The Sun Does Graffiti by vagabond ©
the sun does graffiti
it gets up
does shadow burners
on walls and streets
using the objects where
light doesn’t penetrate
as inspirational subject matter
and as the sun sets
the sun’s graffiti is buffed
by the oncoming darkness
- vagabond
Shortlink: http://wp.me/p1eniL-XU
God Is An Anarchist by vagabond ©
new years covenant
(antifragile)
i take the noise within the signal
i want the fury and the sound and the tempest and the rage
i want the unpredictable
i want the unsure
i want everything they can throw at me
i want everything they think will destroy me
i take the permanence of spray paint graffiti slogans to the streets
and then the impermanence of it when they paint over it
and then the permanence of spray paint graffiti slogans on their fresh paint
to create a permanence of the idea behind spray paint graffiti slogans
like god is an anarchist and the root of all love is the hate of all greed
when they hide the permanence of spray paint graffiti slogans under fresh coats of paint
the permanence of ideas will bleed through a bit
and ideas like god is an anarchist and the root of all love is the hate of all greed
will be tagged in permanence in your mind
i want the spontaneity of it
i want the friction to spark and flash in the night
i shift my weight ever so slightly when they come for me
to make a correction an adjustment
i want to see their faces when it all doesn’t all go according to plan
i want to see their faces when it crumbles and fades
i want the dust and the debris to settle before i rise
from the plans they had for me as i grin from ear to ear
antifragile
i want my tragedy to cease being their comedy
i want the chaos of anarchy to order things
i want the empire of doubt to be decolonized from my mind
i want to finally put these wasted years to some use
to take these mistakes and make them shine like stars
and use them as a means of navigation
- vagabond
Shortlink: http://wp.me/p1eniL-UU
Apocalypse When by vagabond ©
“Calling PBR street gang.
PBR street gang, this is Almighty.
Can you read me? Over.”
- Apocalypse Now
apocalypse when 12/21/12
it’ll end one day
but when?
some days i think not soon enough
reality game show host politicians
cops frustrated with the power to kill
corporations are human beings too
profiteers keep the war machine well oiled with poverty and patriotism
everything must turn a profit to be of some use
i wish that just once just for one day
all the right people would die
someone call in the airstrike
clear the palette of this death culture
it’s a dream
an apocalypse dream
that asks when
because now is not soon enough
- vagabond
The artwork is available on a T-shirt and on a 1″ button from Audio Visual Terrorism
Shortlink: http://wp.me/p1eniL-TW
Now That There’s Justice There Can Be Peace by vagabond ©
threats become promises
you still have time
to lay down your greed
and raise your hands
to surrender
and assume the position
of the guilty
consider this
your last warning
your final notice
you were duly warned
when we marched and screamed
no justice without peace
but you believe too much
in your hubris
and now slogans
must become threats
and threats
must become promises
that fill the nostrils
with gasoline and smoke
to be laid out
like victory wreaths
on the smoldering ruins
of the foundations
where your excess once stood
- vagabond
Shortlink: http://wp.me/p1eniL-SA
Forty Four Self Portrait by vagabond ©
A few things you should know about me…
i want to be an artist… i am an artist but being an artist is to be in a constant state of creation… being in a constant state of creation is to be in a state of desire, so i want to be an artist… i don’t want a career… i don’t even know what a career is… i heard it has something to do with money… but i hate money, money can go fuck itself… it’s a waste of fucken time… it’s a hamster wheel… a greyhound chasing a mechanical rabbit while the big boys place bets… a merry-go-round they won’t let you get off and the dj only has one record and he keeps playing it over and over… besides i want to be good and the hate of all money is the root of all good…
i fear, fear…
if i wasn’t so talented i would have killed somebody or a few somebodies long ago… someone important, someone who has it coming, someone who knows they should die for the shit they’ve done, someone who went out of the way to make the world worse than it already is because they’re better off for it, that kind of somebody, the kind of somebody that when they’re killed the other somebodies start to get scared but not scared enough to stop making life a misery for everyone else… ok, maybe not scared but at least nervous… it’s a long list i keep and someday i’m going to write it down… (it’s not safe to do so now you can be arrested for that kind of thing and me and authority had a bad break up years ago and prison would only bring us back together – but not in a good way)
art is the process of me trying to figure something out…
i’m not that smart but i try… i only finished high school and only on the advice of my parents who love me. but i didn’t let it stick… i took m. twain’s advice and didn’t let my schooling interfere with my eduction… i stay restless, do my best not to respect borders between nations, claim no destination, although i have been known to check my baggage and claim it later… curiosity has corrupted the better of me. the other parts are wanted by the cops and the tax department but i’m doing my best and leading by example by ignoring them… hopefully they’ll get the message and give up one day… there are few floors that i will not sleep on for a sunset in another part of the world or to see the moon from another angle on this blue-green marble. what i’m trying to say is that i like to travel… my chosen name is vagabond – no it’s not legal and if i had it my way nothing about me would be legal, legality is for those who don’t know better. i’m not smart but i know better and i try… schooling is a building with walls and doors and floors and windows and labs and gym and cafeteria and an auditorium and a principals offices… education is an open road and you learn something every time you’re on foreign ground… sometimes you’re asked to show your papers or your passport or your identification… sometimes you get lucky and they treat you like a human being and they just leave you alone to wander and wonder… and without a set destination the journey can take you… as opposed to you trying to take it…
when i die play the mix tape i made just for the occasion…
i want a jazz funeral and a second line parade with um-ber-ellas and hired professional mourners to make it look good, to fill the street, but don’t get a permit, just take over the streets, encourage others to join in as you pass them by, invite them to partake in the joyful defiance of traffic regulations, but for god’s sake don’t tell them it’s a funeral, it’ll only confuse the proceedings… scatter my ashes off the coast of coney island, let me become a part of the ocean, let the riptide take me to places unknown… then take three rides ride on the cyclone. once to shake the sadness from your bones, a second to shake the melancholy from your souls and a third time just to shake the happiness of living back in… and remember me only when you ride deno’s wonder wheel at that magic hour when the street lights come up but the sun hasn’t dipped below the ocean just yet and the orange at the horizon fades to light blue and then to ink blue and when you reach the apex of deno’s wonder wheel look out toward the atlantic…
you may see me in silhouette dancing on the razor blade that divides the sea from the sky…
- vagabond
Shortlink: http://wp.me/p1eniL-Qe
the shape of silence
this silence moves through the gaps in the shopping cart
because it refuses to be held
the tombstones of sound reflected
in the stillness of an unmarked watery graveyard
this is an illusion like any and all others
the ripples are simply too subtle to be seen
the sound too quiet to be heard
and it give a shape to the silence
it gives a form to the void
who would dare hypothesize that there was a shape to silence
who would have been bold enough to theorize that there was a form to the void
but how else would it hold us
and how else could we enter or exit
a shapeless silence or a formless void?
