A Random Image

Jett Superior laid this on you on || September 28, 2008 || 11:12 pm

there are no accidents

For seven years I’ve had it; it was a birthday present to myself, a mark of pride and symbol of self-forgiveness (it’s always been harder, after all, for me to forgive myself than it is for me to forgive others). After the first couple of years, the ink that makes up the image on my left arm stopped raising up on occasion.

Even then, the raised ink was only slight, a mild lifting of just the letters, never including the image and never terribly noticeable.

I’ve gotten a lot of inquiries on this tat over the years, and countless comments as well. I am always surprised at the reaction it garners, but everyone falls in love with it, even the squares that are typically horrified by ink, the ones that say, “Why would such a pretty girl mark up her body permanently?”

(and here I want to say, I want my outsides to be a brief summary, a testament of what resides within, but I never really do because that would possibly lead to further questioning and I just don’t have the patience, inclination notwithstanding)

All of my friends with tats, without fail, have remarked their envy. I think this is because I put a lot of heart into it and that somehow showed up on my skin alongside the ink and the overall sentiment. I designed it: What looks like a primitive stone carving of an angel’s head, stoic expression, hinting at neutrality, ringed with pale yellow bullets of halo effect. The head rests atop two solid, jaggedly-constructed wings; seated between them is an oblong blob of heart, black as pitch, emitting three ruby drops of blood. It’s all surrounded by a beautiful grey haze of shading, the shading that turned out far better than even my imagination could cook up, fully conveying the otherworldliness I’d intended to subtly be there.

Beneath it, in a just-feminine-enough, just-powerful-enough font called ‘CAC Leslie‘ are the words Virescit Vulnere Virtus.

Courage grows strength from a wound.

Tonight, seemingly out of nowhere, the words blazed up fierce and strong, the black of them standing boldly up on my flesh, itching and screaming out for me to place a cool hand there. Absentmindedly I did so and was startled to find the letters raised up, surprised moreso at the tenacity with which they’d done so; it was in an extreme fashion that they’d never exhibited even back in the days when the words had been freshly-laid in my skin.

And the wings, the wings did the same…but only the wings; as the other bits of the stone angel rest calmly where they have since Two-thousand and one, those damned wings are straining and stretching as if to be noticed, as if to remind me that I will be borne up on wings, even when I am perplexed, even when I don’t understand, even when I’ve snarled my lip at Universal Promise and Faithful Optimism. Even when I’ve locked the two of them, belittled and lonely, behind the doors of the outer rooms of my heart, Stubbornness and Resolve being the names of those antechambers.

My heart is roaring and unkempt, but I am gaining control. I think.

For every push I will push back twice as hard until I’ve garnered either a certain flavor of submission or release. I’m at the place now where it matters about the square root of fuck-all which. Once upon a time there was a discussion on the fact that, just as we have memories of the past, there must be such a thing as future memories; I’ll say for the record here that none of my future memories (not to be confused with my silly want-tos or hopes) read anything remotely like this, but I’m just vain enough to imagine that even inevitables are mine for the re-scripting.

“sarah said she wished she could be in my mind for a second and i told her [she] was already in my heart forever.”

// bobby burgess, 31 July 08

6 worked it out »

  1. bhj 9.29.2008

    This post screams “accompanying picture”.

  2. cIII 9.29.2008

    My Ink raises as well. I just thought I had Cooties.

  3. chris robinson 9.29.2008

    I’m with Mr. Jesus on this one. When a guy who has an excellent likeness of Walt Whitman on his leg asks for a picture of your tattoo, the rest of us must just fall in line and agree.

  4. Jettomatika 9.29.2008

    Bossies. I’ll update it sometime this week.

    Really, then, all I had to do was post a picture and say, “The ink on this thing raised way, way, freakishly out tonight in response to someone else’s situation.”

    …and both of you being proponents of imagining and all!

  5. redclay 9.29.2008

    imaginaning or skin pitchers?

    i know how to vote on this.

    it’s right in my wheelhouse.

    (and raised if possible. nothin prettyern watching ink jump right out)

  6. Captain Dumbass 10.4.2008

    Thank you SO much! I thought I was crazy when I could feel the skin on my back raised. I kept thinking it was because I’d been leaning against something and it had… well, you know those weird lines you sometimes wake up with.


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