>>> Getting inked...

... is like exorcising demons.

After all that delicious pain from the tattooist's needle penetrating your skin a dozen dozen over times within the span of a few seconds, the joy of seeing your freshly inked but raw and swollen flesh and the satisfaction of viewing the end-product, something that will always be an indelible part of you, inscribed into the depths of your epidermis and holds so much meaning and beauty within it.

Gorgeous scar tissue.

*dreamy sighs and fluttering eyes*

You feel lighter, too, like your burdens have been lifted from your shoulders, and your head's filled with euphoric helium, like you're floating on clouds and not walking upon hard pavement. You can't help but smile with silliness and joy.

But then again, it could be just the blood loss and body chemicals talking.

*laughs*

Yes, I have had my fourth tattoo carved into my flesh by a fine detail needle and an awesomely quick but efficient Louis of Lovesick Tattoos. And at a really strange hour, way after the sun had gone down and when the nocturnal denizens of this city-state were starting to come out of the concrete-work. But that's when it was done, under a moonlit sky within formed cement walls... Sometimes, I wonder if I would be better off having a nightjob somewhere. I seem to be more active at night, for some strange reason. But then, I do fall asleep at night, so I'm not sure how that would work out in the end.

*shrugs nonchalantly*

Go figure.

I'm still a helluva lot happier after my fourth inking.

My wallet's hurting, but I'm still happy.

Seriously.

Go figure.

Again.

>>> Inspiration...

... from strange corners.

"Wipe the blood from our halos
and shred the wings of white
As the earth spits us out
Throw up our horns again.

Dust off our dark clothes
and walk out into the clear
For the skies to open wide
and electrify our souls again.

Shed our burnt, cracked skin
and eject these brittle bones
Whilst the oceans drown us
as our legs are chained again."
- Again This World

I'm listening to Slash, reading Twitter and freezing my ruddy arse off. The bloody weather can't seem to make up its bloody mind and it's not helping the drowsy and downright cold state that I'm in.

I can only blame Zach for being the one to actually start playing Slash off of Grooveshark - we're currently listening to "We're All Gonna Die (ft. Iggy Pop)" - and Miss Brighteyes for her ever so interesting tweet-feed. Those, and absolute boredom.

Yes, my mind works in strange ways.

Go figure.

>>> Thinking...

... in blacks and greys.

In the space of four days, I've come up with two new tattoo designs to grace my dark skin in tones of black and grey in the manner of traditional tattooes. The one that you see here will be placed on the underside of my upper right arm so it will be covered most days by my long-sleeved shirts and hoodies. Unless I'm skating, that is.

But I digress. The reason behind this tattoo? To remind me to be patient and that everything takes time. And, essentially, that's what we have: Time. Yes, even if I, and I quote, "have the patience/tolerance of a Saint", even I need to remember and be reminded that patience is a virtue and that we sometimes have to wait for things. Even if the wait is frustrating beyond all ken.

It's also something that I say a lot of late. Especially to my homies, my fam and, basically, my loved ones. And, yes, to you, too. *chuckles* And to you, as well, you know who you are. *winks knowingly*

And in the past few blog entries, too. *laughs*

So, you must be wondering, why the typewriter font?

Typewriters were what I was first exposed to in the 80s. And I've loved them ever since. I used to type up very childish stories on them with my mom, so they hold a special place in my heart... plus they remind me continuously of old publishing that used the typeface. You know, novels and the like? Yup, I'm pretty much a bookworm. Blame my parents.

Also, I feel that typewriters are kind of timeless and I love looking at the font they used to use. Did you know that different series of typewriters had different typefaces? Or that you could change them out for another one or another coloured "ribbon"?

Not to mention that I love the sound of the clicking-clacking keys, the impact sounds of the key arms thumping against the ribbon on the fed paper, the ring when the carriage reaches the end of the "line" and zwing of the carriage being 'cocked' back into position to start on the next line. *dreamy sigh* I actually miss that, it's kind of amusing that I do.

I would love to own one or two again someday, really old vintage 'writers to put on display and use once in a while while working on the manifesto or manuscript of my life in my sunset-twilight years.

I'll post the other design up when I get a decent scan of it.

For now, let me know what you think.

If you want to, that is.

No pressure.

Really.

*stares*

>>> Moving on...

... is the only option left.

What else can one do?

There's no chance of anything else happening, no other paths to take. Just the one ahead of me, shrouded in the dark of lengthened shadows. I'll walk it, I have no choice. The path is shrouded in darkness and hidden barbs, and to it is one chained.

Walk on, walk tall and give as good as you take.

Brighteyes will always be the only exception that I've ever made or had, in a number of ways. The exception, not the rule. She can choose to believe it or not, but it's the truth of the matter.

I have loved and been loved. The cycle goes on as I walk on into the dark. Someday, I'll walk out into the sunlight again.

One chapter ends, another begins and the quill keeps moving across the pages.

Yes, all one can do is move on as time passes.

And all we have is time.

>>> I am..

... who I am.

I make no apologies for that.

I dress the way I do coz I'm comfortable with it. I don't aim to look like anyone else other than myself. I refuse to follow any current style or trend, it's just not me.

I just do what feels right to me at the time.

So, yeah, I'm just me and dress like me in my own style.

I'm flawed, but who isn't it? I know that I'm not perfect, but who is? Perfection does not exist, it's just a concept and it's open to interpretation and perception. So, that being said, I'm just fine the way I am, perfect in my imperfection.

Life can always improve, so can one's self. So, I'll just aim to get better and try to move to make my life better at the same time.

And all we have is time.

I am who I am, you are who you are, make no apologies and take no flak for it.

Peace.