Dante knew that if we don't get it right, it's like we never lived.
--Roberto Benigni

Party people,



Ok. We got tickets to TuttoDante. We are in line outside the Davies Symphony Hall in San Francisco. For the sake of time, let's say it is already established that Roberto Benigni is one of the most famous avatars in Italy, a comedian of elevated intelligence, a political voice, a movie star (Academy Award winner for Life is Beautiful, equally famous for 2002's Pinocchio). Benigni would be performing in only a few minutes and I see Tom Waits out by the stairs.

A different crowd at the hall - at least for someone who is used concerts where there are people down to get drunk, dance in the aisles, maybe find someone with whom to hook up. To fuck. To let the music fuck their ears with bass. One more time, fuck.

Half of the crowd is older, in shirt and tie and dress and corsage. They speak Italian better than they do English. Pretty shiny gator shoes. A man wears an eye patch because there is something wrong with his eye, rather than his ego. And the vocabulary they speak with has gravity.

College students are there, too. Guys with vintage hats covering their descheveled hair, trying to impress girls with their cultural sensitivity. Girls who don't care about the guys they're with, just there to see Benigni, who will soon be in the stands screaming for him, they're there too.

My wife stands next to me. She's beautiful.

"Different people," my wife says. I agree.

Fastforward. We are inside the hall. Our seats in the Loge.



The lights go first, music, the people stand, cheer abound is thunderous, and Benigni gets on stage. It's strange, like he is a rock star. The energy is for a rock show. Screams from the groupies. Perhaps the man would show some difference? He's short, skinny, balding, in slacks.

Benigni begins a stand-up routine in English, with a heavy Italian accent. He's funny. It's hard to understand a few words, but, his jokes come through. He says he can say anything because it's English, and in English no one can understand him. He tells a story about cocaine found in the sewers, more cocaine than what is shipped in total to England. This explain why there are no cats in his city. If the rats had that much coke. . .

Benigni talks about Burlusconi and translation. Somehow he is able to relate translation to real good coffee. On to the translation of Dante. Translation of poetry. Translation of the meaning of poetry. Translation of the poet. The translation of translation.

Ok. Here is the meat of the meat:

Benigni gave us the fifth canto of Dante's Inferno. Check it out here if you're interested in how much text that is. He walked us through each line.

With the English translation projected on a screen overhead, he gave us the context behind each line. What was going on in Italy at the time. Did you know, it was during Dante's time that Purgatory was 'discovered'? Did you know, it was the literature of Dante and others that set the foundation for the modern Italian language we know today?

Do you care? You should. If you don't know what's in your world, you don't know what has agency in your life and things happen to you, rather than by you.

Then, Benigni stepped back and performed the whole thing in ancient Italian uninterrupted as a true scholar and Italian.

It was one of the most beautiful things I've heard. I will remember it for the rest of my life.

Now, here's a picture of the outside of the Davies Symphony Hall.

Party People!!!!!!!

Quick premise of the flash story - it's done on the fly. No editing, no real preparation, just putting the skills on the spot and seeing if they can kick ass. My brain got steel toed boots. They better. . .

The Paper and the Ditch

He clenches his fist and he walks from the table to the kitchen window. Back to the table. Morning is cold and the steam from his tea cup is a long tendril. Looks like if he reaches for it he'll grab silk. Instead, he puts his hands down on the table, looks down at nothing.

The morning paper says they found the body in the ditch several miles from home. If he had a time machine, he would have stopped himself from saying anything at all. If he had a hand ax and a name, or even a picture of how that man looks like, he wouldn't be here in the kitchen walking back to the window, turning on the water without knowing why he was doing it. Maybe it would drown his crying. He falls to one knee.

The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.

--Thomas Jefferson

So, here's the project:

The Tree of Liberty will be a linguistic and syntactical exploration of the quote above. I envision a piece of writing that breaks apart this assertion and discovers every possible meaning that can be decyphered from it in the English language. No punches held back. No hold barred.

