The Tattoo(12/6/01)
I.
I once saw a movie about a man who would tattoo things on his arm
so that he could remember what who he was and why he was there.
It showed him sticking a needle into himself and how the ink flowed
from the needle into his skin. The ink painting it, staining it, wallowing in the crevices the needle dug, creating a new pattern not only in the flesh but in the man.
He could redefine himself with every drop; every prick breathed a new purpose,
a new revelation into his being.
II.
I wonder how long it takes for the scars to heal.
His have yet to heal but then again he does his himself,
and he is not a professional, or in a movie.
He keeps adding more and more to himself, without hesitating, without
allowing his skin to recover as if he is a rush against time
to finish his masterpiece on his arm and move onto his leg.
He sits in a corner and leans against the plastered wall with chunks of it
crumbling all around him, he extends him arm out for me to observe
what he's done thus far. But I can't see his handiwork
although he carries himself like a man with more to show than just a few pricks in his body.
Then he braces himself for his newest addition, wrapping the belt around
his bicep and gripping the loose end with his teeth,
I guess to keep him from crying out in pain. It looks painful,
the whole staining, digging process,
it is really quite necessary. With a well-trained slap or two
I finally see what he is talking about. His tattoo is more natural,
it follows the path of his veins; a pattern that nature picked out for him
more beautiful than anything a man in a tattoo shop could suggest.
He is planning to follow nature's lead and drives the needle
into his forearm. He doesn't even need to draw; the liquid
follows and fills in the empty pattern already there, bringing to him
a new shape. He falls back resting his head in my lap,
he has redefined himself, he has taken on a change, a new purpose.
The ink surges through him.
He is reveling in something that only he can understand since it is his tattoo, his definition of self: who he is and why he is there.
[ 06 December 2001: Message edited by: tobaki ]
I.
I once saw a movie about a man who would tattoo things on his arm
so that he could remember what who he was and why he was there.
It showed him sticking a needle into himself and how the ink flowed
from the needle into his skin. The ink painting it, staining it, wallowing in the crevices the needle dug, creating a new pattern not only in the flesh but in the man.
He could redefine himself with every drop; every prick breathed a new purpose,
a new revelation into his being.
II.
I wonder how long it takes for the scars to heal.
His have yet to heal but then again he does his himself,
and he is not a professional, or in a movie.
He keeps adding more and more to himself, without hesitating, without
allowing his skin to recover as if he is a rush against time
to finish his masterpiece on his arm and move onto his leg.
He sits in a corner and leans against the plastered wall with chunks of it
crumbling all around him, he extends him arm out for me to observe
what he's done thus far. But I can't see his handiwork
although he carries himself like a man with more to show than just a few pricks in his body.
Then he braces himself for his newest addition, wrapping the belt around
his bicep and gripping the loose end with his teeth,
I guess to keep him from crying out in pain. It looks painful,
the whole staining, digging process,
it is really quite necessary. With a well-trained slap or two
I finally see what he is talking about. His tattoo is more natural,
it follows the path of his veins; a pattern that nature picked out for him
more beautiful than anything a man in a tattoo shop could suggest.
He is planning to follow nature's lead and drives the needle
into his forearm. He doesn't even need to draw; the liquid
follows and fills in the empty pattern already there, bringing to him
a new shape. He falls back resting his head in my lap,
he has redefined himself, he has taken on a change, a new purpose.
The ink surges through him.
He is reveling in something that only he can understand since it is his tattoo, his definition of self: who he is and why he is there.
[ 06 December 2001: Message edited by: tobaki ]
