Mar. 4 - TSaSaSaSoI 2: The Quickening
After a long respite I've decided to return and actually finish this segment of WACKY pictures that I've taken while in Ireland. I spent some time in London and Amsterdam over spring break, garnering even more silliness, but I'll hold off on that until people continue not to post and I once again get frustrated with the lack of front page updates and write another slapdash entry full of sarcasm and normal photographs placed slightly out of context.
This fortnight, I will be covering graffiti and other magical writings on public property. I have an inherent fascination with graffiti, be it artistically detailed and expansive, or a pithy nothing-phrase that some jackhole scrawled next to the urinal of the public toilet in the park. Let's get this over with.
Graffiti, and Other Things I Probably Shouldn't Be Wasting My Time Taking Pictures Of
I took this in Kilmainham Gaol. I just like the idea of walking through a prison, where so many people were shut up, tortured, and executed, and your first inclination is to let everyone know who your BEST FRIEND 4EVA is. That's friendship right there.
One would assume that another individual added the "not" to this entry, but I like to think of it another way. Here's what I think went down:
The author wants to make a statement; to let the world know that yes, gay sex is okay. He wants to shout it from the rooftops, but instead settles on a little recalcitrant vandalism. After finishing up, he walks down the street with an inflated sense of accomplishment, sauntering down the road, grin on face and hands in pockets.
Then he hears something. It's a bunch of guys drinking in an alley. A normal gathering of local youths, except for the words spewing forth from their mouths. "Fag," "queer," "homo," "fanny-bandit," "butt pirate," and the like. Who knows why their conversation centers on varied and creative slurs for gay people. The point is, it's shocking.
Suddenly the man becomes scared. Maybe the world isn't ready for his public declaration. In an instant, he sprints back to his work and, hand jittery from fear, adds a reluctant "not" to the message. He takes a deep breath and skitters off a little safer, but the self-censorship never completely sits well with him. It haunts him for the rest of his life. That is, of course, until he eventually takes his own life.
Meta.
"Hi Hitler, how's it going? I just talked to Cheryl down at accounting and she said you had some of those little multi-colored Post-It bookmarks that I love to use. I was wondering if I could borrow one turquoise and three peach ones. I need to make some marks in the latest RISK management survey for Jeffries upstairs. Just let me know. Theenks, bye!"
Not really graffiti. This was a flyer someone handed to me about a protest in front of the American Embassy. Here's a little tip if you ever want to start a rebellious political organization: make sure the name of the person you're protesting is spelled correctly. I know it's an innocent type-o, but "Georpge Bush" made me lose all hope of legitimacy for this group. Sorry.
Posted by Nick Nobel