All letters here will be used in each sentence, will have meaning and will maintain a logical and syntactical order to tell its story.

With my experience of projects of a similar nature, and influence of a Canadian writer named Christian Bok, the idea is to exhaust this particularly famous (and in some circles, infamous)statement of all meaning and present it as an unfolded piece of written fabric.

I plan on letting you all know how it is going here, in KnowMuch.

Peace, Party People. Be safe.

Let me devour what's inside you.
-- 'Please Please Please,' Head Automatica

Party People,

A group of 5 men in yellow hardhats stood around. Their bellies distended and eyes squinted in enjoyment and their thick necks and faces were red with mirth. They laughed. Another man in a hard hat swung the axe at the tree and the shaft bit back and hurt his hands as the blade slammed against the tree trunk and just ricocheted back with only a loud pop but without any cut to the bark.

"Guddam," the man said. He dropped the axe handle and shook out his hands.

The tree, in the middle of the road, had grown as tall as a two story building. Its canopy reached across both sides of the street to cover the sidewalk and this city block was left in shade.



They had blocked this portion of the street and detoured traffic to go around. The people of this city weren't happy.

----------------------------------------

Going Green A Nuisance?

Today, city workers are finding a nuisance in form of a large tree, which had mysteriously sprang up in the middle of one of the city's main thorough ways. Currently, no one knows how the tree got there, but they want it out of there, now.

Yeah, as you see, it stands there right in the middle of Main like a stubborn bastard, ooop. Can I say bastard on TV?

That's Main Street. Officials say that all attempts to cut the tree down have been unsuccessful. From electric saws to swinging a plain hand axe at the thing. It just won't come down. They've now decided to use a bulldozer. This, however, will mean that portion of Main Street will be closed while they uproot the tree, and then repair the asphalt.

All who take Main to work or those heading into Downtown this weekend for a bit of shopping, you might want to take the backstreets and prepare for some light traffic.

Just look at that thing. Massive. That's one stubborn you-know-what, isn't it? What? I'm not going to say it. You heard the man. Hehehe.

Next we have live feed from the City Zoo where Brian Fantana has an update on pregnancy of Ling the Panda, Brian. . .



----------------------------------

Bulldozers are cool. I've never seen one before. It sounds like a tank coming in. A number of us had stopped to see them trying to take down the tree. Just heard about it this morning. Apparently it was such a big thing. A tree grown out of Main Street.

Dave and I somehow got to the front of the crowd that had gathered to murmur on the sidewalk. Such a big production. The had yellow caution tape up and squad cars in the background with their red and blue's flashing. Officers stood here and there watching things. A crew of fat workers in hardhats loafing around shooting the shit.

Dave said, "a heavy saw, you know the one they use on those big redwoods in the forests, blades look like plates. They went at it with a heavy saw and the thing just broke down. The blade bent and sparks and all that. Smoke. And on the tree not even a scratch."

"You really believe that? This is a tree we're talking about here."

"I don't know."

"How'd the tree even get here? Isn't there someone supposed to watch for things like this. Our tax money goes somewhere, right?"

Someone down the way began yelling. A woman. "Hey. We understand that the road needs to be clear. But, you better replant it somewhere. Keep this thing alive. They keep sick prisoners on death row alive. You can keep the tree alive and safe. Keep the tree safe. Keep the tree safe." A few people there began chanting with her.

Environmental nuts. I understood then why there were so many officers there. The police stared out at the crowd with taciturn eyes. I looked trying to see the woman but there were so many people. All I saw was a picket sign bobbing above the heads, simply said SAVE THE TREES PLEASE. Soon everyone started pushing up behind me when the bulldozer sounded, rumbling some few blocks away. I was excited. Bulldozer.



All heads turned toward the sound and quiet set in among the onlookers. Dave and I were quiet too. I thought how much of a life I didn't have. Saturday afternoon, standing here just to see a tree taken down. Somewhere someone was zip lining over a hot jungle in a semi-dangerous harness prepared by third-world inhabitants. Somewhere else someone else was in the middle of great sex. How could I get my thrills just from a tree?