- vagabond
Shortlink: http://wp.me/p1eniL-NZ
my shadow as graffiti
(a poem for re•sister)
my shadow as graffiti
on the wall of a parking lot
on toulouse between chartres and decatur
in the french quarter of new orleans
required some sort of documentation
i’m glad that this camera exists in my hand
and acts as an extension of both eye and memory
because it was a wish come true
to be woven into the mystery
even if it was for only a moment
and who would believe it
without some sort of valid proof
without some sort of photographic evidence
- vagabond
Shortlink: http://wp.me/p1eniL-Nm
centuries end
(for the artist responsible for the work on sw 57 and 9 and mohamed bouazizi)
hakim bey said the end of the 20th century
occurred when the wall came down in ’89
and who can argue with hakim bey?
it’s common knowledge that capitalism fell in ’07
and everything since then is just voodoo economics
making zombie capitalism in a way only george romero prophesied
they say trickle down economics
is gonna make it rain prosperity but it smells like piss
as it bounces off the tops of our heads
i say the beginning of the 21st century
began with the self-immolation of mohamed bouazizi in tunisia
setting fire to the african winter of ’11
everything in-between ’89 and ’11
was side line gestation and formulation
out of the binary and into the dialectic
the writing and the pictures were on the wall
on the sw corner of 57th and 9th in new york shitty
but no one bothered to look
but once felt these ideas spread like a virus across walls and into streets
and it’s easier to serve up the messengers head to madness
than decipher the coda of a centuries end
- vagabond
Shortlink: http://wp.me/p1eniL-M6
the
weather
changed
suddenly
swept
up
into
a
coney
island
cyclone
then
carried
away
…
vagabond
Shorlink: - http://wp.me/p1eniL-K9
Guerrilla Christ by vagabond ©
guerrilla christ
i had my doubts like any other man or woman
but i couldn’t let my apathy make me so durable
that i could idly stand aside and watch
the hungry go without fish and bread
the blind continue to stumble
the lame carry the burden
i had my fears like any other man or woman
but i couldn’t let my self preservation allow me the comfort of cowardice
when they stoned that woman
when they changed money in the temple
when they dared me to heal the withered hand on the sabbath
i had my struggles like any other man or woman
and i resolved them in these waking dreams as i spoke to the crowds
keeping my faith in the humble quiet power of love
unsure of the path as i stumbled in the darkness tripping into the faintest of light ahead
working out the dream of a new possibility as i spoke with you
and like any other man or woman i want a long life
but not standing by in the acquiescence of selfish longevity
while power is concentrated in the hands of the few at the expense of the many
while greed nourishes and feeds a garden of oppression
while blood lubricates the machinations of war
and so like any other revolutionary man or woman
i didn’t come to bring peace but came with a machete
to prune the oppression from minds both yours and my own
to cleave the hatred from hearts both yours and my own
to hack off the hands of these demons clutching spirits both yours and my own
and like any other guerrilla fighter man or woman
i paid the price for dreaming such dreams of anarchy loosed upon the world
crowned with thorns and forced to carry my own cross up a hill
littered with the skulls of the guerrillas that came before me
and hung with nails as an example to the rest of you sitting passively on the sidelines
and like any other guerrilla christ prophet man or woman
before me and after me i rise again and again and again
and each time the politicians and the merchants and the high priests conspire
to abort this dream of anarchy that paves the road to equality
while massaging pliable illusions that condemn these rebellions as failure
and like any other revolution filed and labeled and defined as failure
it will go on and on until we collectively recognize the guerrilla christ in each of us
to form an army that will liberate the dream of anarchy upon a center that will not hold
leveling the playing field horizontal and burying this oppression beneath it
while the meek dance over it bringing heaven down to earth as their rightful inheritance
- vagabond
Shortlink - http://wp.me/p1eniL-GI
