If you’re like me, you do your deepest thinking sitting down, thighs and knees bare, underwear and trousers pushed down around the ankles. Yes, on the toilet. For some reason, in the strained silence as the bowels are cleared the mind is fertilized. If you need proof, take a look at the walls in most public restrooms. They are evidence of the inspiration certain people experience upon the porcelain pulpit.

Bathroom graffiti, or latrinalia, as it was classified by UC Berkeley professor of anthropology and folklore Alan Dundes, is a phenomenon that seems to flourish wherever there is an opportunity to drop your pants, drop a load and empty your mind. It is a chance to contemplate the meaning of desire, its cost and its end. Rodin’s sculpture, “The Thinker,” is a symbol that lends itself nicely. No doubt, most of what is written is shitty. But it can also be honest, raw and revealing. Nothing is out of bounds, nothing is politically incorrect and there is no censorship.

Take examples from the stalls inside the Humanities building at our own SF State. In one of the third floor restrooms someone wrote “Kill Bush.” This began an entire discussion, with someone pointing an arrow to the phrase and simply writing, “Agreed.” Another wrote a more thoughtful response: “Killing the president won’t solve our problems, we must kill ourselves.” “Or capitalism,” another person added.

In another stall was the exclamation, “Down with the republican regime,” followed by an anonymous scribe’s response of, “If you don’t want to be American, PLEASE move to another country!” Under this was written, “Can you really trust the U.S. system? Can you trust Bush? Cheaney (sic)? Kerry?” Next to this, simply, “No.”

Where else could potentially volatile arguments such as these take place with such deference?
The restroom stalls in the Humanities building and the Cesar Chavez Student Center at SF State are all equipped with chalkboards. This idea came from former Humanities Dean Nancy McDermid, who, we can speculate, got it while on the pot. The idea was to save money by not having to repeatedly paint over the graffiti. But, in recent years the boards have been missing chalk.

This is disheartening. I envision bathroom scrawls to play a greater role in today’s society. Not only could the restroom be a dumping ground for the thoughts we need to get out, but would like to keep private; it could be a place to advertise political rallies, draw attention to obscure causes, set time and place for underground meetings.

Before homosexuals could openly approach each other in public, they made dates by corresponding on the walls of toilet stalls because to do so in public was dangerous. The phone number for a bare-back bottom boy can still be found occasionally.

A group of women at UC Berkeley one year began listing the names of men suspected of date rape on the walls of the ladies room. Latrinalia should continue to be anonymous and encouraged so that edgy ideas and clandestine arrangements can flourish, as magic mushrooms in dung, for those who need to find secret justice.

So, where is the chalk?

According to a representative from the Humanities Department, the person who used to replace the chalk in the restrooms is no longer around. It was a student position, cut from the budget about three years ago, or at the start of the war on terror.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all for funding our military so an Iraqi terrorist/insurgent/civilian can taste the sweet, hot, lead of American justice (unless you read what I wrote in the first floor restroom). But I also need to be able to write on the shithouse walls. I’m not alone. On one of the boards in the Humanities building someone wrote, “Where is the chalk?” with a black marker. Although we’ve never met, I understand that person’s frustration, because I relate it to my own and want to do something about it.

I see the bathroom writers taking matters into their own hands, with their own chalk. Citizens should add chalk to the list of things they bring out with them everyday, as essential as car keys, bottled water or credit cards. It comes in a variety of colors. Putting up a message would no longer be restricted to the bathroom walls. Chalk can mark just about any surface and washes off easily.

So, next time you slide the lock or click together the magnets of a public restroom stall to find yourself in the private confines of the head, remember the chalk. Keep it in the fifth pocket of your jeans, or at the bottom of your purse. And when you’re sitting down, thinking about what you’ve done, what you’re going to do and how it is going to come out, bring it out.