Wednesday, September 19, 2012


I am addicted to tattoos.

I was warned this woud happen, and it has.

There is something strangely appealing about the adrenaline rush I get when I am seated in that chair, with the loud "bzzz" of the electronic needle pulsing in my ears, and the short sharp stings on my skin firing up every nerve in my body.

Some people look away, and I did as well at first. But then I began to watch, with a strange sense of awe and curiosity, as the sharp needle dipped into my skin, in and out, in and out, in and out, so fast it was near blurry.

And then when it was done, and my tattoo artist had wiped off all the oozing ink and blood, I saw that image that meant so much to me, permanently imprinted on my body - the pure joy that radiated through me then was unlike any other.

I want that feeling again. I crave it.

But, as usual, there is a problem. The next tattoo I planned out is huge. I am a major comic book fan, and as an ode to my fandom, I am going to get my three favorite comic book characters inked onto my calf, spanning entirely from my ankle to the back of my knees. It is going to have intense colour and detail.

(In case you're wondering, my three favorite characters are the Gotham City Sirens, on which I wrote a review you can view here.)

My father has, unhappily I presume, agreed to let me get this tattoo when I turn 21. The only condition is that until then, I get no more tattoos.

And so, considering my self-proclaimed addiction to ink, you can see why I am upset! ;)

xoxo children,


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