He’s gettin’ ink done

February 7, 2010

That song’s really painfully cheesy… but that lyric stuck.

So, at least 3 years coming, I finally got that tattoo I’ve been dreaming of.

Please excuse the emo mirror photo. At first I couldn’t think of a good way to get a photo of a tattoo on my arm (with the other? timer?), then I thought of the mirror. Cool deal. So here it is, at least in line form. Not quite finished yet, but it’s already as beautiful as I imagined it. I’m so damn happy…

Okay, a little back story (and/or more reasons to believe I’m insane) is in order. See, I don’t lie, and I’m not your average joe 12-year-old furry – I really believe I am a falcon at heart, stuck in a body I don’t respect, that doesn’t respect me. I’m unusually robotic at a lot of things, avoiding social situations and preferring to stay home perusing Wikipedia or absorbing other knowledge. Hell, the love of my life is arguably a “robot” itself. F-16s don’t have a perceivable conscience, nor would any person other than myself really put an emotional label on them. Something’s different about me. I never felt like I belonged in the body I was given. If anything, I should be a fighter pilot – but if there’s anything my body doesn’t want me to be… it’s a fighter pilot. I’ve got to give it respect for being really immune to motion-sickness, though 😉

So, the tattoo. Like a lot of F-16s have a falcon on the side of them, giving them their name (and, arguably, their personality, liveliness, or “soul”), I wanted the same on me. Maybe I am just a soul deposited into a random body. I really now need something to make it mine. Then, I can actually see the body as “myself”, and perhaps treat myself with a lot more respect than I had in the past…

Perhaps it would also reflect in the work I do outside of my weekend clothes. So often, I use clothes to present a better outward appearance than the shit I’m forced to wear Monday through Friday. Nobody else can see that falcon on my arm, but I still know it’s there. I now remember, I now know who I am, no matter what ridiculous outfit I put on. Rather quite the change from the generic human I’d been before. I’m still the same flesh and blood, but I finally have something permanently engrained in my skin to signify exactly what this body means to me.

And it changes everything.

tl;dr: I got a fucking tattoo, bitches. I’m badass.


One comment

  1. its a cool tattoo.
    and that mirror shot makes for a cool self portrait

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