introduction

C’mon down. We’re closer to God than u might think.

Salamander-pink chiffon fabric on the walls of an old school east village tattoo shop. (Kinda shop that existed when getting a tat in NYC was illegal. Small, secluded in the basement of an old tenement building. Imagine that. Tattoo’s… illegal.) Crazy ink splattered designs up and down the halls. Enter small square room. Dark black shiny walls that seem to rise up forever. Cold damp concrete floor. Steel chair and a tattoo gun sit centeredly square. Fluorescent ceiling light seems more like heavens pearly gate shining openly down upon me. Sitting in the chair, needle to my own head I think of the lifetimes of lost love. The sorrow and bitter sting of heart break. My hand guided by spirit painstakingly-meticulous, proceeds methodically and determined. With memories, the pain of pain is ground out. The deep and heavy grinding of 15 precise points hammering thousands a second magnify inside my skull.

I don’t understand it. I used to feel things and deny them. No more. I’m learning to adapt. To go with the flow. U know bro? I’ve been at this game for millennia. Nothings changed but the weather. All you people out there have the same fucked attitude. No worries bro. I’m working it. I gotcha back. See… my time is now homey. Time to shake my money maker. Ha ha! Rock and Roll baby! Only the strong will survive this hooorah muther fucker! Balls to the wall and ready to smash skulls! Fuck you demon mother fuckers! I will have you bitches!

Free the minds of my people! My brothers and sisters! Free the minds or suffer my hammer in time!

Peace out Sucka!

Your Best Worst Nightmare