every time I even think of mentioning a new tattoo to my father... I can feel like eyes rolling from one end of the table to the other. Then there is always the silent pause as he continues to enjoy his masticated piece of flesh (I'm a vegetarian- and yet my dad still can't away from his fucking Morton's.. go figure) but it's pretty safe to say=- that I really love words- phrases- poetry- everything about literature- and well... my dad calls my choice of my body art- my tattoos... as part of the novel I have decided to "mark" myself with... and I wouldn't argue too differently to say the truth. The most important one I have of my "body novel" is on the back of my neck- the EXACT writing from a card my mom sent me when I was in New York in the summer- sticking my feet in ice buckets- and perfectly my pas de quois as a young ballet ingenue- at the Geoffrey Junior Ballet.... which says: "I will always be here for you- even if we're apart." BINGO! Genius tat to get as she had passed... with one of my best friends passing at 15- inspired my quote below the skeleton faced fairy (come on, I was 15- and Venice Beach is the only place that tats the kids- so that explains that one!!) but the quote I tattooed a few years later spoke so true that I kept perfecting in my mind for my dear friend that lost her life too young...
"she chooses an exquisite cloud to protect her, and she dances in the rain"
she is my cloud protecting me, the tiny dancer who loves to dance in the rain- and always drives way too fast with the heat blasting- windows down with a Marlborough red dangling from my over-pouted lips...
The one year anniversary of my mom passing... I tattooed another "jazzie-ism" that had really pulled my shit together, and is my constant and DAILY reminder of keeping it together...
...bleed.my.heart...
...feed.my.art...
you have two choices when you loose the one thing that makes your heart beat, feeds your soul- and makes you wake up and feel alive in the morning... attempt to numb yourself until you don't have to wake up anymore.. or you fight... you take the blood shed from your blackened hole in your soul... and you feed your art- you utilize the pain as the inspiration for your creation...
the next tattoo novel item, boldly placed on my index finger:
pretty.little.trainwreck
I'm not ashamed of who I am, what I am- and how people choose to judge me... that's their own shit to have to deal with... But it's something that is so innocent, honest, and true about me- and it just fits me...
The next "Jazzie-ism" that I'm really itching for (yes... be warned if you haven't gotten inked yet... it's addictive!!)
one that really just was a OH SHIT moment- that I HAVE to get next... and the spot? My left ribcage:
"the greatest artists don't "do" art.
they live it. breathe it. and are
suffocated by it until their
last dying breath"
that's some bad ass jazzie-ism die hard artsy fartsy shit for sure... on the other side- for my sister... as she's been dealing with the pain of giving her heart to someone who doesn't even have a soul... I'm getting "love is cursed my monogamy"
itching for ink...
Xx
*bella*
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