reply to post by cody599
During my teen years my father was pretty much absent. That is when he wasn't drunk and being violent. As it happens some of my older male neighbors
took it upon themselves to fill in the void that my father wasn't filling. It also happens that they happened to be extreme 1% bikers who were, for
the most part, majorly inked-up.
An aside... some of the best, most honest, and decent folks I have ever known. True friends.
Their advice to me, in those years, was never to get tats. They'd all gotten them and found out that tats are a great way for cops to identify you -
even if you've taken steps to avoid being identified. This was a lower middle classed neighborhood with pockets of extreme poverty within it - and not
a lot of us made it out. Thus those older guys just assumed that I would probably end up in need of the ability to skirt the law and feign alternate
identity upon occasion.
As it happens, I did make it out and moved to the area I've lived in since, on the other side of the country.
Not too long after I arrived here, in Georgia, I was at a party, drinking heavily and enjoying the company of a girl I'd just hooked up with. During
the conversation the girl asked me for my necklace - an ankh on a silver chain. Being the guy I am, I took it off and handed it to her... but not
without stating that I could NOT keep any piece of jewelry with an ankh on it! Whenever I found one, at a flea market, or whatnot, it seemed like only
days before somebody stole whatever I'd gotten, or a girl asked if she could have it. This was all said half in frustration, and half in fun.
A guy who was listening piped up and said "There's a needle and India ink in that drawer over there. Why not get an ankh that nobody can take away
I have OCD, with minimal O but major, major C... and I tend to be an idiot. So, long story short - a few minutes later I was stripped of my shirt and
poking my upper left, outer arm with a sewing needle, wrapped with thread, and dipped in India ink. Once I finished, the girl asked if I'd put
something on her ankle. A peace sign I think. Being drunk and still very much "C"... I did.
It's actually quite a good single line tattoo - considering that a drunk idiot did it to himself, without a mirror, at a party, in a room filled with
curious onlookers. Having said that - it also looks like I might have gotten it in exchange for eight smokes while an inmate of San Quentin. Over the
years several ex's and friends have begged me to get it redone, covered-up, anything to get the green to go away. I refuse because... well because
it's mine. It's my ankh that I can never give away. It has deep personal meaning and a sentimental value that exceeds any critique of its jailhouse
Though I've pondered getting another in the intervening 25-ish years since that night with that sewing needle, I never have. Honestly I am not sure
why this is. At one point, several years ago, I had a major, major desire to get either a Templar Cross or a sun disc on the back of my neck. At that
time I had plenty of money and no logical reason not to. I even spent three days at a tattoo parlor, with yet another ex girlfriend, as she got the
backpiece I gave her for her birthday put in. Though I asked the tattoo artist about doing my neck - when he brought the subject back up, later on, I
I don't know if I am happy about that or not. I guess I am because that ex and I ended up breaking up and if my body were marked from that period of
time... I might well see it as a negative.
Then again, maybe that old biker talk congealed with ATS and my paranoia about being easily identified, if on the run, kicked in.
In summary - tattoos are acts of individual expression. Just like any other form of individual expression, you have those who take it seriously, those
who do not, those who cherish it, those who regret it later on. Regardless one thing remains true... they are something that nobody can take from you.
They are one of the few things in this world you can truly possess for the duration. That is their beauty and also their curse.
edit on 2/9/13 by Hefficide because: Meh, proofreading is counterproductive as it always leads me to finding my own errors - and what
fun is that?