“The First Spark”

I’m the guy who use to write Psycho Tc5/Fc primarily on the 1 line.  If you followed the graff game back in the mid-eighties, an introduction is probably not needed. For all others, this is just my story of my times and memories as a writer in the streets and subways of New York City. Funny, Scary or sad, these are the stories only a true graffiti writer can tell.

The moment the subway exited the tunnel into Brooklyn’s sunny skies, my sleepy 5 year old eyes lit up. Like most little boys my age, I climbed up on to my seat to kneel and look out the window, excited about it all. My trip to Coney Island, the subway ride and now being outdoors. The Italian middle class neighborhood the train was traveling in was different than my own with it’s sitcom perfect two family houses with swimming pools in the backyard, but that’s not what fasinated me. Another train was crawling the opposite direction from my train. It had all kinds of markings and designs spraypainted on it. As it came closer, I could see that it had letters in big bubble or blockbuster styles.

“Cool”, I thought to myself, curious to know how the markings got there.  I imagined teenage guys in flared leg jeans, suede navy blue Puma Clydes, wifebeaters and big curly afro’s hanging on by the windows and the narrow edges where the trains doors opened and closed, surf-riding the outside and carefully painting their colorful letters on the subway’s surface as it moved full speed. The thought of this got me excited with life. I wanted to see one of these graffiti guys tag up right then and there. I looked out for them, but saw none. I thought how cool these guys must be. So cool that I decided that I was going to become one of them just as soon as Ibecame big enough. I was going to paint my own top to bottom bubble letters on the train. Overwhelmed with my vision for the future, I had to tell somebody. This was a secret any 5year old couldn’t possibly contain. Not for too long anyway.

“Mommy, mommy!....I’m going to do that when I get big.” I announced to my surrogate mother, my aunt Elsie as I pointed to the throw-ups and tags and the train coming from Coney Island.

“Do what?” She asked confused, not quite sure what I was talking about.

“That! See! I’m going to do that!”

My aunt’s expression changed immediately when she realized I had plans for a career in vandalism at such an early age. I didn’t see the backhand coming. I only felt the sting in the middle of my face and then something trickling down from my nose. I touched my face to discover blood on my fingertips. I hyperventilated about half a minute before letting out a good scream. I cried my ass off.

“Shut the fuck up! And sit down right and don’t you dare look out that window again!”

Damm, graffiti was already getting into trouble and I didn’t even write yet.

Posted on October 01, 2007 at 11:16 PM   |   Next Entry   |   Entry List   |   Email Entry   |    Digg

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