his sneakers on, drinking a ghetto-vintage bottle of Thunderbird wine, “I thought to myself, ‘Fuck yeah! I wanna do that! Going to the coolest clubs, doing drugs all the time, fucking shit up. I’d do anything to be like that.”’ On what could be described as a fairly typical night out for lrak, we hit a graf writer’s party at a bar on the Lower East Side. Earsnot is in the back, smoking a blunt along with a few others, when the bouncer walks up and asks him to leave. He responds by blowing a cloud of smoke into the man’s face, and picking up a pool cue. The bouncer warns him to put it down, and pulls a knife to make his point. Three members of the crew jump the bouncer, as Snot is dragged out the door, holding onto a chair which he smashes to pieces. Snot punches the bouncer in the face, and the police arrive. But before anyone can be apprehended, the members of lrak jump into a white limousine (hired out for someone’s birthday) and speed off. They don’t get far, however, before the driver stops and throws them out for doing charlie and smoking spliffs. The car disappears and once again they are left on the street with nothing but a skateboard, which is promptly run over by a car and broken in half. Earsnot throws up his hands in disgust, and stomps away. The episode back at the bar wouldn’t have happened, he says, if the bouncer had not upset the strict code of conduct they live by. A bar that is friendly to graf writers is treated with utmost respect, but as Snot says they singled me out because I’m black, so tuck them.” At that point, any form of retaliation becomes acceptable. It’s only been about a week of hanging with lrak, and already I’ve noticed some personality changes in myself. Aside from the 7am to 5pm sleep schedule, I can’t seem to go into a store without nicking something. When I walk through a bar, I notice people step out of the way. When you walk with Irak, you feel as if you’re in an invincible cocoon. Everyone and everything outside the crew is vulnerable, but if you’re down with the crew, there’s nothing to fear - you are loved and protected, despite Snot’s frequent flip-out dramas, which are usually forgiven almost as quickly as they happen. We pass through an endless barrage of nightclubs, following a trail of hip hop DJs, chilling until we are inevitably thrown out - usually because Sace (one of the two members of lrak who did the Brooklyn Bridge piece, the other has since been thrown out of the crew) has set something on fire, or because someone has been caught using drugs. There is a long list of clubs that lrak is banned from, but new ones keep opening, so the party just moves on. All the while, spray cans and markers are pulled out every few blocks to mark lrak’s territory like dogs pissing on fire hydrants; a message to the world that says, This little piece of New York is mine” Just like grunge rock died with Kurt Cobain, for many people New York graffiti died the day the Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA) started the Clean Trains” antigraffiti programme, buffing trains that were bombed before they were allowed out in public view. The city of New York had declared war on writers, hitting some with massive fines, so many chose to move on to the safe haven of art galleries. To that extent, the public at large tends to think the graffiti wars are over now, and that the city won. Few take notice of the ongoing dialogue on the streets today, but Irak -and a few other zealous youngsters - are starting to grab their attention once again. There’s definitely a new generation of writers that are ready to bust loose,” says Semz, who is currently at the top of the Vandal Squad’s most wanted list. “But unlike lrak, they don’t get together and meet in the Lower East Side every night, and roam the fuckin’ streets and do fill-ins and take tags. No crew does that. Irak is a beautiful thing, but it’s ridiculous because no one wants to realise what they have right now. It’s not even about the graffiti, it’s about getting together and having amazing times - meeting at five at night and staying out until five in the morning. 12 hours a day, every day. And if I miss a day, I feel so fuckin’ left out.” Sace is 18 years old and has no job other than boosting. He wears a reversible leather/fur Gucci jacket that cost over $5,000. He got it less than a month ago, and already the sleeve is covered in paint stains. Sace could easily pass for Hollywood’s next rising star, with his drop-dead good looks. A tattoo of the Virgin Mary with an Uzi machine gun stretches across his slim chest, and a gold chain with a gold-plated combat tank hangs from his neck. Sitting in the dim light of a bar, girls look at him with a sort of intimidated fascination. Another strange thing about lrak, half of them look like Calvin Klein models. In fact, Earsnot was recently included in Paper magazine’s list of the 50 most beautiful people in New York. Snot’s beauty and individuality extend well beneath the surface, as well. No doubt, like the others, he has a dark side, but the more I get to know the members of lrak, the more I find myself drawn to them. In fact, they’re probably some of the best blokes you could ever hope to have as friends, which makes it sad to think that, in many cases, their parents have abandoned them. They may look scary, and certainly they fuck off a lot of people, but society is more afraid of lrak than it should be. These aren’t the kids who shoot up their classmates at school, those nervous little introverts who bottle up their aggression then explode ‘cause they feel powerless. The kids in lrak are the exact opposite. Their rage is channelled into self-destruction, and though it is in some ways the source of their troubles, graffiti is also their one saving grace because it’s the thing that helps keep them ‘on point.’ You realise that when you look out at the crevice of the Brooklyn Bridge that Sace stood on to make his tag, and see that one small error would have sent him falling to his death. Sace recently fled the country after the FBI came looking for him for various crimes that he prefers not to divulge. He went on the lam for months, turning his exile into a graffiti-tour of Rome, Madrid and Amsterdam. His hand is covered in cuts from punching out a window earlier in the day, and he talks with a nasal voice, like a bad guy in a ‘40s gangster movie, confiding in me that he likes to read the poetry of Rimbaud. Sace’s parents (who he asks me to write in the article are dead) disowned him after he went to jail. When I ask him why he wants me to say his parents are dead, he says “I want them to see this article. And I want them to read that I said that.” You could say Sace, like the others, is a bit childish. But then Rimbaud was also a graffiti writer at the age of 17, chalking “Merde a Dieu’ on park benches in Paris, getting smashed on absinthe and hash, and getting shot by Verlaine before heading to Africa to become a gun-runner, where he renounced his poetry as “absurd, ridiculous and disgusting” right up until he died. lrak is definitely a combination of juvenile stupidity, legitimate art (aside from graffiti, some of the crew are painters whose work has been exhibited), and hardcore violence without remorse. “Sometimes I see a nice old lady working in a store, and i feel kinda bad,’ says Rehab. But if she’s gonna get in my way of making $300, I’m gonna knock the bitch out.’ One of Rehab’s friends is in jail now for killing a store owner in Chinatown over the botched theft of a baseball cap (he claims the death was an accident). Racking paint has always been an integral part of graffiti, but Earsnot believes entire fashion trends can be traced back to graf writers and their habit of racking expensive clothing. “No one in the ghetto ever heard of North Face or Polo until people like Lo-Lifes started racking that shit,” Snot says. “It was all about going to some store in the suburbs, racking these butter jackets (butter dope/expensive) just because they cost mad money. Then your friends would see it and be like ‘yo that shit cost $400? Wordl I want one, too’. Then they’d make their mama buy them one instead of paying the heating bill. Muthafucka Ralph Lauren owes us for that shit.” Nearly all of the crew has been to jail at least once. On another night I am with lrak, one of their mates has just gotten out of jail, so they head to a newly-opened bar to celebrate. The DJ is spinning New York hip hop Notorious BIG, the RZA arid Capone-n-Noreaga, as the Irakians sing along to every word, cigarettes dangling from their lips, drinks all around, snorting bumps of cocaine off the tips of keys until the waitress catches on and throws them out. Then it’s on to the next club, and the next one after that. The heroin starts to flow, and Earsnot is walking down the street, vomiting every few steps some awful red colour, wearing his headphones and listening to The Bends. We make it to a club, where he hangs under the table throwing up into a pile of napkins on the floor. On the way home, they stop at every chance to make tags arid do fill-ins, whether on delivery trucks or walls. “I want the kids who ioo~ at this stuff to wonder ‘Who the tuck are these guys?’” says Semz. ‘Their curiosity creates our mystery. Once they really know who we are, they’re gonna have no real respect for us.” Sitting on the floor of his bare apartment, Sace shows me a framed photograph of an oil tanker, the entire side of which is marked with the most enormous tag I have ever seen in roy life. It says ‘TIE”, and is a tribute in red and silver paint to one of lrak’s mates who was shot in the back of the head. ‘That motherfucker,” he says, pointing to the ship, “sailed all the way to Japan. We got pictures of the fuckin’ ship from writers in Japan.” Whether it’s true or not (bravado and exaggeration are endemic in the graffiti world), it’s still an unbelievably beautiful image to think of an oil tanker moving along out in the middle of the ocean on its way to Japan carrying a giant tag on its hull. And it’s undoubtedly the greatest tribute I could ever possibly imagine to a fellow graffiti writer’s life that was cut short, just as Sace