Static Idols

Buford Youthward

Old forms always find new light. It's what makes 'em stick. We are creatures of the repetitive, and certain treasures can only be gained by way of tragedy. Humanity's curses cross concurrently and consistently.

Cultures of concealment doom the vessel. Always do always did. Getting damned by the devil or touched by a demon leaves its mark. Can't complain, doesn't do any good. So being hip by doing no good takes its toll.

Risk is its own reward, and broken records skip. Graffiti provides the greatest campaign of misinformation. Tributes and spoils of war are no more. Nevermore.

History frees graffiti from duty. Suspicion flows freely between each. As it should. Ruins provide glimpses. Judgment should be left to clocks.

Peace is a profession as pulses of the free world make sure nothing is free. Packaging pre-empts prejudice. Poets puff potent pipes.

Train yards and graveyards graze against the grey overcast. Cities carry their myths. Myths by their very nature are responses to dynamic situations. They are collective in suggestion but personal in their effects.

People today carry many myths inside of them but when we look for heroes, few are visible. So we search our senses, with the hope that we can feel or hear our heroes. We find the ideal in the visual, turn musicians into muses. Call it culture, call it art, but you can trash pick it, shop lift it or buy it at a shopping mart.

In the end, it's all about economics. Economies of scale, economies of idea. To say in the simplest terms is to speak with the grandest sincerity. I've often murmured, words are expensive, they should be chosen judiciously.

But it gets tangled in lawyer speak. Certificates and degrees shouldn't be shellacked and stained. At least mine aren't. With sentences served and time deferred I drafted dreams of dereliction. I'm always in hot pursuit and nearly on point. Being a graffiti writer predisposes me to being a gamer.

All idols are static. To be dynamic is to be human. Symbols and miracles signify meaning. Beautiful meaning is distilled in forms that provide sequential symmetry.

Old forms move through new hands and through common hearts. Sticking to walls, haunting memories, is the business we are in when we shake cans, rattle metallic tints and cast lead visions under mysterious circumstance.

The curses we carry are of our own devising. Every memory maintains a consequence. Every moment has its hero, every person has their myth.

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