Under the cover of the bulldozer's grumble, getting louder as it got closer, there was suddenly another sound just beneath my feet. Like rope tightening. I glanced down and saw the sidewalk and the shoes of those standing on either side of me. The bulldozer got louder and louder, grumbling and grumbling, it came in sight and the woman yelled again.

"Take it down responsibly. Outrage if you destroy that tree."

"Shut up," someone else said.

"You shut up."

"I hope it goes down fast."

"Heartless biggot. Keep the tree safe. Keep the tree safe."

What was that sound? I looked back down and that tightening sound underfoot continued. I saw nothing. Something under the sidewalk. I looked at the tree. Then at the bulldozer which was rolling up and its claw lifting like a warrior's hand telling its opponent to bring it on.

"Did you hear that?"

"What?" Dave said.

That tightening sound wouldn't stop. And the bulldozer was coming.

----------------------------

She secretly wanted to see destruction. Whether it was the uprooting of the tree and the rubble of the asphalt and dirt clinging to the massive roots which looked like rugged tentacles or somehow the bulldozer in meeting the indestructible stubborn tree smashing against the immovable trunk and breaking down, the claw bending back, the cage with the operator inside crushing against the bark and the operator bursting like a squeezed balloon full of blood, and smoke puffing out of the engine before it all just crumbles. Preferably she wanted to see that, where the bulldozer breaks down. There was more destruction in that. But none of it happened. The claw just pushed up against the wood. The engine of the bulldozer revved hard. The crowd around her cooed a little. Then the front wheels of the bulldozer lifted off the ground, came back to the ground, lifted, then came back down again. Then they stopped. All the workers stood around scratching their heads. A police officer went to talk to the foreman. All of a sudden a loud chatter and hissing of walkie talkies.

She was really, really disappointed.

-------------------------

"Indestructible."

"Really."

"Really."

"Nothing can take that thing down."

"I wonder what they're going to do now."

"Should take explosives to the thing."

"Ooo. Yeah. Like satchel charges. All around the base."

"Booom."

"Yeah."

"Must have some strong roots."

"Must have."

"Shit."

"Shit."

----------------------------------

It digs its claws into the earth. The loam feels good against its skin. Those little things that scurry about its stomach tickle and make it laugh inside. But it can feel their anger too. Something that they can't control. Soon it will change, however. Soon they will change. Or die.

It is here. The new week is upon us. A new time. A time of changes and uncertainty. People cling to their comforts and are distrusting of the 'new' more than ever. Closer we draw to one another. We find that after the revelutions of information and technology, we have not brung peace to one another, but friction. This friction causes heat. The heat stirs the blood and makes mad the minds of people.

The political climate has shifted and coupled with the financial meltdown, has caused all politicians' heads to explode. The sheer force of the tremors coming from the capital has caused a rift. Time has collided with itself and had brought two brothers onto the stage for the contemporary world to see.

Cain v. Abel















"This is no field. Where have you taken us, Cain?" Abel turns. "What's that? Is that a club in your hand?"

"No matter where we are, I have taken you away to kill you. You will serve our God no more."

As Cain brings down his club, his brother reaches with both hands to stop the blow. Fierceness on their faces, they struggle with the club above their heads. Cain's teeth bare and are feral through his beard.

Wrestling on the green of the National Mall, they have already drawn a crowd. Tourists circle with cameras clicking and flashing. Somewhere in the distance, guards are blowing their wistles and coming closer.

The club is jostled out of their hands and fallen onto the floor. The brothers separate and crab walk in circles. Their dance of battle has taken them away from the strange new world around them. They do not think of what has become of their open plains and flocks of sheep and farms. What are these strange buildings and what strange people inhabit them. Cain instead focuses on his brothers blood, how sweet the ground would taste it. Abel, ever the holy son of Adam, prays to God for his strength.


















Abel says, "you've lost it, brother."

"I will kill you."