took the time to add to his tag on the Brooklyn Bridge a memorial that read “Sane, R.I.P7 Its hard to imagine what these kids will be like in ten years, when the name lrak fades away from the city streets beneath the paint of the future generation of writers. With today’s kids numbed by MTV ‘Jack Ass” stunts, backyard extreme-wrestling federations, gangsta rap, and school shootings, lrak has had to work hard just to be noticed: ultimately what graffiti is all about. Outside, the sky is starting to change colours, signalling the arrival of morning. The last of the drugs are gone, as Earsnot stumbles out the door for an hourlong subway ride home to the Bronx. He needs to grab a few hours rest. After all, tomorrow night is New Year’s Eve, and he has to live up to the tag under his photo in Paper that reads: “There is nothing more beautiful than a criminal.” Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Nic Thamaire Posted February 22, 2002 Author Share Posted February 22, 2002 Cheerleader Get back at me , i got to talk to you .. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
lo5.iTwilD Posted February 22, 2002 Share Posted February 22, 2002 WELL SAID! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
niseNSF Posted February 23, 2002 Share Posted February 23, 2002 Re: Cheerleader Originally posted by Nic Thamaire Get back at me , i got to talk to you .. yo...whats up? if you know beardo or the law, they got my IM shit...if not ill hook you up, whats the deal? Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ThKillerInMe Posted May 8, 2002 Share Posted May 8, 2002 for all you mid west jocks yeah i hung with irak a few times. ear is gay and some of them fools do mad drugs. but thats about it. its easy when you got nothing to lose supermodels? i think not...not when you live and look like a crackhead. this article is basically some KIDS movie bite 20% true. so all you little eleventeen year olds who blow these kids as role models better snap out right quick. nyc is full of bums... and some of them write graffiti. come here from kansas with that attitude and this city will make you one too. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest -MOE LESTER- Posted May 8, 2002 Share Posted May 8, 2002 Originally posted by cheerleader part of that lifestyle, when you live in the city, from ages 12/13-30/? involves all kinds of crazy shit. that means anwhere from one to ALL of the following hobbies: robbing people, getting robbed, stealing cars, racking food, racking paint, racking gear, racking tvs, racking CDs from house parties, drinking, smoking weed, snorting coke, banging heroin, eating any and all pills uppers and downers, smoking pcp/wet/sherm, racking bikes, messengering, being sXe(although very rare post 96/97 on east coast),banging chicks, fighting, being gay, pool hopping, tunnel ratting, roof climbing, turnstile hopping, clubbing,getting kicked out of clubs, hunting the newest unplayed-out clubs, ruining house parties, smoking crack, going to shows, fighting details magazine dudes, and writing GRAFF on everything..... god that brought a tear to my eye....cheerleader can i lose my virginity to you so that i can fill the "baning chicks" option? 36Ds arent bad at all:D Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Smart Posted May 8, 2002 Share Posted May 8, 2002 Originally posted by cheerleader SMART: lord, you are annoying. "the author"?? what a witty response to a question not asked. my question was clearly what are you talking about. you are a slow one. second lame response: who cares how poorly its written? finish reading my response BEFORE you respond, jesus. its not for you or about you if you have problem wiht it. leave it alone, go back to your fr8 lay-up. and finally, im responding to at least 2 or more people. i CLEARLY delineate that, "smart", if you can read. i address the people dissing IRAK in one point, and YOUR issues with the "author" in another. learn to fucking read. A reply to a question not asked? You asked what I was talking about and I told you... seems pretty much like a direct reply to a question you asked... I was talking about the poor skills of the author. 2nd... I care how poorly it's written. learn to fucking comprehend. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Canadiano Posted May 13, 2002 Share Posted May 13, 2002 2-0 Sens. "bumb" is the word? Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Canadiano Posted May 14, 2002 Share Posted May 14, 2002 "sega playstation" haha! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
writers-blok Posted August 25, 2003 Share Posted August 25, 2003 sometimes it's fun to read this shit again. cheerleader continued to make me laugh throughout the post. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
turd burgler Posted August 26, 2003 Share Posted August 26, 2003 You all should be shot dead for reading that vice piece of shit. They get off on knowing that young reblious hipster art fart fags believe and worship everything they write in that shiet. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
