grafiti manifesto number one

here and there they tell stories. they leave them scattered beneath bridges and on the sides of buildings. they write sonnets and sign their names in spray ink, they mark masterpieces into the flesh of brick and wood on fencesd and cross out words on street signs. their lives are their stories told and written in paint and built with long arm strokes beneath the signs that read deli a hundred years ago.

an old italian man ran the place and sold sandwiches to wiseguys and lawyers from uptown.

now it's old and falling apart, no one knows what happened to the old man.

now a new life lives there feeds it's soul there in pictures lined with black and blue eyes for all the sinners.

they speak volumes with the sparkle of an eye, and it's left, no thirty million dollar masterpeice, just sitting vacant and free for all to see.

maybe we could afford a few less van goghs for a grocery store full of men and women with spray cans ready to tell stories on the sides of apartment buildings.

i was looking at the names, tagged beneath the underpass downtown and thinking about the hands that laid them there, left for us all to watch and wonder who scampered out into the night and left only footprints in ink.

they are there for us now. none of our children will know them or believe in them. it is a gift for us, living now and breathing now not thinking about how to go about ending it all. it is anwrapped present for this christmas season, the only they can afford, better than any we could buy.

so i tap the brakes as i pass by and notice a few of the extra storkes taken into account gently placed for perfection. now we can see green grass and mircales and everywhere everywhere people are weeping and lives and turning to dust, but here, alone they write us livetimes in spray paint and i can only think to be grateful for every speck splattered out, a free gift to all the world.

these are the dreams we wake from. these are the truths we must learn to live with. and i love the way it falls on me at midnight.

good luck world, as long as there are portaits painted on the sides of buildings i know i know our humanity can never go dry can never wear thin.

these are our bricks in our cities benaeth our bridges. what else do we need for proof that we are still alive and kicking?

2002-12-23 | 5:02 p.m.
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