Cain lunges and they grab one another by the shoulders. In the air, the humidity of the Eastern United States fuses and lightning cracks the clouds. In the boom of its thunder the first sons of Adam are locked in struggle and vicious. Far off, President Lincoln sits watching this epic battle.

Spittle foams amongst the hairs of Cain's beard. Abel, awestruck by his brother's ferocity, is taken away from the moment for just a second and is disgusted by his brother's appearance. So beastly, he thinks. What devils have taken my parents' from their first home have possessed my brother today.

"Abba."

Cain hisses.

"Abba."

"This bodes ill for you, brother," Cain says. "He is not here. This is a forsaken place."

Cain overtakes Abel and pushes him to the floor. As Abel falls, he strikes his head against a stone. The fall bedazzles him. Abel looks to the United States sky now, completely removed, seeing the clouds stir dark and more lighting flash. The thunder boom ripples the sky. Lighting flashes again and he suddenly sees Cain's eyes. His brother has retrieved the club and weilds it over his head ready to strike.

"Brother," Cain says. "Remember this place of desolation. See these people watching us. Watching you die. No one comes to save you. No one speaks up. No one. No one."

"Really? No one? There's like, thirty people here."

"Yeah," Cain says. His face has dropped to a confused look. "Strange." Cain lowers his club and removes his foot from Abel's chest. Helps him up.

"What's really going on here?"

Cain looks out. He is numb now, not knowing what to make of it all. The strangeness of everything has just settled in.

The people are circling now. They surround the brothers taking pictures and pointing. Japanese tourists are speaking swiftly and their voices sound like stones cascading down a hillside.

"What are you doing?" Abel says.

Someone there speaks their language. A man in a business suit. "You guys are crazy."

"Crazy? I'm about to kill my brother and you do nothing."

"What's crazy is that I can't speak to God here." Abel's head is turned up and eyes focused to the sworling grey clouds. "What's going on, where are we?"

"You're trying to talk to God and you think we're crazy. This is America. Who are you anyway?"

"Cain."

"Abel."

"Crazy," the man in the suit says. "Come to the real world. We're dealing with crisis. No one can get a house anymore. Our money is losing value. It's harder to buy food."

"Money?" Abel says. "Is that like your word for Honor? Or Dignity?"

"What?" The man in the suit says.

"Your crops won't grow? Why don't you build your house?" Cain says. "There's no materials?"

"Build?"

A Japanese tourist approaches them. She smiles and her teeth are brown. "Excuse me. What is your name?"

"What did she say?"

The man in the suit says, "she wants to know your name."

"Cain."

"McCain!" The Japanese tourist says. Her companions rush them taking pictures.

"What the hell are they doing." Cain raises his club.

"It's okay. It's okay." The man in the suit is pushing the club back down. "They're taking pictures. Good God."

"God. Abba." Abel raises his hands to the sky.

" You still haven't answered me," Cain says. "Why can't you build your house?"

"Are you kidding? I don't know how to build a house."

"And you say we're crazy?" Cain scoffs and pushes the Japanese tourists away from him.

"Abba."

"Shut up, Abel." Cain looks at the man. "What kind of man are you? Can't build a house? I bet you can't grow your food or raise herds. My brother's a weakling and he can raise herds. Come on."

"You don't know. We're in a new age. The technology age. You're stuck in the past. I can get things done with just a push of a button."

"Yeah, but you can't build a house. You can't gather your own food. That's what you need right now and you can't do it. What good are your magic buttons and money?"

"He can't raise his own food? He can't herd? What kind of man is he?"

"Yes, Abel. I know. Stop looking at the sky and lets find some place where the people have their minds right."

Watch: Maltese Falcon; Detour; The Set Up; DOA; Touch of Evil; Double Indemnity

Read: A Panorama of American Film Noir by Borde and Chaumeton

Party people and you film buffs,

Why, you ask, will we discuss this. It's so old and hokey. Old is hokey. Talk about politics and ipods and cutting edge technology.

