Martinius Pinxit

Min elskede har skrevet en post om stygge ord fra fortiden.

I den anledning tenkte jeg at jeg skulle svinge mitt grunnfag i historie litt om meg. Derfor gravet jeg frem (tok dere den? GRAVET frem) noe fantastisk grafitti fra gamle Pompeii. De gamle romerne var harde på graffitien. De skrev overalt. Og man finner mye interessant i deres budskap. En del veggmalerier er bare kommersielle budskap eller offentlige beskjeder: "vin, 3 sesterster", "rom: 5 sestertser," "billig rom til leie", "lyst på et knull? Prøv Attice, 4 sestertser," "ikke drit her," etc. Men mange er personlige budskap. Sammen gir de interessante innblikk i bylivet og privatlivet til de gamle romerne.

Siden vi var igang med styggordene:

Suspirium puellarum Celadus thraex.
Celadus the Thracier makes the girls moan!

Miximus in lecto. Fateor, peccavimus, hospes.
Si dices: Quare? Nulla fuit matella.
We have pissed in our beds. Host, I admit that we shouldn't have done this.
If you ask: Why? There was no potty. [Dette var i et hostell]

Myrtis bene felas.
Myrtis, you do great blow jobs.

Weep, you girls. My penis has given you up. Now it penetrates men’s behinds. Goodbye, wondrous femininity!

Lesbianus, you defecate and you write, ‘Hello, everyone!’

Floronius, privileged soldier of the 7th legion, was here. The women did not know of his presence. Only six women came to know, too few for such a stallion.

Gaius Valerius Venustus, soldier of the 1st praetorian cohort, in the century of Rufus, screwer of women

The one who buggers a fire burns his penis

I tillegg så er det en del innskrifter som bare er fatiske. "Her var jeg!" Det vanligste budskap i graffiti har alltid bare vært et bevis på ens egen eksistens. Å si at man var et sted til en bestemt tid er en måte å gjøre seg selv virkelig på. Beviser på et viktig øyeblikk, eller bare stadfesting av selvet. Tagging er bare en mer logobevisst versjon:

The messages were, in truth, unimportant. Urban graffiti is all too often a signature without a document, an anonymous autograph. The tag is everything, as jealously defended as the Coke or Disney decals. Tags are the marginalia of corporate tribalism.

Serial composition: the city is the subject, a fiction that anyone can lay claim to. "We are all artists," they used to cry in the Sixties. Now, for the price of an aerosol, it's true. Pick your view and sign it. Sign events that have not yet happened. (Iain Sinclair: Lights Out for the Territory)

I Pompeii var det mange sånne:

We two dear men, friends forever, were here. If you want to know our names, they are Gaius and Aulus.

Satura was here on September 3rd.

On April 19th, I made bread.

Antiochus hung out here with his girlfriend Cithera

Publius Comicius Restitutus stood right here with his brother.

Og midt opp i alt dette er det også av og til små visdomsord, livsvisdom eller poetiske glimt. Alt fra "Take hold of your servant girl whenever you want to; it’s your right" til:

Lovers are like bees in that they live a honeyed life

A small problem gets larger if you ignore it.

If you are able, but not willing, why do you put off our joy and kindle hope and tell me always to come back tomorrow. So, force me to die since you force me to live without you. Your gift will be to stop torturing me. Certainly, hope returns to the lover what it has once snatched away.

Love dictates to me as I write and Cupid shows me the way, but may I die if god should wish me to go on without you

Learn this: while I am alive, you, hateful death, are coming.

Den jeg liker best er nok denne dypt ironiske innskriften: "Once you are dead, you are nothing." Personen som skrev dette ante ikke at hele byen rundt han skulle bli et av verdens mest kjente beviser på det motsatte.