arfadailey Posted August 26, 2003 Share Posted August 26, 2003 I just thought I'd post this article by ELK one of london's oldskool vetran's on his take on the graff lifestyle and all that... it sits well with some of the articles on irak and your bickering over it! ps - props to can of worms for posting it in the first place on a different thread... Elk PFB talks about old school London. Stolen from another site but I can't remember which. _ UNDERGROUND RESISTANCE Despite the endless B-boy revivals, graffiti is the last element of hip hop culture to resist the mainstream; its stars remain unknown. In this account of a life on the tracks, ELK tells why some people will risk their lives for a painting no one will ever see. I was drawn to graffiti as the first tasters arrived in London from New York. The first names I had seen painted on streets were the nicknames of London punks in the late 1970s. Written only with cheap British car paint, the poor pigments of red and blue that were soaked up by the brick were no comparison to the strength of what I was yet to see on the sides of New York subways. I was 12 years old and it was exciting. I knew nothing of the movement, only that it stirred something inside me in a way nothing else had. 'Graffiti' was the term used by the media to describe the wave of aerosol activity that appeared on the subways of New York and Philadelphia in the early 1970s. Its birth coincided with the recession of the time. 'Coco 144', a New York graffiti artist, who was active then, described it as "a cry, a scream from its streets...This was one way of saying, 'Hey, I'm Coco. This is where I'm from and this is what I'm doing'". In New York, the city's infrastructure faced collapse under the leadership of Mayor John Lindsay and Mayor Abraham Beame. The Wall Street Journal said at the time: "Basic city services, once the model for urban areas across the nation, have been slashed to the point of breakdown...the subway system is near collapse, plagued by ageing equipment, vandalism, the frequent breakdowns and derailments." This was the perfect environment for those early writers. The cut-backs meant there was barely the money to run the system, let alone erase their work. The numbers of young writers were multiplying rapidly and it became increasingly difficult to compete with their onslaught. By 1975, Mayor Lindsey openly conceded that the fight against graffiti was "a losing battle". The scene crossed the Atlantic and arrived in London in the early 1980s. The city's teenagers quickly took it up and, as in New York ten years earlier, it spread rapidly through the many boroughs. By 1986, there was an established body of writers who were regularly visiting the depots of the London Underground. I was one of them. The first time I went to a railway sidings, 'Skate', 'Kam' and me could hardly reach halfway up the side of a 12-foot high Metropolitan Line (or 'Big Met') train. We were 14 years old, miles from home; it was dark, cold and exhilarating. All we wanted to do was scrawl our names in 'matt dark earth' and 'gun metal' model spray. The concept of painting a whole car seemed unimaginable. How would you steal all the paint you needed, and how would you reach the top of the train? How would you get enough time before sunrise? How would you distinguish all the colours in the dark? Answering all these questions was a slow process of discovery. As well as the physical implications, you had to learn the rules of the graffiti world, had to prove yourself and hopefully become accepted. This probably took me about five years. The community that existed on the London Underground consisted of competitive, judgmental and aggressive young men. A disregard for the rules of the community could result in immediate rejection, not just from the tube line you were painting on, but from all the lines across the capital. Initially, you had to develop your tagging style, which is a form of calligraphy. Maturing your tag seems essential in the progression towards 'pieces', and unfortunately it is these experiments that the public is subjected to. From the tag you'd progress to the 'throw up', from the 'throw up' to the 'dub', and from a 'dub' to a 'piece'. Really it was the mastering of the 'piece' that would be the recognised initiation into the upper echelons, though writers that only 'bombed' (to tag one's name) could achieve a King's status through the style and proliferation of their 'tags'. It was during these early stages that the writing fraternity would skim off the weak. Train writers are very proud and there is no room for incompetence. If you had the skills and, more importantly, the motivation to ascend through the stages of style and colour, you then had to prove yourself by displaying fearlessness. Writers whose nerves were weak, who couldn't take the pressure of an illegal career were quickly weeded out. The apprentice would have to prove himself to a mentor before earning respect. This could involve anything from the ability to steal, to displaying the necessary courage to enter a depot on a reconnaissance