the * ICF * cabal

Welcome to I Can Fly. The page. The movement. It's an adventure with no beginning and no end. I can't tell you who we are. No secrets, friend. It's just that we don't know ourselves. Never really did. Some people whisper about a subversive clique of philosophic graffiti artists, based on the East Coast. I don't have much to say about that. Not everyone who claims to be down is, and not everyone who is down wants you to know about it. A thousand and one voices murmuring in twelve cities on two continents. Have you seen the work? The productions? A million stickers, pieces, and stencils. A million words and ideas. Are you getting dizzy yet?

You want the fountainhead? The explanation behind it all? Five words for a caption so you can wander out as ignorant as you came in? Not from this poet. Not from this paint. Imagine the hundred thousand moments in your life you felt something true. That sensation you get approaching the real, when all the bullshit games fade away and you actually mean it. Imagine skipping across factory roofs in Chelsea, drunk and dodging police dogs. Think about running wild across the country, and across the world. Catching your breath in a thousand seedy diners, collapsing exhausted on a thousand dirty streets. Look in the dark places in your city and in your heart, and you'll be looking into our eyes. We've been there all along.

If you've been here before, you might notice the changes. Forget them. You're not looking deep enough. If it's your first time, suspend your fronting and come inside. It's not enough to live. We've got to live well. Join us.

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