Fitzroy Art Deaths

Have been noticing the export capper who's been smashing around the roy of late, i don't have photos but you can do yourself a favour get some exercise and see for yourself on Fitzroy Street.  The whole wall from rose street down to street i don't know the name of but towards alexandra parade.
This talented individual has taken meticulous care to make sure all the details have been given a bit of a touch up with the black export quality sheen.  psychopathic talent, distilled into malicious art.
I suppose it is a direct response to the tagging and sometimes vicious locations and responses by graffers to being shoved out so rudely by the influx of shiny tanned newbies and muscular clean shaven meat axes.
I actually me one of these bright sparks one night and he was sadly opposed to the graffetishism that can spread quickly in the soul of true believers.

But who are we to say that colour is better than white and black and long bands of monotonous faber.
i am sure there is room for both of us here in this habitable little village.
Because after all, this all will fade, and run into the seperatness from which it has come, and in a few billion years the sun will devour the earth and all you will have will be your excuses.

and so despite being human i have tried to approach the tit for tat with a bit of impartiality and tolerance and to tell you the truth from my little black heart i find it is the only way.

to 

a pocket full of rhymes

autumn fades now into winter and it is good to think about the places to avoid the cold and to try not to piss off too many people that you may have to rub shoulders with in the close quarters a suburban winter promises.  A full year back in Fitzroy and I feel at rest, i hate what the new folks done to the saturday night street though, it is repulsive.  But the cold days still find me happy on the streets and in the cafes, bimbos pizza still great as ever and if you tip the staff regularly the pizza is even better.  I am not drinking caffeine in any great amounts anymore so i can only rate the Chai that i have drank at many of the places, first place goes to Babka, second to Black Cat, third to Nova and fourth place to Lentil as anything( because it's free)
I pay really.
with my conscience.
And so we go, another wet winter perhaps, perhaps the sea temperature will change and we will get more droughts in years to come, probably, and perhaps the sun will spew a giant flaming arc of gas at the southern hemisphere and destroy all southern life as some have predicted.  I hope i can get my shit together and get my publication out on the streets though, if you do happen across it don't be afraid of it, fear of something is just a naive way of hiding from the truth that you hold onto to deeply, the truth that you think the same as me just at different times and sometimes, gracefully, in harmony.
My critics are my best friends, they're just going through a particularly arduous period of reconciliation.

Because sometimes is takes a lot of right to correct a few wrongs.

lates

hunger strike in nobu restraunt hostages eaten as appertif

a man went down to the town one day
came right back and had this to say
never saw a crowd like that fair play
went to the tree and sat in it's shade

sun moved about just to scare him out
he was not happy and said you lout
movin about like that old trout
i outta comethere and knock you out

so he devised a keen plan of paper and sand
wrote it all down with his opposite hand
made it to the sun and had his stand
then came right back with a fresh raw brand

cried for week then died last night
worried the neighbours who got quite a fright
when his corpse walked out devoid of sight
into their kitchen and said goodnight.

thanks for having us

dust becomes life and ashes snow
a life can be lived in an instant
and soon passes beyond and away
into the barren lands and the dark cool
what is this life that takes us down into the dark
and into the light beyond the night

i only know what ignorance has held tight to
and i've forgotten the best ideas i've ever had
they fell into that place all ordered and ready
and tied tight with a string of patience
and deep unknowing

autumn ushers in the window
it changes the firs to yellow
and then orange
and finally brown where they touch the ground
to shelter the cold stones of winter and bend down
to slip between them in spring and feed them through summer
before rising into the air
anew and asking us to trust our lives to them
and their knowledge
passes on and on beyond our brevity
but don't wait to hear
life is out there

DN

A memorial eulogy BOUT dn

Ciao

I think even in the next 10 years or so or as long as the paint will last there will still be dn in Fitzroy.

I remember noticing dick nose getting up back around 2009, it looked crazy as they come.

It's funny that i still recall the exact place in Fitzroy and the exact wall and as the wall hasn't been buffed yet i suppose it is still there under the countless layers that coat these talking walls.  

dn was impossible to define, he was equally hated and loved depending how you knew him, and sometimes how long.  He was brilliant and this was evident in nearly every artistic pursuit he did, whether it be writing, music, chefing and graff.  Because he had a style and he stuck to it.

he once told me that in the future people would see the joke in his words.

He went to court a few months ago for his accumulated spree's throughout Fitzroy and as his last defence  his legal team noted that preceeding must move quickly because the mayor was to be interviewed by the defendant.  This seemed to be sufficient to give a little leniency to the man.

