Graffiti writers, or Graff Heads, are a peculiar breed of humanity who live through artistry and self expression. Writers who are up a lot generally have few possessions aside from sketchbooks (blackbooks, or bibles), colours (markers, cans of spraypaint, paint markers, coloured pencils, mean streaks), camera equipment (digi cams and a harddrive or snap camera and photo albums), towel, blanket, and (hopefully) a renewing supply of foodstuffs.

Those people who render "names" upon walls are often reclusive. In this they are similar to published writers. Graffiti writers form guilds, called crews. Graffiti artists have been known to hate people, prefering to associate strictly with other writers.

The graffiti art is highly related to the personal style we all possess. Each time a graff head manipulates colour in his image, the world is witness to his soul, history, techniques, philosophy, and mortality (morality? Surely). Some writers have incredible artistic abilities, and they create mind-altering abstract masterpieces (works taking many cans of paint to complete) and spacey handstyles (tags). Freight trains parked on remote sidings are the prefered canvasas of these Graff Heads.

Some painters are angry with the endless procession of life. They concentrate more on ups (unceasing repetition of their names) than style. Store walls, mailboxes, electrical boxes, fire handles, drain covers, poles, rooftops and walls on fire escapes are the prefered spots or these hooligans.

A visit to an unremarkable underpass will tell you the full and total story of most people's graffiti writing... "John luvs Su" or "Kerry is a slam pig" in small scrawled letters is about all the average can muster. Fewer will scribble some stickers, and maybe walk around with a thin little ubi paint marker some night. Likely, when the peer group stops, this sort of writer will also cease. Fewer still, though still an incredible amount of humanity, find nirvana in the sticky mist of an aerosoul can.

These men and ladies drown themselves in color and letters for a few years. Their third eyes always staring hungrily from auto windows and sidewalks. They thrive, dream vivid dreams, are able to actually love women (rather than just poking them), take art materials and beverages from their fellow men (merchants), and are wholly within the immoral, wicked, insane, intense, excilerating and endlessly fascinating subculture of GRAFFITI WRITING. Graf, along with Breaking, turntablism, basketball, flowing (freestyle chanting), beatboxing, and crime are all aspects of the subculture known as Hip-Hop (one could argue it is the only culture that has survived the global capitalist oligarchy).

Everything is an intellectual's graff-spot with a bit of evolution thrown in. Like Hip-Hop's urban equivalent, Everything2 is largely about teaching. There's competiton just as fierce on Everything - but so far it lacks the cool term writer's use: Battling.

I'll end with a bit more knowledge. If your soul ever forces you to the streets to bomb (paint, that is, layman), always remember to check the moon - if it's full, stay home and go out sometime soon. Graff Heads get caught on full moons.

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