Thursday, April 16, 2009
Graffiti and noodles
"lei, bu lei." Hai hao. Press on. names thrown here and there. His hand sways along pointing to the mark he chooses to leave. Darting around, leaving black prints in their wake. Throw ups here, claim some turf for the crew. Bags being packed in anticipation. Black books passed around for sketches to be shared. We sit and wait, for what i don't know. Waiting for the magic hour to hit. Wait until you have to leave, then you know the rest of the world has begun to close. Closed eyelids give a much better surface to write on. Pushing on, a goal or destination, not one i know or think they do either. But certainly somewhere we must reach
If you paint on temple walls Buddha will strike you down. "No Buddha loves his hip-hop." Drop a beat to Amitovah. Hit the clappers, bang the drums to build up your fat rhythms. Shaolin is the sickest b-boy crew in China.
Crossing bridges where everyone loves each other forever. Everyone except the few.
"You are the last person i want
to see in the world.
I hate you so much, but thank you.
Why you always be in my way."
How many of us smoke. Better get at least two packs, make that three. Sit under their florescent lights, black books out. The old uigher just stands by my side looking down. Others stop to stare in too, an offense unacceptable in the lost home. The culture is just not the same here. Stand in the street. Spray your mind out on the wall, people might just stop to look for a moment. If you want to stay around don't touch the trains. You may end up getting a phone call in Shanghai. At least its not Japan, no one will kill themselves for you, but you won't be around.
Another pack finished. Watching it burn down slowly, hanging on the rim. Enough ash in this soup already i am sure. I watch it burn and we catch eyes for a moment. Understanding need not be spoken.
He can translate for me even though he says the same words i do.
Cookie takes forever, but he showed me where the yellow tower was so i could nod my head 3 times. Standing on a bridge, no, not like the Mississippi (always sing the song in my head to spell that out, in honor of childhood duels, have to keep the skills sharp). Interesting in its own right. The cigarette butt flies through the bars.
Staying with these cats for the last few days. i can throw up a diamond for the smuggler with a heart of gold. Trying to help the women sneak out their unborn babies now. Good luck finding your wife this week.Where do the people come from, where am i going to have met them?
Give those beautiful women a little taste. Don't paint the trains, well maybe this one.
Sure the kids like you, but even here in our hood they give us no respect.
They give no respect because they don't understand.
Their gov may try to find them, but ours will find us. you just get a phone call in Shanghai and the party is over. We want to paint, it's just we don't have to hide and if we did it wouldn't work. Paint, paint to the line just don't cross it or you're gone. Just cans, sitting, waiting to be picked up again and a piece that never got finished.
Cans thrown into bushes, nervous looks back. Feet slapping the pavement, cross the street, turn down the alley. I cannot help but smile. Feet pounding, heart smiling. Gucci apparently too precious even for the chinese.
Tears quietly welling in her eyes as we pull away. I no longer even feel a pull when the goodbyes must be said. The train whistle blows. Always a new chapter coming always a new one added i would happily return to. Is it the state of the world or the state of me?
The cans rattle. I don't want noodles, just some tea. I want to sit and think. Remember i am working so i just need to watch now.
Waiting for the sun to rise, waiting for the rest of the world to slowly wake. Tracing back my steps now. As we traced last night. Then to return like proud mothers taking the photos of our childrens first glimpse of light, the first time the rest of the world got a chance to see them. And back.
You may be one in a hundred, a thousand, a million but i am here to let others knw.
Graffiti and noodles