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      London's street prophets

      March 4, 2009

      By NELL FRIZZELL

      015
      Where did I learn the truth? It was sprayed upon the side of a poetically crumbling wall outside a wholesale rainwear store. It was the sort of future-thinking Orwellian comment that will one day snap the rest of the proles out of their contented idiocy. With a few well placed adjectives and perspective-bending hard truths, they blew my mind. It takes a very special kind of philosopher to choose the sides of wheelie bins and as their arena, so far be it from you to say that when you spray on bins you produce rubbish. Let us observe the nominations for this year’s Man Booker Prize for East London Graffiti.

      098
      Woah there cowboy. You scream in silence? That amazing. God, maybe you’re right actually, we all do. Actually now I think about it, I sneeze inwards and dance in stillness. Maybe we should get together and fuck in virginity.

      017
      Timely one this one. My whole understanding of what is and what is not has been fucked by the dog of objectivity. I’m so sick of the tyranny of the Royal Academy! When will they realise that anything can be art, not just their stuffed-shirt water-colour paintings!

      006
      Man, I’m scared, but I’m kind of empowered, I’m troubled but mostly I’m totally getting the fucking irony here. You know what? I’m never going to let the authority of Hackney City Farm bulldoze over me again. They cannot force me into silence. I will question their authority! I WILL FEED THE DUCKS!

      019
      Obviously a stinging reference to how, as onions, we do nothing but shed skins... and tears. Frighteningly deep, this clever piece of hardboard poetry has so many layers. Oh my god, there they go again, layers! And the cycle continues…

      020
      Not just another brick my friend. Not just another brick. Unfortunately, you are just another prick. I mean really, paraphrasing Pink Floyd? In 2009? With chalk?

      103
      Somebody call Carrie Bradshaw! London’s very own Sex and the Shitty is ready for release. I can see it now... "Can we ever really get to know ourselves? Do we always use sex as a shield against loneliness? Can we, as young London women, ever move on from tagging the hardboard under some scaffolding with quotes from our unpublished street-edged chick-lit?"

      Good grafittos of London, I thank you.

       

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