mission. Once you had all entered the yard it was fairly easy to distinguish the 'throbbers'. If it wasn't something obvious like the shakes, you could tell by the look on their faces that they were scared. Being nicked and not cracking under the strain was a fairly effective way of gaining acceptance. The news of a raid and an arrest would spread rapidly, with the community eagerly awaiting the result. Would those that got away have an unexplained knock on their door by the 'graffiti squad'? If the writer took the punishment and continued to write, he would instantly find himself in a position higher up the ladder. He would have proved his dedication by continuing after prosecution and would have instilled a sense of trust by keeping his mouth shut. The irony of the British Transport Police's efforts is the kudos it creates amongst us. Personally speaking, I found them an incentive - writing on trains wouldn't be half the fun without them. But why do it? Why channel so much energy into a painting no one may ever see, that may have to be done in dark, cold and cramped conditions, and where there is potential for imprisonment or death? I never cared about the answer. I just did it. People seemed to spend so much time deliberating, I didn't give a shit, I just wanted to paint trains. Though part of the same movement, the legal and illegal scenes are completely removed from one another. There is train graffiti and wall graffiti. When I'm painting trains the flow is a product of tension and adrenaline. At any point you may have to run. As your head looks from side to side in anticipation of a raid you don't even watch the paint you're applying. Every so often you lie on the ground to scan through the wheels for any approaching legs. The result is totally different to the writer who buys his materials and paints concrete walls in the comfort of a Sunday afternoon. Only through the acceptance of art with danger can the writer rise to become a 'King' - a high achiever of the graffiti world. To quote one such devotee, such writers are the 'true soldiers'. On any one Tube line you may find many different Kings: 'King of insides', 'King of outsides', 'King of stations', 'King of the tracks', 'King of roof-tops', or 'King of style'. The highest accolade imaginable is 'All Out King' which is a very rare occurrence. Competition is fierce and writers will go to incredible lengths to stand out from the rest, scaling high buildings and walking through dangerous tunnels. Before you can get to this point you must be relaxed in your unusual working environment. I vividly remember the first time I got onto the tracks. It was like entering a new world. It was three o'clock in the morning and I knew track workers and train drivers were the only people that ever went there. I didn't know which rails were electric, which way we should run, and I felt sure that somebody was going to suddenly appear and try to catch us. I didn't relax once while I was painting, and yet the following day all I could think about was going back. I was hooked. Riding the train to school that Monday and seeing my name gave me an unmatched sense of satisfaction. This feeling of personal achievement compared only to acceptance within the scene. The height of this was getting to know the Kings. Watching one draw in his black book or sketch up a first outline on a train carriage were invaluable lessons. I shall never forget the day I went to Rickmansworth 'lay up'. I was a young 'toy' out on a Saturday night 'bombing insides'. On my way back home I pulled into Harrow on the Hill station and saw a group of kids gathered on the back wall. Writers would meet at benches on the different lines. This was the 'Big Met', so I knew they were writers. I had to get home but I also wanted to go and see who it was. I paused while the doors closed and at the last minute jumped off. As I got closer I realised the importance of the company I was approaching. They were from different areas, so all of them being here meant they were doing an 'all nighter'. Kast was the 'All Out King' of the 'Big Met', Fuel was the King of the 'Little District' (Wimbledon line), Ganja was one of the many Kings visiting from the Little Met, Chain was the King of bombing and lastly there was Steam, an up-and-coming King of the Big Met and one of the most feared Kings around. I didn't have any paint of my own, so spent the night 'keeping dog' for the others, wandering up and down the lay up as their pieces developed. Watching Kast paint his 'top-to-bottom' was a highlight of my career. It wasn't long before the electric world of the Underground became second nature to me. As my confidence grew, so I got more daring. I remember walking on the live rails being a kind of initiation. You know it can kill instantly, but you also know that the rubber soles of your trainers can prevent the connection. Every time I do it there's a little bit of apprehension bubbling away inside. The fact that you can die lingers in your mind, and, until your foot is firmly on that steel, you don't fully relax. It makes you