I respond with a quick slap to the face.

This is one of the greatest eras in American Film. It began in 1941 with an epic movie and an epic leading actor: The Maltese Falcon with Humphrey Bogart. It came at a time when the United States was starving and weak from the Great Depression. Teeth bared and sharp and gritting hard from pain. The party of the 1920's was over and the hangover was here, hard, those who had become drunk from the excess now hated the world with a headache as big as Europe.



Color film had just been introduced and musicals capitalized on the goodness of it all to try to keep people in love with the saccharine. At the same time, many film directors and cinematographers from Europe were fleeing to the United States, the only nation not involved in World War II at the time. Therein began a harsh reaction that sent movies reeling away from the imagined prosperity and glee. Things weren't about smiles and happy feet anymore. People were poor. Damnit. People were hungry. Imagine you need to feed your family and you see store owners pouring good milk into the sewers, tossing produce into the trash, because they'd rather get rid of their stock and lose the money than give it away.

Films like the Maltese Falcon began to slap these musical films silly, essentially saying, "wake up. Why the hell are you dancing? You look like a fool with those tapping shoes."

Then, the morose of it all shifted films into the extreme and birthed Film Noir. With the Maltese Falcon, one saw a story line where the happy ending dissolved into an ending where no one came out clean. The good guys got beat. The bad guys wound up losing what they were after. Even in terms of character, the 'good guy' didn't even exist. The protagonist you followed on screen was often a crooked and lusty private investigator or a man who's trying to get away from his life and cheat on his girl every chance he got.

Take a look at Bogart's face. This is you're protagonist now.



The effect of these films and this kind of character acting was so profound that people on the street seriously thought that Bogart was a real tough guy like the characters he played on screen. Lucky for him, he was a real tough guy and he kicked serious ass. But I digress.

One can even attribute Film Noir to the advancement of the female character, which would soon be complimented by the 'Rosie the Riveter' campaign that promoted female independence and the image of the working woman, while the men were either enlisted or got drafted to fight in Europe and the Pacific soon after Pearl Harbor.

In Film Noir specifically, the damsel in distress and the innocent, fervently valued woman archetypes were replaced by the sly and foxy and ultimately corrupted. The woman who had her own plans and a gun to get her way. Unlike the singing dancing and melodramatic, this woman lied, had sexual hunger, was selfish and vicious just like the men. To the extreme, she was like this all the damned time.



Needless to say, all the leading ladies today can attribute the depth and complexity of their roles to this movement in film and storytelling. The men too, who the hell would want to keep singing and dancing and forgetting that across the middle part of America dust storms killed vast acres of crops and destroyed the farming economy? People were hungry. Damnit.

Film Noir also incorporated the best in film effects and in the best way--being poor. The bulk of films in this genre were produced by B-rated companies and therefore budgets were low. No color for these films. No expensive backdrops and special effects. They did it the hard way. The hard core way, through the use of dynamic camera angles and use of lighting. The most notable of techniques was Chiaroscuro--the use of shadows to create dynamic effects so to result in visual tension. Thank Film Noir for the image of the menacing shadow crawling up the wall. It began with shadowy figures of men and women running around in their dark dark world with so many secrets and guns that have fired too many bullets.

Party people,

Within a few hours a concept has already flown in with feathers bustling and cawing loud enough to annoy the neighbors.

Now lets not lie to ourselves and believe that there are pieces of us we keep hidden. Both physical and metaphysical, mental and spiritual. We are exposed and naked. Today, party people, we're going to end with a bang and discuss Thievery.



We're not going to turn this into some abstraction today and bore ourselves until our heads explode. Let's begin with a story, since, that's what I do--

I spent a few years in Sacramento, CA while I went to college and I stayed in a house on the south side. Far south. So south that it wasn't even considered Sacramento, but unincorporated Sacramento. Sheriff territory.

