Graffiti is a conversation. If you don't believe me you should check inside the bathroom stalls at school. It was the second birth of the forum, between the Internet and Ancient Greece.
Graffiti is not really about anything but has the inexorable process of a bowel movement.
Growing up I always preferred to read something when I was eating my breakfast cereal: mental roughage, I called it. Dietary fiber for thought. Because it didn't matter what the words said, only that they where there.
Your eyes move across the wall, humanity turns the page. There are few ways in which progress is more than illusion. All those hours wasted playing Final Fantasy...All you do is fight and level up, fight and level up. Then after a bunch of fighting, the game tells you a story about how you defeated the villain! But oh no, the villain was actually not the real villain but just working for him! This repeats until some point at which credits roll and storylines conclude. Somewhere in there, is a game?
I graduated, and nobody knew what the fuck I was talking about at the dinner table, and all Grandma had to say was "When are you going for your Master's?" I did not raise my voice, but laughed because her world is made of shoulds. Somewhere in there, is a life?
We are little more than monkeys preaching from our respective pulpits. You know this, friend, but have forgotten that you, too, belong to the Monkey House. You live in a darker world than mine, wherein you are an all-forgiving martyr and saint. The trials you endure are terrible indeed, and all because you play Wile E. Coyote to our Road Runner. You are a certified genius, and yet somehow you keep crashing into the painted landscapes on the rock faces by which you think to entrap us.
The women were all over each other and me, and all you could do was complain about roughhousing on the furniture.
Life is full of people and opportunities. Don't use your Magnum Opus to put a bullet between somebody's eyes, Coach.
Whatever crisis put you in this place, it's high time you crawled out of your hole and entered the Blue World. At least you'll be able to see something, at least you'll get laid.
I finally got smarter about writing when I stopped worrying about the possible pieces I wasn't creating.