I’m old enough to remember when “graffiti” was highly frowned upon. Now days in some instances it’s highly prized. Graffiti, the word itself, has earned a new meaning – street art.
This large street art mural is on the side of a building in Pittsburgh, PA.
A closer view of the street art mural.
This young lady posed for me in front of street art painted on a concrete wall in Pittsburgh, PA.
This street art on a building in Pittsburgh expresses the discontent of its author quite nicely I think.
If you’re like me and age offers memories of graffiti when it wasn’t street art does it make you wonder why artists are now highly paid for their work on sides of buildings, walls, and whatever other outside canvas they are offered or can find themselves?
Thanks to P. A. Moed for hosting this weeks LAC, visit her site for another interesting take on street art (graffiti?).
How much time do I have left? If I could schedule the year, month, day, and time of my death what would it look like?
Thursday, January 27, 2045
My alarm goes off at 6:00 am and I reluctantly reach over and tap the alarm off button on my iPhone 21 Pro Max. It’s a cold wintry morning in south central Kentucky (I should’ve chosen a state further south, but I’ve said that about a thousand times) but it’ll be warm in the shower.
As I dry off I take stock of my nakedness one last time. I’ve chosen to leave this world wearing exactly what I had on when I first entered it. Before “Your Time to Die” came along there was no such thing as scheduling your own demise. Choosing what I’m not wearing was an easy decision.
It’s 8 o’clock and the smell of bacon frying makes me wonder if I’ll ever have breakfast again. There’s a lot of those kinds of wonderings in my head as I break three eggs into the skillet of bacon grease. Those breakfast cooking sounds; will I hear such sounds as that again after 8:00 pm this evening?
There’s only one way to know, I can’t ask anyone, Google still can’t tell us, and God seems to be silent on the matter, at least for now. I’ve been told you must have faith and believe that there is an afterlife. If there is such a thing, I’d like to think that bacon and eggs will be there too.
It’s noon and I relax with an old guitar, it’s the only thing I’m taking with me. If things are like what my Mother read in her Bible we’ll be transformed somehow. Does that mean we won’t have physical bodies? How am I supposed to play my guitar?
It’s 2:00 pm and I send out “Last Calls” on my old but reliable iMac. Those that gather are but a few, it’s not a festive event, but I’d like to think it is in an odd sort of way. I wonder if I’ll know what they’re thinking as I’m falling.
I’m enjoying my final glass of bourbon barrell moonshine and the pipe is empty. Although it’s a chilly 22 degrees outside, my insides are warmed just enough as I prepare myself for my final flight. I’ve stopped wondering. It’s time.
I’m being flown to a height of 1500 feet. Lying naked, ready for whatever awaits me. I’m slowly manuevered into position. At precisely 8:00 pm I’m asleep.