feel a bit funny but you still go back for more. It's the same with stealing. In my experience, almost all the major writers in London are criminals to some extent, and more than the obligatory stealing and 'breaking and entering' that are now the basics of painting a train. This might be small-time drug peddling to support a weed habit or a more serious involvement equivalent to a paying job. In essence, it's impossible to become a King without being a criminal. There is no way that a writer could afford to pay for the paint, pens, inks, sketch books, camera films and train fares necessary. You could say that thieving, or 'racking' is compulsory. It is certainly unavoidable if you want to sustain a career in graffiti. When racking started getting difficult in London we began travelling further afield in search of paint shops less clued up to our ways. Initially this took us on British Rail journeys out to the country, and when that got difficult it took us to the continent. Going to Europe was like discovering an endless string of gold mines. Not only was it easier to steal, but the quality and range of colours was far superior. 'InterRailing' became known as 'InterRacking'. First port of call when starting a trip in Europe would be Amsterdam, to stock up on skunk and Afghani. We'd go away for anything up to a month, sometimes having to return to England every seven days to relieve ourselves of stolen property. During the first jaunts abroad, the acquisition of as many spraycans as possible was the primary aim. If we picked up some clothes along the way it was a welcome bonus. As time progressed we became more familiar with what was on offer in the various European countries. Germany was, and probably always will be, the best place to steal paint - they have the best in the world. Scandinavia was always good for winter clothes, and Switzerland was the best for electrical goods. The beauty of this way of life was the independence it gave us as teenagers. As long as I had the money to cross the Channel I knew I could survive on the other side and paint to my heart's content. The fondest memory I have of those tours is of a friend of ours who left for the continent with £10 in his pocket. 'Rozer', known to his friends as the 'Man with the Magic Trousers', returned five weeks later with the same tenner. He'd stayed with a Chilean family in Amsterdam, on a yacht in the South of France and had rolled across Europe sleeping in couchettes. Arriving home, he had a completely new wardrobe, cameras, leather jackets, a stun gun, hand-held Segas, sunglasses, bottles of bubbly, and enough paint to lighten the lives of many a Tube carriage. As our tastes matured, so did our destinations, the finale of which were yearly trips to the French Riviera. Cannes and Saint Tropez were ripe. Hardware shops stocked aerosols in beautiful shades of 'Framboise' and 'Bleu Fonce'. Then we would visit the supermarket next door and help ourselves to the racks of Dom Perignon. If there were none in the fridge we would take our bottles to the freezer section and bury them amongst the frozen peas, returning an hour later. We would spend the night drinking champagne and then, in the early hours apply our fancy 'couleurs' to the local SNCF rolling stock. Our favourite train sidings backed on to the beach, where we would stand in our shorts, painting till dawn. Customs officers are a problem when you cross borders with enough luggage for a family of five, but the Graffiti Squad is our main opponent. We might laugh and joke when amongst ourselves, but when you've just been chased out of a siding by a team of them, your heart beats overtime. It doesn't matter how many times it's happened. When they've sat in their unmarked cars until the early hours, and they finally walk round the front of that train and see you standing there, spraycan in hand, they really do want to fucking catch you. If the surroundings are appropriate it's always amusing to conceal yourself somewhere and watch what they get up to. Quite often you can listen to their conversations because of the quiet of night. You get to observe their movements and how they conduct themselves. It gets even more hilarious if they try to hide in wait for you. Watching police who think they're watching you never fails to put a smile on my face. I'd love to share more of the moves we use to our benefit, but I don't want this article to be of too much use to the police. They have a difficult job. If they are chasing us, chances are they will never know the area as well and won't be prepared to take the risks we will. If I'm painting a train and get raided, I will run for the most dangerous escape route. That might be into a tunnel, down a drainpipe or across a rickety roof. They might want to catch you, but it's not worth their lives. Even when they make an arrest, they fuck up a lot. The most ridiculous example I can think of is when Diet got nicked on Boxing Day. It was the year Karl and Cherish had done the whole train in 'Snips' (Parsons Green Sidings) and a large group of writers had collected at