Cover Up

“Pain or damage don't end the world. Or despair or fucking beatings. The world ends when you're dead. Until then, you got more punishment in store. Stand it like a man... and give some back.”

            For years I’ve walked the earth with (essentially) those words scribbled on my arm. When I first heard the line I was mesmerized by it, the way it was written (presumably by David Milch), and the way it was spoken on screen by Ian McShane lit some type of fire in me. It was relatable, tough, steeped in self-reliance and organic.

             

            I tried to defend the existence of these words on my body via the thoughts in my head. I oft repeated to myself that believing in this ostentatious line from a short-lived (yet brilliant) TV Western was justified.

Not THAT Justified

                                                           

            I would tell myself that if approached from the perspective of doling out pain to those that have hurt others, it was somehow okay. I don’t think I believe that, maybe I never did. It’s also interesting that I have tried searching for a photo of this tattoo and I have come up empty. Could it be that even when I got it I immediately knew it wasn’t me?

            At any rate, in the ensuing times I feel I have realized that there is enough  pain in the world, and adding to that (even concerning those that “deserved” it) wasn’t necessarily the only available, or even best option.

            As of yesterday I began the process to erase that statement from my flesh. I suppose, overwrite is a better description. In its place will be an ominous black and grey clock tower representing that everyone’s own personal Doomsday clock is ticking away, a reminder to carpe those diems, or YOLO or whatever the hell people say now. A not-so subtle cue to try as much as we can to stop those clock arms in their tracks, or reverse them if we can - or maybe it’s just a new fuckin’ tattoo.