You can't be a rebel without the scars that come with it. Truth is, some days scars are just as ugly as they are beautiful.
I'm going to get 'I'M NOT FUCKING DEAD' tattooed on my chest.That will become inaccurate at some point, Omar pointed out.
I know a woman who gets tattoos all the time. She acquires new tattoos the way I might buy a new pair of earrings. She wakes up in the morning and announces, I think I'll go get a new tattoo today. If you ask her what kind of tattoo she's planning on getting, she'll say casually, I dunno….I'll figure it out when I get to the tattoo shop. Or I'll just let the artist surprise me.Now, this woman is not a teenager. She's a grown woman with adult children, and she runs a successful business. She's also really cool, uniquely beautiful, and one of the freest spirits I've ever met.When I asked her how she could mark up her body so casually and so permanently, she said, Oh, but you misunderstand: It's not permanent! It's temporary.Confused, I asked, You mean, all your tattoos are temporary?She smiled like a sexy rock 'n roll Buddha and said, No, honey. My tattoos are permanent — it's my BODY that's temporary. And so is yours. We're here on earth for a very short while. I just want to decorate my temporary self as playfully and beautifully as I can, while I still have time.I love this so much, I can't even tell you.I myself am not covered with tattoos. (Although I do have two of them. Before I went traveling for Eat, Pray, Love, I had two words written into my forearms in white ink: COURAGE and COMPASSION.) But I do want to live the most vividly decorated temporary life I can. I don't just mean physically. I mean emotionally, spiritual, intellectually. I don't want to be afraid of bright colors, or big love, or major decisions, or new experiences, or risky creative endeavors, or sudden changes, or even great failure.
Merrick and I had both had tattoos, my magpie and his elephant and castle, imposed on us as…it’s a long story. A reward, or apology, or both, from the Dragon Head, or grand master, of one of the larger criminal organisations in China after we accidentally saved his son’s life.”“Accidentally?”“It’s a VERY long story.
I touch the double row of silver hoop earrings hanging from his left ear, trail along his jawline, his neck, down his shoulder, to the flaming tail of the dragon on his arm. He leans into the caress, and my own body feels on fire with the continued way his eyes gaze upon me. The first moment I saw him, the night people clamored over each other to step out of his way, I was frightened. The guy with earrings and tattoos and an energy radiating danger. Now—inside and out—all I see is beauty.
Emojin stopped, turned, and nailed him with her glare. “Because she’s making this one piece all she’ll ever need to show the world who she is instead of coloring her body with random images and needing thirty expressions to show her soul.
Maybe that's what I needed. Another tattoo. Some pain on the outside to ease the pain on the inside.
The cafe was called Tattoos. The fella who owned it didn't have any tattoos... but we never saw his wife.
She was clean: no piercings, tattoos, or scarifications. All the kids were now. And who could blame them, Alex thought, after watching three generations of flaccid tattoos droop like moth-eaten upholstery over poorly stuffed biceps and saggy asses?
My tattoos, like most people's, were reminders, badges of personal experiences. Yes, I might wear them on my skin for the world to see, but their meaning was a little too personal.
Getting ink felt right, like it would help her put her life in order, to move forwards. It was her body, despite the things that'd been done to it, and she wanted to claim it, to own it, to prove that to herself. She knew it wasn't magic, but the idea of writing her own identity felt like the closest she could get to reclaiming her life. Sometimes there's power in the act; sometimes there's strength in words. She wanted to find an image that represented those things she was feeling, to etch it on her skin as tangible proof of her decision to change.
Tattoos, after all, are a passionate, usually doomed assertion of mastery of your own destiny, or at least a defiant embrace of one that you cannot control.
He lifted his shirt, and on his back was the White Rabbit, wearing his waistcoat and looking at his watch. It was just like the illustration from the book. Only standing next to him, back-to-back, was another White Rabbit wearing a leather motercycle jacket and boots and smoking a cigar.
A mind wanders, thoughts flee and memories fade. But tattoos, tattoos are forever. And if it is true to say that we carry ourselves with when we travel - then the body may very well be a beautiful canvas for the timeless lessons we learn and will learn when we travel.
Take it all, all of it! Greg cried out. These things here...I've been making them better, fixing them. It doesn't matter...they don't matter. I've been here before. He paused to try to collect himself. It's my past, my present...these things-- He lifted a hand out to the objects around him. These things are me. Now whispering, Can't you see me?
There were reasons she stayed behind her barriers, reasons she was the way she was. And she'd be damned if she risked it all for a scowling man behind a beard. She'd learned the hard way once before. Never again, she promised herself. Never again.
He wrapped her hair around his fist, tilted her head back, and kissed her. Hard. She moaned into him, and he pulled away. Possessive much? she asked on a laugh. Just making sure these hooligans know you're mine. Her brow rose. Really? Yours? Talk about caveman. I'm a Gallagher, baby, I'm as caveman as they come.
When the pieces fell around him, he'd pick them up. It was what he was good at, after all. Restoring what was once lost, what could never be perfectly whole again.
it’s okay if college isn’t your thing. I’m sure there’s a pole somewhere with your name on it, but next time you might not want to buy your tits off Craig’s List. Just sayin’.
it’s okay if college isn’t your thing. I’m sure there’s a pole somewhere with your name on it, but next time you might not want to buy your tits off Craig’s List. Just sayin’....Danny James
A tattoo does that, it makes you think about your body like it's this special suit that you can put on or take off whenever you want and a new name if it's cool enough does the same thing. To have both at once is power. It's the kind of power as all those superheroes who have secret identities get from being able to change back and forth from one person into another. No matter who you think he is, man, the dude is always somebody else.
I often think we should have tattooed on the back of whatever hand we use to shoot or write, 'I might be wrong.
This would go a lot easier if you'd stop screaming in pain,' Zoe told the muscular man lying beneath her.
I see you in every flower in the park, every color in a rainbow and in every scent that reminds me of the things I love. Without knowing how, or even why it happened, I can’t imagine a world where you don’t exist.
My body is marked with you. My arms. My chest. My eyes. My head. My heart.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I can’t erase you. I’d have to die to be free of you. D-don’t you see that, Gris? C-can’t you see? There is only you for me.
I'm never getting a tattoo. My secrets are etched safely on the inside and I intend to keep them there.
As our body journeys through life, and life journeys on our body….life will leave marks on us too. From the creases of our wrinkles to the birthmarks on our bodies to the tattoos we decide to place.
You're going to get a present from me so you'll always remember our agreement.She gave him a crooked smile and climbed on to the bed and knelt between his legs. Bjurman had no idea what she intended to do, but he felt a sudden terror.Then he saw the needle in her hand.He flopped his head back and forth and tried to twist his body away until she put a knee on his crotch and pressed down in warning.Lie rather still because this is the first time I've used this equipment.