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Theliterarythug
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Username: Theliterarythug

Post Number: 6
Registered: 11-2007

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Posted on Wednesday, December 12, 2007 - 06:13 am:   Delete Post View Post/Check IP Print Post    Ban Poster IP (Moderator/Admin only)

Murals

Tossed to the basin of a ghetto pleasure palace
Turned asunder in a thicket that told too many tales
Lies the painter , listless, shrunken, his face reduced
To a metallic visage.
Amid the evening drug run, he is a bother
Human refuse among the living and the parasite
A nuisance amid glassy eyed children getting a score
And the stoney eyed killers giving it to them
In the land of the rock and the blue tinted scythe
They found his as dispatchable as rubbish
Not them,
Not somebody
Not special
But look, children, Oh you juxtaposing seeds
Of easton ellis and nino brown, look all around you
In murals in every place in every wall
Murals.
Yes, murals.
Murals that turned wall’s into canvases, improvised dimensonal visions
Where rappers, logos, cartoons and creatures exist in surrealist aerosol dreamscapes
Murals that turned structures to templates and fusions of pictures,
Spliced ads, interwoven letters, and melted collages served as his offering to the transcendent
Murals that turned foundations into shapes, morphed angles, and
Transformed geometic Point’s into their own composite world
Murals that gave brighness, light, aerosol praise singing and an imagination dying For someone to cultivate it, to believe in it,
to not pin it As a bogeyman, bird man, or little brown reason for everyone’s problems
Murals said that I am ME!, I am special! I am vastly new jack and contain hood magnitudes , I am somebody beyond these ragged walls
Murals painted by someone who could have gone to art school,
Studied in Paris,
And just might have been renowned
If somebody had realized he was a talented young man
That painted murals.
Murals that, when he came to the realization
That nobody would realize that he could paint murals,
Turned
Dark, bleak, gray, suicidal.
Murals of violence, of the bleak and black textures of the world Closing in Of corpses, dark woods, blood alleys and corpses, of sad souls, lost faces, beaten bodies, brutal minds and corpses, of loss, toxic drugs, teenage madness and corpses, of human sickness, losing grip losing mind
And many, too many, too many corpses
And of a night where he said to the people who threw him in the thicket
“I'd rather be a zombie
And turn on my own god damm instrument
Than ever be you.”
People about vandalism, people about grafitti.
I am haunted by murals.



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Cynique
"Cyniquian" Level Poster
Username: Cynique

Post Number: 10879
Registered: 01-2004

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Posted on Wednesday, December 12, 2007 - 10:19 pm:   Delete Post View Post/Check IP Print Post    Ban Poster IP (Moderator/Admin only)

Great word pictures.

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