The golden apple. Irresistible, forbidden fruit. I doubt the dragon will let you have it, without a fight.
Wolves sing to the moon in the back ground.
Oh, what a story.
“They’re not tattoos. They’re skin illustrations.”
Yes, tattoos hurt. Depending on where it is decides the degree of pain.
I don’t recommend neck tattoos. My work is on the back and the closer he got to the side of my neck. The more painful it was. I have gone through 8 hours of undrugged labor. This tattooing shit almost made me cry. I’ve been told that the top of the foot hurts like a mother f*&ker.
I’m not into pain, but it’s temporary. The art is forever.
I try to see the experience as a meditation. My tattoo artist is very good at getting me to relax and breath when I’ve lost my focus.
I see my tattoos as a physical reminder of past lessons, self discoveries, stories and trust.
The tattoo studio was full, when I got the new work done. Four stations. I’m the only woman getting inked and I’m topless. Two of the men have their SOs with them. Marilyn Manson and Tool are blasting through the sound system.
It’s monsoon season in Tucson. Halfway into the tattoo, I hear rain. I say something and suddenly, all the machines stop. All you can hear is rain and Tool’s, Lateralus. Without a word. A break is declared and half of us go outside to enjoy the rain. Breathing the moist, fragrant air and letting the cool, droplets speckle our clothes. Until a loud, thunder clap and flash of lightning sends us scurrying back indoors.
Not a bad Saturday.