Word tattoos

After I quit the world of speaking people, writing became abruptly crucial, but also far more satisfying in many ways. For instance, I have seventeen tattoos, seven of which are word tattoos, mostly song lyrics and a couple of Chuck Palahniuk quotes. Words are really my favorite kind of art, letters arranged into words, words arranged into sentences. There’s such beauty in writing. It’s bizarre, but I don’t remember images as well as I remember words. Whenever I see something beautiful, or astonishingly disturbing, I think about how I would translate the image into writing. I end up remembering, “her hazel eyes are warm, yet sad, so alluring that I forget to breathe,” more clearly than any photograph.Word tattoos are also quite good at making a clear statement. I find that many people who meet me for the first time, without talking to me via computer, assume that I have the intellect of a slow nine-year-old. They talk slower, or louder, or both. This was less of a problem back when I could talk, I could always just say something witty. Things are different without my voice, it’s harder for people to know me. So, I started getting word tattoos, little glimpses into thoughts I can’t quickly express. People first notice the poppy tattooed on the top of my right hand. They don’t usually get the opiate allusion, but it’s showy. They ask, usually of my assistant, if it’s real, if I have more. Then I show them, “and if you cut yourself, you will think you’re happy,” etched from shoulder to elbow. I show them, “one more high to decay my nervous,” etched into my shin. After that, I’m not nine; a little dark, but not a child. Images are so subjective, words are far more clear.I also like the idea that when I die, some coroner is going to look at my tattoos and think, “who in the fuck was he?”