haven’t written in so long I wonder who’ll read this

okay, that was a bit melodramatic, it’s more of commentary on my inability to write here.  So lets get it started.

I’m sitting in class right now, and we’re talking about the power of stories and how one tells them and what that means.  Interesting thought–how does a story change from two different perspectives?  I’ve been working on my story vaguely involving this idea, a shared story.  It’s exploring a lot of things really, but mostly what exactly does human contact mean? What’s it literally mean?  What’s it mean to the individual.  There is nothing more defining for a human being that the inexplicable moments we share with another human being.  The moment where two people share an idea, a though, a feeling, and share that moment in the exact same way.  Is that even possible?  Generally I would say no, but we can come close.  And the closer we come the better it feels.

So how do we have those moments?

The story is about two men who tour the LA river, exploring it’s path and it’s history. As they move they begin to notice the blatant graffiti tags that mark the cement riverbed.  You can’t miss them they exlpode from the gray wash canvas beneath them, before long the two men are walking an art gallery of human contact.  They are exploring hallways of artists who have declared themselves to exist.  The Graffiti artist is, intrinsically, a person who has too much to say an no way of truly understanding it, so they do.  I am.  I exist.  Hear me.

There’s some irony in this, not only the idea that graffiti (for most people) seems a blemish on the landscape, but that it’s done in a river bed, a place where the paint will inevitably be washed away.  If it’s not going to last then why do it?  Because time is not the point, the point is the act.  Moving from the unknown to the known–from O to 1.  Why is there such a broad spectrum of quality in this quasi-art?  Because underneath the abilities and ideas of these artists, is one defining project: shouting into the dark, and hoping to God that someone will hear you.

The most profound piece of graffiti I’ve ever seen, and subsequently the end of the story was a simple stenciled piece.  “I’ve waited my whole life for you”