As found this morning on the Ballona Creek Bikeway under Overland Avenue on my commute to work — and mere moments before the almost ever-present and duly diligent Culver City graffiti abatement crewmember began painting it out.
“Not your average tag,” I said to him after dismounting, and with several quick shots of compressed air through his sprayer’s nozzle he smiled and nodded in agreement. I attempted to capture the statement in a single snap, but stepping backward I ended up pressed up against the bridge support with only “I’m a human being God damn it. My life has” fitting into the frame. “Value” was out of reach… wide right.
Is it ironic to proclaim one’s worth in so worthless a manner; to present such lofty sentiment from the dank shadows beneath the surface; to argue such an ideal in so not idyllic a place? Or is the greater irony found in the validation that comes from bringing this truth up from where it now lies buried under a layer of fresh cover-up paint for the rest of us to see?