He floats his boat on criminal waters
Bragging incessantly about his endeavors.
His craft is an intrusive spin on identity
and what it means to create and augment said identity.
His craft is a gateway to a dark, wet culture,
vibrant with misfits, street kids, vandals, and brilliance.
If life is guided by lines, he lives bounded to jagged contours,
shapeless shapes, and wild appendages frolicking across flat planes,
adding depth to dimension.
He has peers.
Faceless figures known only by colorful pseudonyms,
each as street worthy and damage hungry as the next.
They travel in packs or all alone.
They have a code, that you never pay for supplies.
That you do not support the system that you are debilitating.
That stealing is necessary.
That not stealing is a not a crime.
