Lately I’ve been investigating Toilet Cubicle Graffiti – it’s such a fascination, when sitting and wanting to pass the time, to observe the rantings of the anonymous pen wielders who use the toilet cubicles and walls as a canvas. From political messages, to the arrangements of assignations, it’s a little phenomenon of life I’ve watched ever since visiting the public toilets in Benalla as a kid to see above the urinal ‘If you can pee this high, you should be a fireman’ beside a long lack line. Closer to the ceiling it read ‘if you can pee this high, you should be the chief’. While the Greeks had common public spaces for their philosophers to meet, it seems that some of the best thinkers of our age spend their time, sharpie in hand wasting their days in our public toilets.
God is dead – Neitchze – Neitchze is dead – God
I love cats, they taste like chicken
Pull here for an arts degree
Log on to the network
Veni, Vidi, Velcro – I came, I saw, I got stuck
Why don’t mathematicians get constipated? – cos they work hard things out with a pencil
Push for a message from the PM
Your mission should you choose to accept it
Shouldn’t it be spelt fonetic
Beware of limbo dancers
An al-turd state of reality
Why do they call it a building when it’s already built
I like monkeys
They paint the walls to cover my pen, but the toilet poet strikes again
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