I knew him through music initially and writing and he was already established in both these fields.  Several years in the Appalacians with some of the best players around gave him some chops to watch for, and every now and again he would freestyle some that could only have come from a NYr. 

There was no denying the criminal in dn.  he worked the streets for what it was worth and in the heights of his junk habit he rolled many people for cash for a hit.  He has enemies from this that will probably last their lives.  But he kicked the habit and was sober to see what he'd done and he took the hits he got and didn't say too much to tears about it. 

I hope other people can see the joke at least once, that which lies behind the simple letters we have to see everyday.

Rest Easy Brother

dn

1980 - 2012

serial tagger

musician

writer/poet

chef

boxer

and in his own words 

king of no style

though sometimes a mountain may be shrouded by mist and cloud is it still a mountain

.

an ocean of tears for a simple lie

wrapped in a ribbon
flailing
and sending out rings
in the cool water
just hit by the sun
rising in the haze
of early morning

are you there yet

the moon doth shine as brite as dae

i haven't had much to say because i have been thinking of silence, and silence is a clever devil.  and because i was stolen by a dragon, it lifted me up and took me away over yonder hill.  I slept awhile neath a cyprus pine and when i awoke the air was pure.  I drank of the water and the blackberries that grew i did taste.  Down the wandering stream, where the earth does like to hide this season round.  A silly mole that danced in his own self worth was upsetting the bank and digging his holes too spacious, a rain came down and they all fell in and he washed away and that was the last we saw of him.  Further down the apples spread up the soft curve of land away up to blue.  But they were restrained by fence and i couldn't bear the thought of that kind of joy so i left and like a leaf upon wind swayed on into the unknown.  It is said people fear that which they do not know, this seems foolish, as we are probably incredibly ignorant in comparison to the design of nature and the enormity of its character, but also fear is a great teacher and when we understand what fear really is the humour of life becomes a little more evident.  I reached a bend in the path and my way entered the stone and like all good friendships the stone became a part of me. It ripped a hole like a vent and out into the air came the life like red paint.  There is no time for dilly dallying though so i take my lesson with me and down into the forever.  The forever follows down the burrurulung to the sea but it will only be tomorrow that we make it down there to clasp eyes on the old mother, salty and cool like the shade in an autumn garden in Fitzroy.  The stranger blows into the room and like a friend is acknowledged and in the right direction pointed.  The service is with a grimace not a smile but this is the way and idle chit chat is a pithy substitute for a good job.
Return to the deep truths that you cover with your suspicion and your selfish heart.
A life spent in service to a goodness beyond its own needs is no longer kept in secret to happiness.

in the space of time

the spirit of

the wild

is everywhere

it purveys

all things

with heart or

not. the 

wild, the 

unnamed

the raw and

the primal.

the end and 

the return

a simple 

answer.

silence

and the

roaring 

sea.

a constant

movement

in the

perception

of

c a l m

deep fried lettuce in soy sauce

when the light all hustles and clears away all i am left with is a vain shadow that follows me everwhere and a mind that won't let me be.
The streets all empty one by one.
I was born here and i'll die here, against my will.
It is presumptous to think that life has a meaning and to ask a meaning of something so simple is a mockery of the reason each of us is endowed with.
If i could have anything in the world i would have nothing.
I can still remember the cannibals reminiscing about the flesh of man (sic) humans.

Ignorance was and still is human kinds greatest enemy.
The only thing any of us have to fear is ourselves.
God is inherent in all things of an equal and true measure, the more civilised that thing becomes the less visable it becomes.

 if you can laugh at your own mortality you can be free of its finality

graffitti is in someways like planting a garden, if you pick the right seeds, make sure they are well suited to their soil and water them and care for them, don't worry if someone pisses on them and have patience you may be rewarded and surprised by what they become and the nourishment they provide.

satan is not so dissimilar to god kind of just seen from a different point of view.

words are a guilt free way of reminding myself that life is the great illusion.

the new year

Ok so enough putrid bullshit and esoteric scum, this post is addressing the vital importance of the ongoing assignment of renewing street art/art in general and exploring its future possibilities in what some people suggest is at the end of its epoch.

  And the possibilities that australia has to offer on an international level?

We have geographic isolation, an emerging indigenous renewal and a simmering local scene.  Due to the catastrophic rise of the Aussie dollar we have unfortunately lost much European travelers, and also due to the approaching calamity of both the American and Euro currency.  But this has never limited the dedication of artists that are after specific locations for their scene and styles.  Melbourne has been in the past such a place and once again it should be.  With the proximity to the emerging powers of the new world, China, India and the fucking AMAzing amount of culture that is able to integrate into Melbourne without too much prejudice.  All these factors point to a high chance that Melbourne/Australia could have a serious influence on  international arts and culture in general.
Whether in Graff or arts is irrelevant, i think it is time the sketchy local differences could be put aside and the hatchet buried for a while and would be good to see some ideas and new directions tested.

