Byline: Wallpaper Rage
In due time, in good time old years shed like weeklong news. Resolutions and
revolutions occur with little help from clocks and calendars.
Apologies on my end for not getting up when I'm all caught up with
strumming loud guitars in downtown bars. It has its thrill but there's little
romance in dragging musical equipment up flights of stairs.
Juxtaposing sound, image, truth and expectation. I miss, reminisce,
and always liked television when it dealt with desires not reality. Trying to
costume the fact that fantasy isn't the business of media.
Some villains are content to reinvent the familiar and modern.
Borrowing institutional identities for great mistreatment is cute exercise. I
guess you got to do the reps to get the rep.
Supposing that there is something to symbols of official culture
constituting a second alphabet, a vocabulary of visuals with instinctive
recognition. Does that count for anything? Mixing forms with new messages,
hot graff writers too often bank on ways this second alphabet is internalized
by the collective psyche of audiences.
Information for the wallpaper age. Four o'clock junkies jump like
mad in stereo for four blocks. Times steady. Measured in meters with mixed
melodies only hot graff writers can know.
Cardboard cutout is my favorite form of leadership. I phone in my
allegiance and leave hip heads hanging. I continue to cast my vote for more
High lonesome lullabies make great Americana high. At the touch of
love everyone becomes a poet, or so says Plato. Next year I promise to show
up, sound off love and send signals with greater satellite significance.
In the meantime, I resolve to revolve and call out counterfeiters
caught trying to catch my calendar time.
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