"Amor E Morte..."

"In this hole that is me, the dead are rolling over."

Things done on whims are incredible inner-self picker-uppers..

My nose is a little tender. On a joyride to Madison (and just hours after Shandra got her first tattoo), I decided that some little bit of metal protruding from my flesh would be an interesting way to alter incoming perceptions.

So after a short shopping stint (I actually found a HIM 'Poison Girl' shirt -- imagine that), I half-emptied the contents of my pitiful savings account and we drove down to 'Steve's Tattoo and Piercing.'

The parlor itself was amazing. The floors were brilliant white tile, the counters and chairs were bright red, and the walls were completely covered in incredibly-colored tattoo designs and hand-created signs. Michael, my piercer, had a lion's mane of blonde dreadlocks, a thick silver septum ring, and enormous spacers in his ears -- he met us at the counter, and he was adorable. After some deliberation (what to get done?) and the required form-signing, he took us back (Shandra wanted to go with me and watch) and I climbed up onto the piercing table. I was too short -- my feet dangled above the step, so I had to brace myself with my hands...but I found out that it didn't hurt...at least as much as I thought it might.

"I should kiss your dirty lips for bringing me my clarity..."

He swabbed my little nose with alcohol, dotted the flesh where he'd be stabbing me, and then gave me a mirror so that I could approve (or ask him to redraw). After the preliminaries, he explained to me exactly what he was doing -- and those tiny pieces of information were absolutely fascinating...and calming. He put a hollow tube slightly thinner than a pinky finger into my nose to catch the needle after it'd gone through (so it didn't stab me anywhere it wasn't supposed to), and then told me to take a deep breath. After I had, he told me to breathe out -- and very deftly pierced my right nostril with a surprisingly thick needle. He left the needle, sticking in one side of my nose and out the other, so he could get my tiny piece of metal-glitter, and Shandra joked about how hot I looked at the moment...blood welling around this massive stick in my nose, tears welling in my right eye, legs swinging to the music. It was hilarious. And you know what? It didn't hurt very much. I actually enjoyed the sensations. So much so that as soon as I get this next paycheck, I'm going in to get something else done.

Now I have this glorious little glittering thing in my nose, and I absolutely adore it. I have to clean it twice a day with the soap Michael gave me, and I have to soak it with sea salt once daily. I have these incredibly long armwarmers that completely cover everything to my biceps and a new HIM shirt (a red heartagram that's sprouted wings on the front, the words "Just me and my poison girl...I did it all just for her..." on the back in red), a new Jack Skellington scarf (spoils of war and former property of punched-in-the-teeth), and lordy am I in a wonderful mood! I've got to work tonight and tomorrow -- get my bigger-than-normal check and get some other part of me stabbed and glitter-fied.

"Woman is the devil. God is a fraud."

I think I'm addicted...

"She's fading away...
Away from this world;
Drifting like a feather,
She's not like the other girls.
She lives in the clouds,
She talks to the birds --
Hopeless little one...
She's not like the other girls I know..."

I know what song that was, Mister.

By the way -- www.stevestattoo.com