And for gods sake thrown up on the fucking walls.
It would be good to attack the buffers with personal stuff and get a bit of press and get some support from the community this way, without being violent or assuming ownership merely suggesting a share.
After all we all have to look at these walls and in a healthy society everyone should get a chance to put up their piece.  


Australia is in a boom period and these boom times echo across all facets of society and resound through all halls and dells.  I plan on smashing it with all I have, I would hope that there would be some other interested parties open to collaboration and extended integration of alien styles and assimilation with any new scenes that appear, there will be opposition i suppose but there is DEFINiately an opening here.
It would be great to get todays sublime into the castles of tomorrows.

A shout out to all, regardless of everything, united for lunch and a hope to make a mark of the now.

                                                                          ...
 

the eternal battle between day and night

They rest under the lilac tree and the water, the water is all around.  On blade and grass and leaf and limb.
Dappled the sunlight through the darkening, creeping in becoming the subtle colors that underline the changing.
Pines line the horizon and green grass is still and looks like a velvet cloth draped over the ancient contour.  Steadily they rise and into the sky.
Back over the yonder way, where the valleys lead to the bay, where the restless waters play and the ancient sailors sway beneath the blue yonder out beyond the night, into the day, again, until the wax is gone and the curtain collapses.

into the empty

and the glistening hand swam t'wards the pale purple sun.  A long line of creatures mired in the marsh stopped and listened to the frogs and toads.  An army of insects line the coveted leaves and a million lights rose from the steam.  The tree's were few and memorable, they dragged up to the stars a beard of silver tentacles and hushed a curved canopy beneath the night.
By day the olive drab covered much and the relief only was a mottled braun.
A red desert lay beneath.  And every hundred years or so it would appear, black pebbles and all.  Drink in the sunshine, and then disappear beneath the clear and present waters, darkening steadily with the algae.
A distant world, a memory wrapped in soft paper and hessian string, bound by the mysterious will of the mind.

home and whip the horses

the days of new, the forest is no different to the city and the waves and endloss expanse of blue water that joins the sky somewhere out there is the same as the people that wander these streets trying to figure out where the happiness lies.  Everywhere and at every instant, the possibilities for it is infinite.  I welcome the new year and have some great plans for some great new works.  Fighting the good fight for the freedom of expression on at least a few of australias dwindling streets in its hastily gentrifying streets.  the time was and  ever will be in the now and i will make you know my name.  Even if the skies above should break and the angels descend there will be no distraction from the absolute which is ever and always; upon us.

into the dark sacred night.

step back to mother

time and tide wait for none.

the time grows short, the hours descend and the blackness is at its thickest,
i leave this city and travel into the gathering summer, into the wild the forest and into the country where
nature waits, with tangled bough and shimmering surface.
the road leads to nowhere, to the womb to the close family.  the city is the beast as well, for we are everything but something other than the animal, but nevertheless the wild awakes in all who listen a perspective that is universal and carries the complete wisdom of life.
Beyond the high reaching cement and glass and beyond the ribbons of black tar and rock that wrap this ancient landmass.
Where the blue waters hustle and sigh, where the air is salty and the bush is tangled over the rocks before it leads into the dark shadowy glades and fens where the rocky rivers run.

the country, my country, our country, the wilderness, where the city runs silent behind me and the ancient traditions continue in from of me.  the sky is endless and no light betrays its best intentions.
but none of this matters.
its magic is in the sublime and only contemplation and patience and the eventual silence of the mind trick it into drifting into your fragile eggshell mind like a drug that never fades.

have a great christ mass and new year,
if i am not eaten by a shark i will return in the new year.

vaya con dios amigos

in a little while all the streets will be clean and we will fall into the new

sway and the world sways with you
the tall and the weak
the tired and the sweet

It comes at last and takes away the temporary and leaves the bitter taste of ignorance, the foolish space between.  Always, because the fool is only wise if he knows his folly.  Because i cease to exist at times, i move through this life in the body of a human but this is all that will tell of this, and perhaps a ghost of a memory of a life long gone.  Shoddy projector you say.  But i was born in this form and so i will die in it despite all the may come to pass.
And i have tasted a water that was older than the stones.  And i have slept in the cradle of the dawn.
So this is my salute to that life which has lifted me up to where i stand now on the cusp of the new which is also the old and all that which these words can only and should only to others give such brief hints, and always without the stamp of an ego.

the sum of all my efforts is none
in the end
who will count
and so shall it be.