Word: graffitos
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Upstairs is another story. The remarkable preponderance of tow-heads, the innocuous nature of the bathroom graffito, the stilted conversation of the patrons, and the proliferation of tuxedoes indicate to the wayward observer that he has at last stumbled upon a watering-hole of that too-too-common bird, the New England preppie. The last time we ventured upstairs, the company was chattering about the Groton-St. Marks game, to the disgrace of the formidable Crimson eleven, which had prevailed that very afternoon...
...Brooklyn, a boy scarcely old enough to go to school composes a graffito with a spray can against a handball court. The word: NIXON-with the X in the form of a swastika...
...Vonnegut observes, smiling benignly, "people who go crazy need someone to give them their ideas, somebody to write their words for them." This donor is Kilgore Trout, the bedraggled science-fiction writer who, on encountering Dwayne's question ("What is the purpose of life?") as a graffito in a New York movie-theater men's room, finds that he has no pen or pencil with which to write his answer: "To be/the eyes/and ears/and conscience/of the Creator of the Universe/you fool." Trout has been invited to give a speech at the Midland City Festival of the Arts...
Many intellectuals have even given up thinking-or tried to-as if it were a bad habit. Scrambled across their work as guidance for the public is the new and purgative graffito: "Nothing makes sense." The panicked outrage once reserved for those moments when all the reasons for living seem to fall apart has become a truism of everyday life. The list of anti-intellectual intellectuals, which used to begin and end with Hemingway, now runs...
...graffito was duly erased with white paint before the ceremony. The sun shone, a rock band played, and dignitaries assembled on a platform at the fountain's top-Halprin, the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency's Executive Director M. Justin Herman and other officials, including Director Thomas Hoving of Manhattan's Metropolitan Museum of Art. A crowd of several hundred people collected in the plaza below. Suddenly there was a ripple, a movement, a collective rush to the pool. For there, stomping about waist-deep in the water, was the vandal of the night before: black sweater...