We begin with a Turquoise Slugger. Situated below nice rows of "suburban ghetto specials", this crayon blend is getting worn-out, just like me.  I can only comment on the neat houses, not the tag.  This poor pecker track is pretty darn worn out, it's seen better daze.  I may think of sending out some Van-Easters or some Parkgate Mall spray-kidz to pretty these things up. Truck Drivers and Psychiatrists don't breed successful candidates for color gigs here.  Alas.

The only reason why this one is CUTE is because it's original.  We get "lookalike-everything" in this society.  Everybody is "safe" being conformist.  Even the taggers, who feel like "king non-conformist" often try to imitate what is "established" as safe in the art of bombing.  So they all end up looking spry, pointed and colorful, like the back alleys of Queen St in Toronto.

It "seems" like a festival of righteous indignation, but it's really a festival of conformity.  That's why you'll see me give special attention in SEZ1.COM to any taggers who dare to be different and 'out' their own sacred ideas.  Example in point: TEDDY BOY of CORDOVA STREET. There's lots of them around. They're the only ones that really grab your retinas.  The other stuff is just a bunch of jumbled up letters with pointy little arrows comin' out their asses and overly flamboyant color scheming.  Gotta do better.  Your train is goin' by.

Huko spares the day with a Football Player's Prayer and some Campbell's Star Minstrone.  It's simple but homely.  Like a night on the couch with Dad in front of a Hockey Game.  "There ARE NO MORE hockey games", you say glibly. "Aint' thet a shame", I add, shaking my grateful head.  1% of Mindless TV is now dead; we can hope the other 99% will follow suit.

Things are looking a little more Jewish as days pass by. "SayKot" or "JayKoto" as he is known in Japan has left us a tinfoil weiner that draws more attention than I've mustered all day.  Simple, but brilliant.  "To-The-Point" as his english professeur tries to imply.  We can't go much further here; we're running out of throne speeches.

Now here's an example of some REAL SHIT-HEAD who tries to destroy what wispy fragrance of talent tries to painfully energy from suburban asphalt. The next portrait - negroid and feminine slightly - is a winner.  But a drunk 12-year-old with a roller decides that Art is not going to make it in Langley - not as much as beer-inspired hooliganism.  Oh, well, stupidity is on the rise in general, mes amis.  Just look who Amerika re-elected.

Salz, we are told, is kind of like the others, who are kind of like the others, who are kind of like the Others.  Sort of like Starbucks and caffeine; you get addicted not to the "good" coffee, but to the sameness and predicatability of things.

Let's talk about STENCILS.  Stencils are a little bit different. How, I'm not sure. I guess it's all a trend. Perhaps, just a condiment in the meal to add a little spice.  Below we feature a little snipout of STENCIL ART on the Langley line. My friend Mark from LA introduced me to Stencil art at Sey-Lyn.  It's all about placing your own unique sig in your own unique spot.

I guess we all do it in our own way. The scientist in the Lab. The driver in the Truck.  The Duck-Pincher in Hon's Won Tun.  We all make our mark in one way or t'other.   What's disconcerting is the theme of ANGER that keeps penetrating modern culture.  And nobody questions it.  In fact, it's "un-cool" to question it.  So we all behave the same. Guns, violence, frowning faces.  We accept it as the Norm, we obey it in our blind unconscious moves to be "rebels".  We join the club of "conformist non-conformists" and we all spout our self-righteous indignation so we can be accepted into the Brotherhood of Pain.

But look at the Buddha.  His face is smiling; he is in repose; he has gone beyond the squirelly ways of conforming and rebelling. He has gone beyond the human stupidity of "smiley faces" and "angry faces".  He has found the ultimate contentment in the Knowledge of Self.

We say "goodbye" to Langley Skate with minimal regret. It's far enough from Vancouver to forget the rampaging of angry drivers, but it's not close enough to Tibet to gain a glimpse of Golden God-Head. 

Our last rendition is the Cavorting Skulls.  As death plays a big part of life, the cave-men knew to give their dues to the Grim Reaper.  Skulls in Graf Bootcamp is more of a "12-Year-Old-Wannabe-A-Hells-Angel-Rather-Than-A-Fireman" mentality.

Can't blame them, the pay is better.

So, the Children of Krylon and their parents of Nylon have lessons to learn; lessons of mortality and the Value of Real Gold.  Ah, but don't we all?