So, I’ve been thinking about tattoos recently. I don’t have any. Some of my best friends have them. It looks good on them, but I don’t have them as I just said. I always partly wanted one, but alas, I'm not cool enough. I'm interested in this form of body modification, but can't bring myself to take the plunge. I am interested in the visual world. Fashion is how people express themselves. It’s a way to control the little we have control of.
Why don’t I have tattoos? There are a couple of reasons I don’t have tattoos. I will list them below.
I’m covered in body hair. If I did have tattoos then they’d be hidden under a forest of follicles. That would be a waste of money, and I’m fiscally conservative. Also, my body hair acts as markings anyway. I have a pattern of design along my torso so what more design work could I possibly use? It seems redundant to put markings on my body when I’m already covered in follicle art.
I’m fickle. I can’t decide on much of anything. It’s difficult enough for me to decide on lunch. I can’t wed myself to an image for the rest of my natural life. Also, I’m an artist. I look at a drawing from a week ago, and look at it with disgust. That’s typical of most artists. One moment we think we’re Caravaggio and the next we think we’re Thomas Kinkade. I can’t have permanent art on me that won’t make me want to weep. I’m a fickle artist, and fickle artists shouldn’t be putting permanent art on themselves.
Everybody has them now. I must be a hipster, because my thoughts are, “If everybody is doing it then fuck it.” I don’t like doing what everybody else is doing. Now, a lot of my friends got their tattoos before your grandma, Edna, got hers. Also, I’m 32. What does it matter now if I have a tattoo? There is a time to be rebellious, cool and individual. Now, it’s time for me to conform! Everybody has them now so maybe I’m not conforming. Maybe, I’m still a contrarian hipster defining himself by his snotty attitude.
I don’t have much to say. I don’t want to blather bullshit either. I can’t just put a Mickey Mouse on my right butt cheek, and call it a day. It needs to mean something. Often, believe it or not, I don’t have much to say. Sometimes, I just stare off into space as a small strand of drool rolls down my chin. I’m not filled with a burning desire to declare, in a single image, the meaning of a hidden truth. I draw a lot, write a little and take some notes. I don’t think I have anything substantial to scrawl across my chest (plus it would just get swallowed up by hair anyway). Maybe, I’d write, “Nature is your best workout buddy!” Nah, that’s not good enough… maybe, “Get that good money!” No, that sucks too. Man, I need to work on my catch phrases. See, nothing is ever good enough for me. That’s my problem. I’m a hipster, and part of my ailment is constantly being unfulfilled. I’d never be happy with any piece of art, let alone if it adorned my body permanently.
I like the idea of body art as demarcation of time. You may not like the Tweety Bird tattoo you got during a drunken bender in New Orleans. It does tell a story though. This story traces your history, and thus gives you perspective. I don’t dwell in the past. There’s too much to do. I often stay awake at night pondering the future. It does me no good as well, but I do it anyway. We want to try to seize the day, and Carpe Diem that shit. It is always a good idea to use the mistakes, victories and nothings of times past to inform the present. So, maybe it’s not a bad idea to see a, Tasty Danish cartoon on your left pec, and know that you’re ready for a new day.