“SAMO as an alternative 2 playing art with the ‘radical chic’ sect on Daddy’s $ funds.”
SAMO (Jean Michel Basquiat)

“You see them? Their tags are little black letters on little white cards of paper. My tags are running in Brooklyn, the Bronx and Queens right now, in every burrough, on every line. It’s eight feet high and it’s beautiful.”Ramo

I really miss Graffiti. I see it all the time, but I miss feeling like I’m really apart of it. I still can decipher the words and I count the strokes. I admire the skills and depth. It’s not the same as when I did it. When I sunk low in the seats of the bus and signed off, or checked out the driver in the mirror while I defaced the window. The ultimate thrill, leaving the house with a backpack full of paints and my caps stored away in the smaller pocket as we walked toward a predetermined location to carve out our niche. I’m like an old man who used to play ball. I recognize some of the players and their skills, but I always have a little dream in the corner of my mind about “I if I had hit that spot”. I don’t hang out in the same way I used to and that makes actually doing it harder. When you’re “in” the streets most of the time it’s easy to get up. I won’t blame working though. One of the best artists in this city would go to work to support his family then at night go out and wreak havoc. He was older than I am now when I was barely twenty. I miss it. I used to draw and practice in my rhyme book and on flat surfaces in my room. I used to scan drawings into computers to see what I could do with them on whatever image program that computer boasted. I guess I’m reminded of this by the sprite wall thing. It seems kind of lame, but looking at some of the other examples people had done it let me know that certain skills were still automatic to me. Where some people just threw things up I had layers, a color scheme and even a signature. I still use my skills but mostly in doing flyers for work or in my bored time when to much “white space” is in front of me. I have to consider the fact that while I may not get up like I used to (not that I was ever known), perhaps my white train is my life. My expedition, to find where I can bring color and style to my world and then sign off with a flair. Since I go through more metal detectors than I used to carrying around a big metal marker wouldn’t really work out as well anyway. Not that I couldn’t…or won’t. Until then my hand written notes and signature will just have to confuse the uninitiated and bring smiles to the faces of those familiar with that aerosol smell and memories of “getting up”.