Here’s a form of traditional publishing that isn’t in trouble.
While I confess to writing on my wooden desk in junior high and high school, I’ve never felt the urge to grafitti on bathroom stalls. But I do appreciate the reading material I’ve observed, as I go about my daily life.
I don’t have a photo of my favorite, a piece of grafitti that says “shitfuck,” because I only see it from the window of the subway, as it crosses over the East River.
I realize these are technically defacements, quality-of-life diminishing property crimes, but I really appreciate these writers and their urge to communicate. That’s such an innate need. It really hasn’t changed very much since humans started writing on cave walls.