I am particularly concerned with notions of translation and transcription. Graffiti, post-its, tags, love notes, are forms (of communication/insistence/art) that will never leave us—how do we read the world as it is found/left around us? A strange nexus of the personal and the impersonal, delicate and steadfast simultaneously. On the surface, meaning shouts out of the written word—but also hums underneath a current of impossible, of an inability to communicate our true selves.
Is the billboard a better reflection of our desires, or the bathroom stall? Or both? Are they different?
How do our notes/tags/missives fit into the civic space? Transgression is built in. Or built out. The climbing into of the personal is the inhabiting of the universal
the answer is dope simple
778 **2 1**5 “Jack”
jizz in her eyes this xmas season
s.sucks limp dicky
cum 4 christ
What’s up s.?
I’d like to get to know who you are.
No drones spec
east van crooks
r.is a living breathing deth master
death troopers are here
j the jib hoe
oh my nipple tips
tryna fuck around?
778 *11 2**1