I have an obsession with graffiti and tattoos. I intend to keep my tattoos fairly limited; no sleeves in my future, that is to say, but I am fascinated by the images and symbols people place on their body as well as the feeling that accompanies the ink. It’s an ethereal high to say the least.
I get asked a lot about my tattoo and it’s an odd thing because I feel as though I never really know what to say about it. My ship in a bottle is, perhaps, my favorite part of my body. I find it beautiful and simple and full of significance to me; part optimism for the future and part memory of a shaky past. It also marks a period of self-discovery, understanding and letting go. It’s wonderful to me to have that memory etched on my skin, almost as a reminder of what I have been through to get to where I am.
Eventually I’ll get a picture of it on here.
As for graffiti, I bring this up mostly because I love this picture….
…and I love all of the incredible art that marks the streets of Atlanta.
Soooooo…I’m listening to Sigur Ros a lot lately and with their Hopelandic thoughts streaming through my ears I wrote this little something to show and tell.
Mostly tell.
There is a heart in danger. Crumbling. Hoping. Aching.
A woman’s voice gone, crashing into silence. One reverberating octave ringing. The sound of her fist slamming the kitchen counter.
There is a heart in danger. Dreaming. Believing. Breaking.
One man clings to the feeling. A flood of familiar confusion. Objects beaten, subjects battered. His existence hanging crooked on the wall.
There is a heart in danger. Forgetting. Taking. Perforating.
Remembering yesterday’s tomorrow gone. The silence cuts fragments in his eardrums.
There is a heart in danger. Breathing. Beating. Broken.
