Details
March 8, 2025
A.I. Generated
I was never built for the nine-to-five grind. The streets are my canvas, and the pavement is my escape. Skating and throw-up graffiti—they aren’t hobbies, they’re survival. They’re the only way I know how to exist. The crack of my board hitting concrete, the rattle of a spray can shaking up a fresh idea—it’s rhythm, it’s movement, it’s life. I’ll skate until my wheels burn out and tag until the walls run out. Every slam on the pavement, every near-miss with security, every night spent dodging cops to leave my mark—it’s all part of the game. Skating and graffiti are about freedom, rebellion, and the refusal to be erased. A throw-up is like a trick—it’s gotta be quick, loud, and leave an impact. Just like skating, it’s all about flow—no hesitation, no fear. You either commit, or you crash. Every time I step on my board or hit a wall with paint, I’m making a statement: I was here. I exist. You can’t stop me. I don’t care if I wreck my body. I don’t care if my tags get buffed. I’ll keep skating, keep painting, keep living this life—because if I’m not doing this, then what’s the point? Skate or die. Paint or fade.