Just by that description, you may get a notion that what I'm about to tell you is that the place was bad, which it was, that it was full of bad people, which it was, that it was flat and dry and dead and it isn't the first place you'd go to have a good time, which it was. But let me awaken your better senses. Thievery, robbery, the bad things in life don't just happen in the bad parts of the world. Party people, we're smart enough to know that we're exposed to this no matter where we are.

Coming back from school one day, with my wife who was my girlfriend at the time, I found that the garage door was open and my girlfriend's car, who is my wife now, her car was gone. Disappeared. And all the gut feelings came to me with the knowledge that everything that was in here, everything that told people who I was to some extent was exposed, ran through and some of it stolen.



That feeling tears into you and you're never the same. Still living in that house, I paid attention to every little creak, every voice that came from outside, every shadow moving, and I was kept in a perpetual alertness that never really faded. A list was made in my head of every potential weapon in the house. I had a hand axe in the room. There was Bataan sticks in the small closet downstairs, screwdrivers in a little box in the cupboard.

Scenarios played in my head. I'm upstairs and I hear glass break. Full of fear and anxiousness and vengeance and furious anger I move with the most deliberate and quiet of movements. I keep light on my feet while I wrap my hands around the axe handle. I hide behind the bookshelf and hear for the intruder. I hear the intruder creep up the stairs. The first door across the hall is open. There's the sound of rummaging. The next door is open and more rummaging. Then, my door. Come, you piece of filth. Come and meet the vengeance and furious anger.

This feeling followed me to wherever. It didn't matter whether it was in a neighborhood that looked bad, and by bad I mean poor. A few weeks later, I hear that my cousin's car is vandalized. A few weeks after that, the car is vandalized again. And he lived in the good part of Sacramento. The north side. So north and so good, and by good I mean rich looking, so good that they want to call it another city, Natomas.

So, what can we say about that? These things happen outside of location. These things happen outside of appearance.



Physical thievery is not the real case here.

When you live in a bad area and you drive everyday to the good area to go to school, you begin to see how things change. By that, I mean you see how the city or town or village is shaped and how the buildings and businesses are placed and the effect it has on your sensibilities.

Let's imagine this picture: a long stretch of road with powerlines and powerline towers running down the side of it. Coming from the south, you see this stretch of road roll through low level buildings, one story buildings, businesses with no windows that look all closed up with roller garage doors. Houses on the side of this main road have yards neglected, with fingers of yellow grass reaching out, and some windows are cracked and smashed. Walls that are supposed to shield the backyards of some houses, they are cracked and some have holes where a car obviously crashed into some late night of drunkenness. Fenced in fields of nothing. There are parking lots that are empty. And the power lines keep on going.



Then, the buildings change. There's a taller, stronger looking building, with reflective windows. This building has trees and landscaping surrounding its parking lot. The power lines then go into a central station and then vanish. You pass under a bridge. This bridge, party people, is the key part of it. This bridge is the first physical landmark that bisects Power Inn Road coming from the south. Then a magical thing happens:

Power Inn Road disappears and is replaced by Howe.

Such a grand mental theft. Those driving up definitely feel a change. You've left the bad area and come into the good area. There are trees and green. The buildings vary more in size and shape, there seems to be more people driving about, better looking people, in suites, what I mean to say is richer people.

Your sense of apprehension is taken away and replaced by the promise of safety and security. How many of you have seen this before? The city steals from you, not your sense that things are bad, but the sense that people are the same. Somehow, the city suggests, there is a different class of people past this bride than those who are behind it. People do different things on this side of town than on the other side of town. What then is encouraged is a practice of judgement based on appearance. What is encouraged is a practice of believing that different people belong on different levels and certain people are better than others. Certain places are better than others. Certain cultures are better.



Mental theft through the alteration of your surroudings is the hardest to discern because it happens and you don't immediately notice it. Often times you must attune yourself to seeing it and then actually evaluate what you are seeing. What made me so much better when I crossed the bridge and attended college than when I was walking down the street to the mailbox on the south side? What made my north side self better than my south side self?

