Graffiti Deep Quotes

The cream-tiled walls were spattered here and there with old dried bloodstains, deep gouges that might have been clawmarks, and all kinds of graffiti. As usual, someone had spelt Cthulhu wrongly.

I was here but now I'm gone I left my name to carry on Those who liked me Liked me well Those who didn't can go to hell'" -The bathroom wall

The major problem with the invitation now is precisely overfamiliarity. Familiarity breeds unfamiliarity—unsuspected unfamiliarity, and then contempt. People think they have heard the invitation. They think they have accepted it—or rejected it. But they have not. The difficulty today is to hear it at all. Genius, it is said, is the ability to scrutinize the obvious. Written everywhere, we may think, how could the invitation be subtle, or deep? It looks like the other graffiti and even shows up in the same places. But that is part of the divine conspiracy.

How did I ever learn that people like my daughter were less-than? Had the roots of my thinking been planted by the defect language, by the bad seed and at zero language? Had they begun in the hallways of that elementary school I attended? Not quite. The roots of my thinking were older than me. They were older than the neglected buildings that housed people with intellectual disabilities, older than the American laws requiring their sterilization. The roots dug deep into history’s soil, reaching even past the story of Jesus’s disciples, who found a blind man on the side of a road and asked their master, “Who sinned to make this man blind? The man or his parents?” Disability as punishment . Disability as sin. Disability as problem, as outcast, as other. These equations have been graffitied all over human history.

not far from the lonely telegraph station that picked up the last distress signals of the HMS Titanic, is still more fossil graffiti left on old ocean rocks by these pseudo-creatures—hieroglyphic echoes of life in the perpetual midnight of the ancient deep.

glorified graffiti. But there were no murals. Each room had been painted a different color—the kitchen a sunny yellow, the living room a deep cantaloupe, the bedrooms a warm peach—and the overall effect was of stepping into a box of sunlight, even on a cloudy day.

Come on, cowboy up.” ​I followed her past a sad lawn imprisoned behind rusty railings, under an ugly, covered area made sordid by depressing graffiti and bits of disowned garbage, to a steel elevator covered in obscene drawings, which we rode to the seventh floor. On the way up, Dehan pointed at the indelible black and red scrawls on the walls. ​“We inhabit the same space, but we live in different worlds.” ​“That’s deep.” ​“That was my dad. He was deep. I think of him often. He used to say two people can stand in the same place; one of them is in hell and the other in heaven.

When America Cuts My Daughter’s Hair" every chair in the strip mall salon where she rents a little space of her own reflects a face waiting to make a change. Another mother next to me rips an ad for the full Hollywood wax & here the best graffiti: DON’T DO DRUGS, BE SAD. They’ll grow back, my own mom on the bangs I butchered more than once. Do you think America is pretty? This skinny blonde kid who never really has to ask if she is, asks me as we walk more hot city blocks because by now we’ve chopped the pecans to protect the power lines. I think America is pretty. A pierced Xicana with one side of her own do done in deep brown waves, the other buzzed tight & dyed a bright chemical green. America fits the description & when she’s done holds up her small mirror in the big one turning my girl around so she can see herself. You can call me Erica, she says if you like, but we like America better here.

The most famous faux fatality was “George,” the imaginary welder who was killed during the construction of Pirates of the Caribbean. Evidently, poor George was either electrocuted or crushed by a falling beam and continues to haunt the attraction to this day. Cast members still tell the ghost story to new hires, warning that they best say, “Good morning, George,” when they prepare the ride for opening or they’ll experience a day of breakdowns, evacuations or odd occurrences. “You’ll see or hear something strange,” warned one spooked ride operator. “You’ll see moving shadows on the [hidden camera] monitors or mysterious figures standing in the knee-deep water. You’ll feel a sudden, icy cold breeze. You clean graffiti and it comes back.

He changed his final wad up at the train station. Which was a sad place now. There were homeless people and disturbed people hanging around. There were furtive men with swivel eyes, their hands thrust deep in capacious pockets. There was spray-can graffiti on the walls. Nothing compared to the South Bronx or inner-city Detroit or South-Central LA. But unusual for Germany. Reunification had been a strain. Economically, and socially. And mentally. He had watched it. Like living a comfortable life in a nice little house with your family. And then a whole bunch of relatives moves in. From someplace where they don’t really know how to use a knife and fork. Ignorant and stunted people. But German like you. As if a brother had been taken away at birth and locked in a closet. Then in his mid-forties he comes stumbling out again, pale and hunched and blinking. A tough situation to manage. He

He changed his final wad up at the train station. Which was a sad place now. There were homeless people and disturbed people hanging around. There were furtive men with swivel eyes, their hands thrust deep in capacious pockets. There was spray-can graffiti on the walls. Nothing compared to the South Bronx or inner-city Detroit or South-Central LA. But unusual for Germany. Reunification had been a strain. Economically, and socially. And mentally. He had watched it. Like living a comfortable life in a nice little house with your family. And then a whole bunch of relatives moves in. From someplace where they don’t really know how to use a knife and fork. Ignorant and stunted people. But German like you. As if a brother had been taken away at birth and locked in a closet. Then in his mid-forties he comes stumbling out again, pale and hunched and blinking. A tough situation to manage.

Somewhere hidden deep in the graffiti of her thoughts, a poem waited to be found.