Tattoos Make the World Go ‘Round

Hindu God Ganesh, Remover of Obstacles

Kosovo Polje 1389

Srpski Četnici Ravna Gora–za Dedu (Serbian Četniks from Rava Gora–for Grandfather)

Hindu Goddess Kali

Buddhist proverb about friendship from the Dhammapada

Kuntu Zangpo and Kuntu Zangmo engaged in yabyum

 

 

Tattooed people make friends with each other quickly.  I notice this whenever I go somewhere with my tattoos exposed, especially the half sleeve on my left arm or the full coverage of my back.  It’s sort of a given that we can talk to each other as if the ink gives us a key to the other person’s soul.  We know all the local tattoo parlours, who does great work, who is shitty, who has the best prices.  Conversations in grocery stores, malls, or Home Depots are common for strangers who may only have in common a love of body art.

 

Today I went to Nature’s Bin, the local organic shop I frequent, and I was wearing cropped yoga pants and a tank top.  I wasn’t there more than 60 seconds before a woman shopping with her husband asked about my Kosovo tattoo.  “Excuse me, what are those numbers on your arm?” she asked, without joking that they are my prison numbers as most jackasses do.  “My husband saw those numbers on somebody else?  What do they mean?”  I was happy to oblige, since I got that tattoo specifically to explain to people why Kosovo is Serbian land.  It was during the NATO bombing in 1999 when we were, as always, being blamed for killing poor, defenseless Albanians who had never harmed a Serbian fly.  NATO and the United States were on the side of the Albanian majority in Kosovo, but failed to understand that they were the majority because of years of murdering native Serbs; the Turks and Tito moved Albanians into Kosovo to force stubborn Serbs off their land.  Luckily, some Serbs (like my paternal grandfather’s side of the family) stayed despite constant threats and killings.   Anyway, I wanted to explain to ignorant Americans why that land was so important to us, why every Serb in the world would die to save it, and why NATO and the US should stay the fuck out of it.  My stock answer to people is that 1389 is the year of the Battle of Kosovo, where the Serbs resisted Ottoman invasion.  We were defeated but put up a hell of a fight yet were defeated and suffered 500 years of Turkish occupation, but we do like to explain that were it not for our resistance, all of Europe would have eventually become Muslim.  The Battle of Kosovo is the biggest holiday on the Serbian calendar, it is what makes Serbs Serbian.  28 June 1389 is a date recognized by ever Serb, young and old, and is commemorated in every Serbian Orthodox Church as Vidovdan.

So I gave this fellow shopper and tattooed freak the Reader’s Digest version of what my 1389 tattoo meant.  Her husband said he noticed that I have a few others, and I told him that I have 18 and showed them a few others.  They were impressed with the colour and quality of my work, especially the fierce Hindu goddess Kali on my back.  “I just changed my name to Kali,” the woman told me.  That’s pretty cool!  Her husband kept asking to see my back, amazed at the detail and design.  They didn’t have as much ink as I do, but they said they do want more.  She had a dragonfly on her upper shoulder that was brand new, and something on her lower back; he had a Native American scene on his right arm, and some Sanskrit writing mixed in with other spiritual stuff on his left. 

Of course, we talked about where we get our work done, what we want to get next, all the normal tattoo conversation.  Since they live on the West Side of Cleveland they had never heard of my place, All Tattoos, which is on the East Side, but I do what I can to promote them whenever I am asked about my work.  It’s the only place I’ve ever gotten tattooed, it’s clean, it’s reasonable, and I’ve never had any problems with any of my tattoos.  

We probably talked for ten minutes, and it was pretty cool.  I love talking about my ink, and I love to hear other people describe the symbolism behind theirs.  I see lots of tattooed freaks on the West Side who are more like me, pretty well-covered and with a variety of styles.  Most East Siders–with the exception of hippy-filled Coventry–have stuff like Harley logos, panthers bursting out of their calves, and lion heads.  I’m not hating on anyone’s ink, but some of the shit people get is just trashy!  But everyone has their own reason for getting a certain tattoo so it doesn’t matter what I think.  This couple had more of the spiritual stuff that I like, though some of mine are just fun and symbolic in other ways.  It’s all about expressing yourself, whether anyone else likes it or not.  And that’s why there is such an unspoken bond between tattooed freaks.  We know what it’s like to be questioned by non-tattooed people, we understand the process of picking out a piece of art that we want engraved on our bodies for the rest of our lives, we have all felt the same pain (though for me it’s not pain but a form of relaxation, a release of anxiety, and a therapeutic process by which I am reborn as a work of art with each new piece).  We are like a secret society but one that outsiders can recognize the secret handshake of.  Our body canvasses can make us the target of misunderstanding, discrimination, and fear, but more importantly they give us a deep connection to other human beings that nothing else can provide.

But please, non-tattooed vanillas, stop asking us “Did it hurt?”  That just makes you sound lame.