The matrilineal passage of genes, love, and tattoos.

When I was in middle school I began to plan the tattoos I would get when I got older:
-"Kelly Rose" written with a spiky vine that ends up being the stem of a rose.
-A yin yang of the most intricate quality.
-A picture of a smashed up car with the words "shitty shitty bang bang" written around it.

Luckily, I never did get any of those... although I still think my shitty shitty bang bang idea was pretty clever. Knowing that a tattoo would last forever (and my fear of pain) deterred me from ever following through on any whimsical idea of a permanent mark on my body. It did not feel right adding to my visual representation if it did not resonate with my soul.

This little guy did just that. I did not seek him out, he came to me, and I knew that there was a beautiful reason for his addition to my existence. 

You see, my mother decided to get a ladybug tattoo before I was even born, making it a part of her existence. So, as an ode to her and to represent an even deeper physical/spiritual connection between my mother, sister and I, Kate and I each got our own ladybug wrist tattoos. Their existence attributable to my mother's ladybug, just as mine and Kate's existence is attributed to our mother.

We love you, Mom!

P.S. I designed this lil' dude. He came from this sketch I drew:

What is wrong with you people!? (me included)

Have you ever thought that perhaps these crazy famous folks suddenly losing their heads isn't an affliction just felt by the rich/famous?

We all probably go through this same shit. But most people don't have public outlets that they can manipulate to fuck the world. But we shame them. We spend more time judging them than we do the people who are living near us and beating their dogs.

"Oh they are such bad influences on our children!" Yeah, because without seeing these people acting out, your angelic kids would never be inclined to do anything stupid, outrageous, against your/their morals.... WHAT WORLD DO YOU LIVE IN? This world is chaos. That's it. And yet we spend excessive amounts of energy attempting to swat, stamp, squash and shelter the crazy out of it–out of ourselves, out of our fellows, out of our entertainment, out of our schools, out of our world... la la la la, and on and on.

                                                                  Yea! No More Insanity!

If I had a way to fuck things up publicly hell yeah I'd do it. I'd get drunk and put on a horrendous show to make the mouths of the 'sane' gape. Or I might punch some paparazzi while simultaneously shaving my head into small squares of hair. At least I could show the youngins (and the not youngins) that going off-the-edge isn't something unique to them. When they feel themselves going crazy, at least they could look to me and somehow feel less crazy. Unfortunately, we shame these acts (I have) for the betterment of... what exactly? Sure, society may crumble a little if we allow some insanity, acknowledge that all this living is chaos...or it might improve it, I don't know. It's a gamble but that's. the. point.

I will live. I will have moments of peace where I can focus and read and produce. I will have other moments where I just want things to get fucked up–throw things through windows, run naked through a beehive, spray some cops with water-guns, whatever. In those moments I will think of Miley or Britney, Charlie Sheen and feel not quite so alone. Keep on twerkin', Miley.

I am a tiny fissure in this rupture of the world. keep me sane and I will go insane, let me be insane and I will feel goooood.