Street Art Hongdae: Day 4, Nothing but simulacrum

Dissecting street art is akin to watching the world consume itself, then ralph into the sidewalk gutters, leaving last night’s cocktail mistakes on the concrete, remnants telling all of what came from that body.

So Banksy is busy not accepting Mr. Brainwash Oscars, and we’ll riff off him here with a smiling shadow child spraying in red paint: sorry. Then again the picture below shows the same fading image as a hand drawn sketch, the full cycle of simulacrum.

Someone understands my Hunger Game thoughts, writes on a white wall: DON’T WASTE FOOD, RECYCLE ABORTIONS. An alligator smokes under floating sneakers, an astronaut leaves traces in space swearing Americans have been there.

A Tim Burton bride turned jellyfish sinks into the face of a Mexican wrestler, a feather haired woman gives caesarian section birth to another. An intestine pops out a cartoon socket, a man with two eyes, a nose and mouth is Wanted.

For all that yearning there is only me on the morning’s empty streets. No one answers my phone calls, there is no breakfast, not coffee, even a hangover. The street artists sympathize. On a pole below the eye’s view, two words: There’s Nothing.