It works both ways. Those who find a belonging to one area or another, take this perception on the self. We hear things like, "I'm from the bad part of Oakland. I know what's up." As if someone who wasn't from the same place as you doesn't know, or doesn't have the ability to really know. That person is an outsider. That person is not on your level. But, you're not a thug because you're wearing a stocking on your head (no matter how silly that may look).




And you're not a high class business man because you wear a high class business suite. Often times you can find yourself being a pirate just by stealing certain things from yourself, or letting things be stolen from you, and then believing that you're still whole. Or, you can learn from this experience.

The enemy that we do not see is the enemy that we should be the most aware of. The enemy that attacks us through ways other than violence is the most dangerous enemy of all.

Most importantly, the ignorance is just as dangerous as the intelligence.

Be safe, party people.

And one more promise: things aren't always as serious as this. Our journey will be fun. Stay tuned.

Well, my party people, since we're on the topic of Culture and Hip Hop, I've decided to share with you a few pieces. These were displayed in the National Portrait Gallery in Washington DC.

At the risk of contradicting myself, I do want to note that our governtment is acknowledging the art that is in the heart of our culture.







To give you a little bit about the artist who did the portraits of Big Daddy Kane and Ice T and Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five, Kehinde Wiley painted using old heirarchy as a reference. Putting these people in the poses that they are in, giving them the background etc. questions the sense of what we consider royalty. It plays a lot on the notion of association. Since a man holds a royal ceptar and sits on a throne, he is royal himself.

The bigger issue, and what a lot of Hip Hop is trying to give to the youth: you must carry yourself and think of yourself the way you want others to percieve you. Image. But also self esteem. Self respect. Giving respect to others so that you gain respect in return.

My party people, don't be fooled by the radioactivity. Do not succumb to radioactive poison. My party people, we party, but we also party because we understand and respect the fact that everyone has stresses in their life that they want to release. Keep the whole view in perspective.

Hello my party people. The following is a message I posted on Music & Strenght Crew's page in www.iamhiphop.com.



Yo, M&S,Thank you for posting that video bomb on my page. Damn, it's a shame that wall is going to be torn down.

Now, this is for all the people out there. . . What I saw in that video was massive. Government actually allowed graff artists to take over this long track of wall under the trains in Japan. I know a lot of us writers think that outdoing the govt is part of being a writer. Bombing place where we're not allowed. Tearing down the vast array of billboard letters that promote consumerism and negative individualism and replacing them with a sense of creativity and community in our own letters, but, what that City in Japan did was amazing.

It's something that Obey and Ecko' are advocating. Even though the government allowed this wall to be taken over, it was great to hear that the artists were able to come together, commune, share their styles as they came to this spot not only to bomb but also to see the artists at work, to see the work itself. That's one of the best ways an artist can build him or herself.If we had something like that here in the states, we'd have stronger writers out there, less toys, less wack shit, more organization and better representation of what Hip Hop really is.

At the same time, it takes it back to when the good stuff went all-city. Back in San Francisco, we had Psycho City--local SF businesses allowed graff writers to blow up their walls with the freshest pieces. You didn't see advertising posters that implied that you'll be without unless you bought what they were selling. You saw real art. You also saw a community. Artists communicated. They grew better, faster and stronger. My party people, it was dope.

Now, the real problem with government. Sweeping policies that threatened to close down those businesses unless they stopped allowing this community. The mayor at the time enforced this policy with only a single societal view driving her actions. The lack of community consensus (the owners of these buildings had an agreement with these artists!). The lack of acknowledging community.

To say the least, it backfired. Closing down Psycho City opened up the rest of the city to be painted on. This inherent need to create, to accomplish great personal feats overtook the mayor's individualistic agenda to achieve something selfish. The art itself found itself on rooftops, places where it was more in your face instead of when it was in Phsycho City, the small wall area in the heart of San Francisco.

If we say art is life. Then life finds a way to survive and grow. Whether or not the govt allows. Should have kept Psycho City open, now the whole of San Francisco is open.

I hope you check out the video.

Hype.PEACE.