A Brake on Graffiti.

more about this tomorrow

Let’s talk Graffiti.

Ah, you’ve noticed.

I drive past most days; it would be hard not to.

Is it significant?

It must be. Didn’t someone say that by understanding one small detail we will understand the totality of existence?

Somebody should have if they haven’t – isn’t that what meditation is all about?

Talking of meditation, what did you think of the Bee exercise yesterday evening  at Yoga?

It was a buzz. I’m still resonating.

Back to the Graffiti; what do you think it means?

Hang on, we ARE talking about the five pieces of brick wall alongside the motorway that constitute a piece of sculpture that announces the border between the Department of the Tarn and whatever the next one is?

Yes, the ones that graffiti-ists regularly scrawl over and which the graffiti cleaner-uppers un-scrawl almost immediately so that no trace is left of the people’s anarchist art. How long has this been going on?

Well, I’ve been driving back and forth past them for at least twenty yesras, so… let’s say twenty years.

Twenty years, or twenty yesras?

Years, my fingers slipped – again. (editorial note t)

That’s a long time to scrawl or un-scrawl consistently.

Both sides are entrenched.

Until now!

I know! And it has to be deliberate because the grass around has been carefully cut and I think the grass-cutters and the cleaner-uppers are the same people.

So, deliberately not un-scrawled this time! What can it mean?

Acceptance?

On both sides?

It’s not your normal run-of-the-last-20-years-mill graffiti is it?

Can we get a picture?

I’ll try, but I’m usually close to the speed of sound at that point on the motorway – and I do have new tyres.

Try the brakes.