Skate fags, art fags, jocks, and nerds. These are just a few labels that most people hear at some point in their lives that are meant to do harm. Sometimes the label created to hurt you can somehow help you if you take it as your own. 
Obamacare. Art Fag shirts are available at the webstore and Exit Skateshop.  Thanks to Ryan Gensemer for the animation. @wolfofthebeach. 

Most of you have seen Marc Johnson’s interview on theskateboardmag drawing attention to his observations of recycled trends and the identities within the subculture. While skateboarding appears to have had it’s own face, that image has always been the product of cultural movements influencing it. Originally serving as a substitute for surfing, the act of skateboarding evolved to create an identity of it’s own. As time moved on the activity spawned a uniform, resulting in the influx of punk rock, deadheads, and a cast of other social outsiders, and the uniforms became trends. Spandex and neon colors of 80’s pop bands. Big pants and white t’s of the underground rave culture in the early 90's.  Preppy athletic wear in the mid 90’s. And currently the three music sections of punk, classic, and rap. They’re all uniforms that have never implied the conveyed the  originality of the skateboarders wearing them, and the industry recognizes this.  In order for skateshops to remain in business, the majority of their profit comes from the sale of soft goods like shoes, jeans, woven tops, and accessories. The amount of product is significantly larger than the small selection of t-shirts and fanny packs sold in the 80's because rebellion is no longer an identity, but a costume. There is a gap between the act of skateboarding and the appearance of skateboarding, and 90% of the time those people spending more time selecting the right pair of "plant" socks to match their tie dyed 666 shirt than finding the right concave and wheelbase of their deck  aren't engaged in the activity of skateboarding for the same reasons as you.  

Dressing up like something doesn't make you something no matter how many times people "like" the thing you're impersonating. 

After years of underground sales, promotions, road trips, demos, and contest sponsorships, Slapstik has finally placed an ad in a zine. I have no idea if this was worth the money spent, but I'm sure I'll find out once I start contacting shops. Thanks to Skatejawn for the support and Philadelphia for inspiring me to keep this up.  

Slapstik Skateboard Art introduces formal wear for skateboarders, making the assimilation into corporate life less painful. Ties are available in black with grey ink, and navy blue with burgundy ink. A special thanks goes to Jason Jones at www.thrashstudio.com for all his help with production.  

I've known Tyler for over 15 years, and have never ceased to be amazed by his creative spontaneity, and raw emotions on a skateboard. This was an email from Tyler written off the cuff about his observations of people and their technological blinders. More of Tyler's visual work can be seen at here. 

Everything was made easy enough and human comfort was the battle cry of the day.  Somehow we all agreed to turn everything we touched into a rectangle or square, and then place these bits into further subdivided rectilinear compartments. We embraced the world as 0n/Off, through the prism of the glowing tombstones we all carried around in our pockets.

Still the sun rose in the east, salmon and corral shot through with zigzag platinum illumination like when the tide rolls back on a flat shore.       

Gravity is weak, but strong enough to make us wonder and dream. A father and child roll down the hills of an abandon medical complex. They are forbidden to be there by law.  The concrete pavement is cracked and vegetation sprouts forth from the foundations like Cthulhu Rising.  They pass honeysuckles and wild juniper, through towers of Kudzu and mourning glories.  Behold, something stops them in their tracks, something feral and biblical, soothsayer and rhyme master.

The serpent is lackadaisical, sunning itself in the shade.  Father knows best, or this is the facade he tries to project at this particular junction.  Ever try to catch a snake? It was easier when I was younger, most things were, those that required reflexes anyway.

The hand is so steady, lurks so close behind the snakes, where the arrow head meets the body.  Steady, Steady, Steady...

Like God's forlorn gaze, skater shot and lightning bound the thin sliver shade finds sanctuary in the tall brambles.  The father steps back, relieved, the son looks perplexed and amused. They skate back to civilization, and on the way home, everyone they pass on the street is staring at their phones.