BRANDTRUEBOY

All writing is by "me" unless it's not--follow the yellow brick road of remixed bits and pieces:

Online telepathy
Awareness
Andy Warhol
Fiction
Reality Sandwich
street art:
youngmanhattanite:

FREE BOUNCY RIDE OF THE WEEK
See you next week for another Free Bouncy Ride

I’d much rather descend into the dark and drippy caverns of the NYC subway system and encounter half-humorous, half-disturbing shit like this than have to deal with driving every morning.  I can’t imagine doing that every morning—those who do are truly special…(ed).
I’ve watched the best minds of my generation destroyed by mindless commuting back and forth from cubicle coffins…
The only time they spent alone was in a car, battling traffic.
No wonder the commuters hate the city…they fight so hard to get there and the version they get is Penn Station’s rabbit warrens, or the psychotic glimmer of the Port Authority.  Everything is rush, rush, rush…stuck in crowds of people who are doing the same—wearing identical clothes and identical grim countenances.  They flow in the river of people towards the subways—I remember being already on the train when we got to 34th street, and watching them come on with their determined faces and overstuffed laptop bags.  They are missing out on a great New York moment—which is riding the trains without a bag and nothing in your pocket except your metro card and a couple of dollars.
Sit back and if there’s room stretch your arms out on either side—feel the cool plastic of the seat against your ass and the rattle of metal over your head.
Fuck a car!youngmanhattanite:

FREE BOUNCY RIDE OF THE WEEK
See you next week for another Free Bouncy Ride

I’d much rather descend into the dark and drippy caverns of the NYC subway system and encounter half-humorous, half-disturbing shit like this than have to deal with driving every morning.  I can’t imagine doing that every morning—those who do are truly special…(ed).
I’ve watched the best minds of my generation destroyed by mindless commuting back and forth from cubicle coffins…
The only time they spent alone was in a car, battling traffic.
No wonder the commuters hate the city…they fight so hard to get there and the version they get is Penn Station’s rabbit warrens, or the psychotic glimmer of the Port Authority.  Everything is rush, rush, rush…stuck in crowds of people who are doing the same—wearing identical clothes and identical grim countenances.  They flow in the river of people towards the subways—I remember being already on the train when we got to 34th street, and watching them come on with their determined faces and overstuffed laptop bags.  They are missing out on a great New York moment—which is riding the trains without a bag and nothing in your pocket except your metro card and a couple of dollars.
Sit back and if there’s room stretch your arms out on either side—feel the cool plastic of the seat against your ass and the rattle of metal over your head.
Fuck a car!

youngmanhattanite:

FREE BOUNCY RIDE OF THE WEEK

See you next week for another Free Bouncy Ride

I’d much rather descend into the dark and drippy caverns of the NYC subway system and encounter half-humorous, half-disturbing shit like this than have to deal with driving every morning.  I can’t imagine doing that every morning—those who do are truly special…(ed).

I’ve watched the best minds of my generation destroyed by mindless commuting back and forth from cubicle coffins…

The only time they spent alone was in a car, battling traffic.

No wonder the commuters hate the city…they fight so hard to get there and the version they get is Penn Station’s rabbit warrens, or the psychotic glimmer of the Port Authority.  Everything is rush, rush, rush…stuck in crowds of people who are doing the same—wearing identical clothes and identical grim countenances.  They flow in the river of people towards the subways—I remember being already on the train when we got to 34th street, and watching them come on with their determined faces and overstuffed laptop bags.  They are missing out on a great New York moment—which is riding the trains without a bag and nothing in your pocket except your metro card and a couple of dollars.

Sit back and if there’s room stretch your arms out on either side—feel the cool plastic of the seat against your ass and the rattle of metal over your head.

Fuck a car!

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“The purest art is the most useless. In today’s world nothing typifies this better than blogs. Graffiti is also a good example, especially if it’s illegal and is painted over the very next day.”

—TRUEBOY, one of my three fictional alter-egos on BTB, circa 2006
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I’ve created a tiny factory inside my tiny apartment—to create DIY products made out of ginormous ideasI’ve created a tiny factory inside my tiny apartment—to create DIY products made out of ginormous ideas

I’ve created a tiny factory inside my tiny apartment—to create DIY products made out of ginormous ideas

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When it comes to making stencil street art, where you put the design is just as critical as what you design…
The same holds true for making stencil art on vintage T-shirts.  It’s all about vibing out on what’s already there and not adding anything unnecessary.When it comes to making stencil street art, where you put the design is just as critical as what you design…
The same holds true for making stencil art on vintage T-shirts.  It’s all about vibing out on what’s already there and not adding anything unnecessary.

When it comes to making stencil street art, where you put the design is just as critical as what you design…

The same holds true for making stencil art on vintage T-shirts.  It’s all about vibing out on what’s already there and not adding anything unnecessary.

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Before BRANDTRUEBOY was a blog it was a motif in my sticker graffiti art.  An ex banger who worked in the kitchen at the West Village dive where I waited tables drew the “Trueboy” bubble tag to add to the mix.  Few gifts have made me as happy as that single piece of paper.  Not only was the lettering totally hot but it came complete with a pink sperm cartoon character.  I promptly made a series of T-shirts and stickers baring the tag either by itself or with stenciled phrases of text on top—like this “donut” version which contains a line from “Eric B is President” by Eric B and Rakim.Before BRANDTRUEBOY was a blog it was a motif in my sticker graffiti art.  An ex banger who worked in the kitchen at the West Village dive where I waited tables drew the “Trueboy” bubble tag to add to the mix.  Few gifts have made me as happy as that single piece of paper.  Not only was the lettering totally hot but it came complete with a pink sperm cartoon character.  I promptly made a series of T-shirts and stickers baring the tag either by itself or with stenciled phrases of text on top—like this “donut” version which contains a line from “Eric B is President” by Eric B and Rakim.

Before BRANDTRUEBOY was a blog it was a motif in my sticker graffiti art.  An ex banger who worked in the kitchen at the West Village dive where I waited tables drew the “Trueboy” bubble tag to add to the mix.  Few gifts have made me as happy as that single piece of paper.  Not only was the lettering totally hot but it came complete with a pink sperm cartoon character.  I promptly made a series of T-shirts and stickers baring the tag either by itself or with stenciled phrases of text on top—like this “donut” version which contains a line from “Eric B is President” by Eric B and Rakim.

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Hijacked billboards are hot.Hijacked billboards are hot.

Hijacked billboards are hot.

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