In the tunnels through which trains travel, a solitary artist toils in darkness - a darkness brushed only by yellow candlelight. In the instestines of society through which a multitude people are passed in regular bowel movements, mornings and evenings, his soulful outpourings are digested by a hungry silence.

At 3 in the morning, when the metabolism sleeps, the sound of a spray can soaks the air, resonating like a giant waterfall throughout the barren tunnel. Bricks, some cracked, some missing, and once coated with filth and soot, are now caressed by the orgasm of a creative mind - a mind yearning to release its seed upon a fertile canvass.

No lights to flatter the artist's newborn. No beacons to celebrate the offspring of his soul. Graffiti in the dark, swallowed by the black.

The graffiti artist is pleased. He delights in the purity of his efforts. He rejoices in his sacrifice. For no human will ever cast their impure minds upon the incarnation of his deepest thoughts.

The mist of colour jets out from inside of him, as if his wrists had been slashed and his blood were pulsing out of his being with every new heartbeat. Forms begin taking shape - meanings...., metaphors...., symbols...., his spray can psyche.

Carried away in a moment of lust, the tunnel is an inviting vagina as he copulates with the emptiness - no one to witness this lurid act. No one to taste the sticky sweetness of this forbidden fruit. The tunnel moans and heaves, and the artist's breaths are shallow and fast. There is no stopping the inevitable, no way of avoiding the ultimate conclusion........to this act of unbridled passion.

Both the artist and the tunnel are joined in a creative orgy, the tunnel never before so flattered by the attentions of a graffiti artist lover. The tunnel submits to the artist's will, offering itself as an object of his desires, yearning to be anointed with his juices, crying out for the ecstacy of this, his intercourse with the universe.

A frenzy of motions as he forces himself upon her, and she receives his vigorous thrusts. Tension rising as his vision becomes clear and its life emerges from nothingness. More vigorous still, arms out of control, pushing her back, making her receive him. Unbearable pleasure of his spirit, let loose and wild, creative lust beyond control.

Clear and rising, throbbing and emerging. Ushered to the surface, screaming to break free, explode from his skin, burst from his mind, dizzy haze and white spots fly across his vision as it breaks him in two and rips through the surface.

Finally!

......it is done, leaving his heart feeling weak and fragile. A work from the depths of the artist's soul graces the tunnel walls - ejaculate, fresh and wet....dripping slowly. And the tunnel sighs in the afterglow of this majestic coupling. Beads of sweat sparkle in the candlelight as his brow is caught in the radiance of a single solitary candle.

No one will know of this affair. No one will know of the tunnel's secret lover. No human shall come between the graffiti artist and his secret mistress. But his seed has stained the sides of the silent tunnel, testimony to a manifestation spawned of this strange romance.

No lights to flatter this, the artist's newborn. No beacons to celebrate the offspring of his soul.

Graffiti in the dark.