...origins: what's in a name

Logos by crazy sick artist Gwil (Joshua Araujo)

http://yehoshuasgwil.wordpress.com/

http://www.sanpedrotattoo.com/

I first heard the term "warrior sperm" my first year in high school. It's an actual physiological phenomenon that occurs in nature. Look it up; it's pretty interesting. It was taught to me by what would become one of my most influential professors and mentors Mr. Bill Wolfenbarger or "Wolf." There was something about the name and occurrence that stuck with me, so I wrote a little narrative or origin story if you will...

The husband makes love to his wife, unaware of her recent unfaithfulness. As his sperm travel into her womb they are bewildered to encounter a cavalcade of foreign sperm, intruders. Surrounded and overwhelmed with necessity, the sperm "steps" forward. He begins to change. His way of thought, his attitude, his passion, his path in life, his mortality, everything. Purged by the flame and sired in clarity, he becomes the WarriorSperm. Equipped with this newfound sense of purpose, he finds himself in a desperate endeavor to protect and defend the sanctity of the female, slaying the intruders one by one. Slowly but surely, outnumbered and exhausted, time begins to overcome him. The fallen warrior perishes, laid to rest with the bittersweet satisfaction of knowing that he was a crucial element in something much greater than himself, irrevocably altering the world...and no one will know that he ever even existed. All in a day's work.

Years later, after I started printing the shirts, I gave Wolf a shirt from my very first batch. It wasn't very good but he liked it a lot. A year or two after that I sent him some new designs, but he died just a few days after I mailed them. I don't know if he ever saw them.

...but that's not quite the end of the story. So I'm in college at Cal State Long Beach, wearing my own design, thinking I'm cool. As class ends one day, this girl notices my shirt as we exit the lecture hall.

"Warrior...Sperm?" she arduously enunciated. "Ugh. That's nasty."

I proceeded to tell her the origin story and that my attempt was to be more noble than crass.

"Yeah. You're gonna be the next Quiksilver I'm sure," she sarcastically muttered as she walked away.

"What a bitch," I thought or maybe I said it. I can't remember.

In any case, although she pissed me off, she was right. It's a name that means something. It's an uncommon name. It's a name you won't forget. That strengthened my resolve. I bought a discontinued 1970's model silk screen press online and built a table from $30 of lumber from Home Depot. I bought some other supplies too and began making my own designs and printing from my garage.

The thousands of shirts I've made have all come from my hands. By virtue of the process and equipment, no two are alike. Each one has a distinct character.

That princess helped me realize that I didn't want to be the next Nike, or Billabong, or Quiksilver. I wanted to make something genuine, something rock 'n roll, something with heart. And I wanted them to tell a story.

So I make shirts for punks, gangsters, rude boys and girls, thugs, beach bums, fighters, lovers, hip hop heads, hooligans, hippies, and misfits...and it makes me happy.

photo courtesy of sexy beast Daniel Carpio

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