Sigs are also called "Handstyles" by those who beat the heat ... SIGS are short for Sigmund and they reveal much about the Writer, his addictions, his travels and his friendly neighborhood Home Depot Paint Supply Store. Sigs can be anything from scrawls on shithouse walls to Fancy Flingons on the sides of Freightboxes. Each sig is a mini-persona of the artist that writes them.

Signatures'R'us. It's the way we pave our egos and roll our oats.
... and if it wasn't for the Surrey Kings and other Rehabs of the Suburbs, we'd all be out of granola.  Its' these people that keep us pleased by providing work for the police and headlines for the papers that we idly thumb through at the Coffee Bistro.

It's the content that counts. Stripes of sunlight bless both the weary and the weird.  Any part of the train's anatomy is fair game for the Streaker's Pen.  It matters not.  We'll process them tomorrow when the fingerprints come in.And, who knows, maybe we'll meet "cyroberg" in the middle of a shopping mall somewhere, chomping on an "O' henry bar" or something.

Actually, the ACRID TAG up there is part of a much larger conquest, outlined gracefully in the Tracker's Menu, under "040322".  Each department here has its serial number, just like you.  They've got your number, buddy.  Only a matter of time before the phone rings.  That "dreadful ring", where you know it's the sheriff and his men, come to get you.  Say goodbye to freedom, cell phones and SUV cruisin'.  Tis time to pay the piper. Dabs, babs and cabs.  We're all truckers at heart.  All making one silent, invisible journey of a seed of dust on the 3rd Stone from the Sun.  We go, we stay.  We come, we wait.  We eat soup, we eat our words.  That what's "Alphabet Soup" is all about - eating our words.

Here we have the "Aerosol Warfare Over-Lordz".  AWOL, for short.  check the Trackers program in 040429 for more of these fine artists, distant cousins of Andy Warhol and Eleanor Rigby.  Proud to bring you "flashing trains" on the prairies.  You thought it was just another morning eating your Rice Crispees, gazing out the window of the Sanitorium in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan.  Think Again.  When the Train passes, it's gonna have Writing, Artwork, and Naked People all over it.  You'll forget your breakfast for once and look straight into the sun.

Now, "FMC" is a "no-frills" kind of guy.  Or crew.  Not sure what mayhem they're up to, but I'm sure it'll come out in the wash.  Damn.  Wish I had a graffiti translator on staff.

A little more litter from Gumbe and AWOL.  "604" is the location, that'll be right here in Sacred Lotus-Land, home of the Biggest Sushi-restaurant population outside of HIroshima.  It all goes into your toes.  Makes for strong "running muscles" when the police arrive.

Yeah, and that's all for now, kids.  Git yo' ass to bed and say your little prayers for Liberation and salvation. 

Enjoy your Cornflakes in the morning, regardless of what Cul-De-Sac you live on.  Just remember, you may feel "stuck" in life, but it's better than being "stuck" in death.

AT least this way, you have a phone call to your lawyer, even if you left your change in your other pocket.  It'll all come out in the wash.  Separate the colors and the whites.  The socks and the gonch.  The slippers and the strippers.

Ciao, and may Dogg Bless.