Every Day's a Hustle
2003-02-12 5:31 a.m.
"So why don't you stop vandalizing and actually put your talent towards something productive?"
"What? So my work can be laid to rest in the well visited cemetery of some far off city?"
The fact that he understood what I was referring to showed that my perception of art and museums wasn't exactly incorrect. From that point the debate was useless.
I don't write on walls anymore, although I'm not really opposed to it. A lot of graff out there is hideous and a smaller but meaningful percentage magnificent�
"So what if I came to your house and wrote all over your walls?"
"Well let me know when so I can join you."
"You'll change your mind when you grow up."
"What makes you so grown?"
The above quotations are somewhat paraphrased, although they are exact from memory. I've had the conversations with lots of people. I've never been ashamed of being a vandal, even when I became a "professional." When I spoke of the things we did, my co-workers would listen. Some would take interest in the conversation, and others would shun my past and tell me I'm a better person now.
I was, admittedly a cocky fucker at times, but I still agree with my rebuttals. After all, the conversations I have with 16 year olds are pretty similar to the ones I have with 45 year olds. Relationship problems. Money problems. Sexual problems. Problems with friendships and getting along with society. Finding one's self. We don't really grow up, we just get more experienced�
I still haven't quite figured out how I'm better than I once was. After all, that was me and this is me. I'm the same person, albeit more experienced in my problems. I'm actually much less humble these days, but I wouldn't illegally write on a wall due to enjoying my freedom. Of course, it's only illegal if you get caught. But regardless of what that statement implies, I'm no longer a graff artist.
Nonetheless, I am still an artist. We all are in a greater sense, I suppose. Lately I've been directing the focus of my people watching towards everyone's art form. This includes my own.
I've noticed that those coming from a poor world, which includes me - but not terribly so, are masters at the art of hustling. I've also noticed what kind of reaction the term "hustle" brings about. When I speak to "professionals" about looking for a hustle, they laugh and figure I'm on some reminiscent trip of my prior vocabulary. As if when I left the poor life, my entire ideology changed and the source of my mannerisms suddenly disappeared. Na man, I'm still me, and these days, I'm definitely poor.
I suppose nobody who has ever truly hustled realizes that every job in the world is a hustle. Microsoft is a hustle. Develop software and sell it to people who might be able to use it. News media is a hustle. Find as much info as possible and sell it to as many people as possible. Make them interested. Every job, company, corporation, business (big or small), is a hustle of sorts. If it weren't everything would be free.
Another thing I've found is the well-off understand what a hustle is and how to make a hustle work. The difference between the poor man and the rich man is that the poor man has better but smaller ideas and will work harder at them. You don't see past the block when you can't find the next meal (In that case, I suppose you don't see past your next meal - that's still no excuse for never leaving the block though). This can be considered "nickel and diming." The rich man has less creative, yet larger ideas. He knows how to implement them in order to hustle more money into his pockets. This can be considered a "business strategy".
My recent dilemma has been to find the best hustle and make it profitable. Turn my nickels and dimes into a viable business strategy. The hardest part? Making a hustle not a hustle. Because it's not the practice involved that makes it bad, it's the term.
Selling sustains while marketing grows.
Dimes make loot while weight provides income.
A burner is vandalism, but a mural is art.
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On a lighter note, a partner in one of my hustles is getting his ass whooped by this economy as bad as I am (that's not the light side). His kid spilled a box of cheerios on the floor. He was like damn, that's 5 bucks. I told him it's all about the cheapie-oh's. So he flipped the idea� He's keeping the box and filling it with the cheap shit when his kid's not looking.
Nothing incredible, but it made my day.