In most of the dreams I do remember I’m either painting, trying to paint, or getting chased away from painting a spot. The sights, smells, and sounds are embedded in my psyche. Old friends will pop up who I haven’t seen in years. I wonder if they still dream about this nonsense. Are they still haunted like me? The ones I’m happiest for have been able to go on and start a real life. They can hold a regular job and no longer compulsively call in to work to go paint a wall or look at trains all day. They don’t have to stay out all night on the cold streets wandering. There is nothing sadder than a man over the age of thirty who has been painting graffiti for over a decade and still isn’t good.

It only makes sense that graffiti infests my subconscious they same way it lingers over me in my waking moments. I love the thrill and exhilaration of the hunt, the mission, the chase. I love getting over. Paradoxically, I also like to wake up safe in my comfy bed wrapped head to toe in thick covers mind leaps away from the barren landscapes of my dreams. I hate to see the look of disappointment in the faces of those who love me. I love to see my name fly by hauling ass on smooth metal. I hate myself sometimes. Sometimes I hate the world. Either way my name will always be there. The clichéd reason that people will often give when asked about the impetus for graffiti is that it makes them feel like they were there and alive. Sometimes I only feel like half a person but the graff keeps me going. Sometimes it’s the only thing that can get me out of bed in the afternoon.

People I talk to seem to think it’s strange to dream about inanimate objects and paint suspended in polymer. I tell them that the trains and walls aren’t dead; they’re alive and kickin’. The hum of the refrigerated boxcars speaks volumes, sometimes much more than a person has to say. You might listen to the graffiti, but can you hear it?

While the graffiti itself might lash out like an obnoxious child with loud colorful screams the train yards and underpasses are like holy grounds. My moment of nirvana is the air cold and crisp on my face, my cheeks red, my heart pumping, the bag of full paint cans weighing heavy on my back, and the invisible demons in the shadows. Then there’s the silence. Sometimes it’s truly dead quiet and that’s when it’s really creepy, all you can hear is the whistle of the wind. Usually there is the accompanying symphony of wild animals in the desert, the cars cruising by on the freeway, the hiss of the air brakes, the creak of metal, or a few hobos fighting over the last drops of a cheap bottle. View larger image

Not being conventionally religious these temporary autonomy zones are the closest things that I have to temples. This is how I meditate and pray. How do you meditate and pray? Only when I’m painting do I one hundred percent forget my multitude of problems. The paint sprays out and my mind clears. Instinct takes over. When you paint a really good piece you don’t even have to think about it, the letters just come out. Mind and body merge. Heat and energy are created. Cans are emptied. This is when I get the payoff. This is when all the years and hours devoted to studying letters come to fruition. There is no thoughts only oneness with the train or wall. My outline is an extension of my finger. The paint is crisp and clean, it doesn’t drip. The letters that emerge are strong; they don’t look frail and breakable. They’re not weak and sickly. They’re ready to fight the good fight with me.

Kierkegaard said that dread is having the knowledge of what you must do to prove that you are free even if it destroys you. He said that if you allow the law to control your life and believe that the possible is impossible because it is illegal than you are leading an inauthentic life. It’s sad that graffiti wasn’t thriving in his time because it’s always better to philosophize with spray paint on walls than it is on paper. What do you believe in? Would you go against the status quo even if it meant your freedom? What would you die for? Only when you are completely torn down can you be rebuilt. Society has been torn down for some time now, its time to start rebuilding.

How can it be that even though you are doing the “wrong thing” that your mind is clear and you feel good? The coat and beanie that you came in with because it is so cold is now drenched with sweat. All of your cans of paint are emptied.

It’s hard to describe the feeling that you get as a dedicated graffiti writer when you empty out all of the cans you bring in. Not a squirt left. It’s catharsis, the dozen twelve ounce paint cans combine with the surface to synergistically to create something. The model of mathematics doesn’t work. The paint, metal, and energy create more than the some of their parts. Perhaps you can view a moment of divine inspiration. Perhaps you get to play the role of the voyeur watching a no good soul talk to god. Perhaps you might see someone’s last dying wish, or the last inspiration of a friend who was murdered. If you look close enough you might be able to figure something out about yourself or the world around you. Can you see the stress of a hard days work at a dead end job followed by a hard nights work bombing the city? Are they just scribbles or can you hear the tortured cries of back to back generations of misled youth? Maybe next time you’re at a train crossing and are pissed off because your commute is delayed you can take a moment to pray with me. View larger image

Think about those moments when the ghetto bird flies above us, the spotlight hits, the ominous voices yell for us to “GET BACK HERE”. If you are attuned you can feel our stomachs clenching and our mouths becoming dry. Can you feel the moment of the chase where the meditation is broken up by the people who don’t like how we pray? Fight or flight. Is graffiti really only something those little kids do under bridges. Can you smell the shit hitting the fan? We’re doing this mostly for ourselves but we’re also doing it for you. We want you to wake up. We want you to remember what Kierkegaard said.

Most writers think that graffiti is not meant to be understood by the masses. I want people to understand. I want everyone to really live. Feel the thrill of the chase. Feel the adrenaline pumping. Feel the hard rocks on your feet. Feel the branches scratching your face. Feel your lungs open up. Feel what that air really tastes like.

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KAI1