Some writers will tell you there is a finite amount of editing you can do before you cut the soul out of your work. They will say that at some point you have to stop with the rewrites, stop with the second guessing, stop with the over analyzing and just send it off. Another school of thought is that you can’t edit enough and that a deadline and printing press are the only reasons you should stop revising your work. While walking around in Dogtown I found what can only be described as the most perfectly edited piece of public literature, perhaps in the entire history of the written word.

The author didn’t waste time with useless story, didn’t get bogged down by lofty purpose, and avoided every possible extraneous word. There’s no question about what is being described, and it’s written in such a way that a child could instantly understand it, while not catering to that demographic. A senior citizen would have no problem deciphering the intent. But what of the message itself? It’s something everyone can support and rally behind. Blind to lines created by politics or religion or race. It’s a flag anyone can wave, and proudly.

Most notably, the author didn’t even care to take credit for this masterpiece. There’s no signature or attribution to speak of. It’s as if this is a gift from some anonymous scribe to the world, asking nothing in return. We can all learn something from the selflessness of this message. I know I have.

It used to be such a nice, quaint neighborhood. There were flowers and landscaping, welcome mats and ornamental mailboxes. On weekend, wives would bring lemonade on a tray out to their husbands while they washed the family car by hand. It used to be a place you where you never thought about if it was safe, because you just knew it was. That changed after the war, kids playing in yards were replaced by gangbangers standing on corners. Pitbulls replaced poodles. Windowsills with cooling pies were replaced by wrought iron bars. And the graffiti. That was the worst. The thugs occasionally went inside, but their tags were ever present. A clear sign to anyone passing through telling them exactly who was in charge around here.

I shot this photo in early 2008 while walking around NYC. This was only a few weeks after the then current administration has signed the United States Allegiance to Morrisey Act 2008 into law in their reactionary efforts to get a nation full of whiny emo kids to just shut the hell up already. As you know the act basically made it illegal to do anything except worship every sound that ever came out of Morrisey’s mouth and generally rambled on for 173 pages about what a genius the guy was. This hastily written voice of dissent was the epitome of what many Americans where thinking, but too afraid to say. While it was revoked a few months later, those 4 months when it was in effect were unforgettable.