Edgware Road where Fuel and Prime had both done 'whole cars'. We were all on one platform admiring the paintings when the transport police appeared on the opposite platform. We all left the station, hopped the barriers, and saw the empty car of the police we had just left downstairs. Within seconds a pen appeared and moments later the car was being tagged. Diet was the last to get the pen and decided that the front windscreen was where he wanted to write his name. He had his feet on the bonnet and his hands on the glass as a second police car pulled up. Many months later, young Diet was up in court. With two policemen and the station foreman as witnesses we all thought he was definitely going to get done. The police, however, had no evidence and couldn't even remember how the crime had been perpetrated. I can't recall exactly, but they did something along the lines of accusing him of tagging the vehicle with blue spray-paint when in fact he had done it with a black marker. Diet's barrister highlighted their incompetence and fortunately the case was dismissed. Christmas Day is when the 'true soldiers' of the writing community really come into their element. It's the one day when the whole system shuts down, so for someone who loves painting trains it is the highlight of their year. There aren't any drivers with timetables to keep or cleaners to inspect carriages, just rows and rows of shiny canvases waiting for you. The person you're most likely to bump into on Christmas Day in a depot is a graffiti squad officer. It took them many years before they started showing their faces on our special day, but once they did, they became regulars. A team of them is on duty and will drive round the various stomping grounds hoping to find some of us getting up to mischief. It's pot luck where we go in hope of avoiding them. Whenever you're arrested doing graffiti in this country there is a compulsory house raid that follows. Waking up the folks on Christmas morning with a gang of police wanting to search the house is never a good way to start the festive season. I know that some of the kids that are bombing now think that they are the real writers. The new generation has to deal with security measures such as laser trips and infrared cameras. The first yard I ever went to only had a wire fence that barely reached my waist. They have a sense of superiority because they feel that we had it so easy in our day. I suppose that's just a matter of opinion. I know that a particular era of London's cultural history has gone and can never return. When we used to get on the system we were lost until we returned to street level. Now there is no station, ticket hall, platform, or subway that doesn't have a CCTV camera. There really is nowhere on the system you can go without being watched. We used to chase our pieces, trying to photograph them. If you do that now your every move can be followed. When 'WD' and 'The Bash St. Kids' started the Circle Line 'train jams' in the late 1980s, hundreds of kids used to descend on the Underground, free of any watchful eye. We gathered at a tube station and, soon enough, would pour into the back carriages of our chosen train. The neon lights were twisted off, magic markers brought out to provide the decoration, and, with the music blaring, round and round we went. When it came 'on top', we simply moved to another line. Within minutes we were lost again in the labyrinth. I don't even think LTs (London Transport workers) had radios then. The PFB crew restarted the tradition in the early 1990s. The last one ended after a long wait in the tunnel outside South Kensington station. Once five minutes had passed we knew we were getting raided. It was a familiar tactic - containing you while they collected the necessary manpower. We started to spread along the train, mingling with the other passengers. Paints and pens were thrown out of the windows, while the really guilty ones jumped out the back into the tunnel. I sat down in my pinstripe shirt and buried my head in a newspaper. With the passenger doors still closed, the old stinkies entered the train one by one through the driver's cabin. They filed straight past me. The unfortunate ones were taken to the police station. Writers may be seen as criminals, putting up our names everywhere, but is it any wonder? We are living in an age of brands and logos, where the sign and its duplication is king. Imagine a train covered in tags moving overland through London, past all the hoardings and the billboards - perhaps there graffiti has its true context. As long as there are big cities there will be graffiti. Out of the 70 or so Kings that have existed since the mid 1980s, over 60 are from broken homes. Graffiti gives you a family and a focus. Certainly, in my case it kept me away from more serious crime and taught me about colour, form and design. As daily life grows ever more homogeneous, it's one of the only ways kids on the edge of society can make their mark. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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