My invisible tattoo

I have long since vaulted the watershed
that parts youth and age,
now my rivulets all gather
to the great ocean, to death, and beyond

I have never been inked, and may I never be, but if I did invite the prickly pen to inscribe a passing whim, I would put the name of this blog, Memento mori, smack in the middle of my left palm, the omphalos of my phallus-grabber. I know, not very original. It might as well say Carpe diem, or Smell the roses, or Ho bios brakhys, hê de tekhnê makrê, or Quod vos estis, ego quondam fui; etc., etc., fer chrissakes. But, why doesn't it; why won't I?

Well, I used to hold most of the inked tribe in mild contempt: poseurs, dilettantes, naïve cultural imperialists, Māori wannabes, gokudō wannabes, fake Petak Island maffiya pedigrees, adenoidal ADX Florence dreamers, modern primitives (I'll grant this: they are vastly more primitive than the humblest indigene), right down to stamped tramps, cutesy butterfly barbies, fucking hipsters. Narcissists all, and not in a good way: I'm special; I've suffered; I belong; look at me, I'm not like everyone else! Riiiight...


OK, my projector is way overheated–bulb is smoking–and I've settled down a bit, and am gradually retiring my trebuchet of aspersions. After all, back in the day, some hard-working witch doctor was just trying to protect the tribe, invoking the spirits, the elements, warding off the worst, because the worst is out there, waiting. Protecting, identifying, remembering, connecting: these are good things, or can be.

http://www.threehandspress.com/odalisque.php

My search for the perfect tattoo ratcheted up when I saw an ad for a very special book recently, The Three Hands Press "Odalisque" Journal:

Limited to 433 exemplars

bound in full black hard-grained Nigerian goatskin

raised bands on spine

100 lb. acid-free writing stock

garnet 80 lb. art paper endsheet, crush emboss

black satin ribbon marker

The most notable feature of this codex is not that all 192 100 lb. acid-free pages are merely blank. This is a grimoire of great power. As their pitch declares:

Certain magical teachings convey that the most potent books are those which remain unwritten, for such a state allows infinite possibilities, providing the fluidity of inspiration and power from the great reservoir of the Unmanifest.

Now that's what I'm talking about! What better way to say Remember, you will die, than with an invisible tattoo? Those of us on the way down with eyes to see can see it every day, in the mirror, in each other, in the way the gazes of the young and restless glide right past, or right through...

I've always had this invisible tattoo. Now, I know it. I may not be special, but I sure as hell belong. Look at me!