Byline: Ten Thousand Hour Passion

Buford Youthward

I have a ten thousand hour passion that teases me to let go.

My magic marker makes magic marks that blow away all sentences that came before. The future word awaits my feeble grasp. With a tire iron I grow tired of the irony and flip non-descript scripts into the ether.

An anxiety awakens to overwhelm but I battle back and dissuade all the dissuaders that believe in false beliefs. The cool autumn winds emerge and I grab my jacket made of pleather, look for pleasure and head out in the fog.

Keeping my head on I repeat and repeat, pain passes, beauty endures. This keeps me going along with gallons of diesel and coffee. My emotions won't defeat you, beat you or eat you. I stand up for finding the heart to keep moving on.

The rhythm locks in with the logic and I'm fixed for the next move. The battle with insecurity is never ending like the addict negotiating sobriety.

I never stand begging for that which I have the power to earn and I loot respect like nobody's business. Getting my business on, my graffiti giggles at everything graphic, contradicts the career minded commercial kid and passes off the passé mediocrity and non-urgency of a stencil.

I light the fuse and diffuse the situation with an explosion of good will. I measure and manage missed opportunities finding ways to mingle with the misled. I have the mettle of metal and drop heavy vibrations on lost hearts.

Amassing great masses of confusion creates clarity beyond explanation. That's what the best graffiti does. But there's so little of it. Caught up in the rip tide, windfall of senses, mesmerized by the multilevel concerns by the kid that doesn't care, I humbly salute the heroic gesture created with a can of paint.

Fragrant words fill the air, the taste of a thousand salty pretzels smothered in mustard, the sight of the street after rainfall, the touch of the silky soft skin of a nectarine and the sweet sound of a familiar melody that seems as if it's always been floating in our collective memory.

The passion of all that we remember keeps us from letting go.

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