The Cycle of Disillusionment
The eyes of the vandal staring down civilization and society are haunting. Telling. There is no Matrix, no manufactured, hidden mythology. Reality is no vice, no crutch, no fabrication. Truth and sequence are real. They provide the subjective template for reality. We are the captains of construction and deconstruction. The ship is ours to sink.
So we hear cries of graffiti's death. It's a frequent call on a static signal that fades in and out. No new news here. The cycle of disillusionment is part and parcel to the creative experience.
The collision of rhythms, rifles, revelry and recovery rotate
accordingly. Process and progress intertwine. As they say, it's
all good.
Hippie micro-cosmonauts may see the world in a raindrop. I see the
world for what it is and sometimes for what it isn't. And that's all anyone can expect from anyone else. As always, there's my story, your story and the truth.
Existentialism is not far off. But it's still just a subway ride away from nihilism. All conviction lies within. The graffiti
continues. What more can you ask?
Only the foolish or insane would claim, "I came from the future to
warn you about the past knowing you won't believe me." But that's
what happens every time music hits my ears, graffiti hits my eyes,
poetry hits my heart.
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