| Do You Suffer from BMS? |
| It was a lonely night at the San Quentin Penitentary, a maximum-security correctional center nestled in the armpit of the San Francisco Bay. Ramon was putting the finishing touches on three dots, denoting the phrase "mi vida loca", on the web of skin between the thumb and forefinger on his cellmate Luis. These prison tattoos, generally done with ballpoint pen ink and a sewing needle or small knife, are fairly common in certain incarcerated populations. Abruptly, Luis asked, "Jesus, what the hell are we doing?" Ramon, intrigued by the mention of a religious figure instead of their pal the next cell over, Jesus (pronounced hey-SOOS), stopped his work and said, "Whatever do you mean, friend?" Luis replied, "Well, here we are partaking in a ritual thats really incredibly dangerous. Your needle isn't sanitized except for the few seconds that you held it over that Shriner-logo Zippo of yours, and how can I be sure that I won't develop some kind of blood poisoning from that Bic ink?" Ramon considered this new perspective for a moment. He had administered many tattoos in his days, even a fairly complex one involving some nautical stars and a zombie pirate. Never before had a customer pointed out the obvious peril in his doings. After ruminating, he replied, "I never thought of it that way. Before I got sent into the big house for multiple public-urination offenses, I never would have punctured somebody's skin in the name of art. Are we no better than savages?" Luis agreed, "That thought had crossed my mind as well. I was reflecting on the use of tattoo and piercing in a tribal fashion, whereby it marked a passage to manhood or as a means of distinguishing people from those of other tribes. In these days of 100% cotton t-shirts, however, all we need to do is don a red or blue piece of cloth in order to know where you stand with rival groups." Ramon added, "And as for passages to manhood, there is always going to the bars on your 21st birthday." This particular day in the prison, there was being conducted a tour for youthful first-time offenders as part of a rehabilitation program. Presumably, exposing these impressionable youths to the drudgery and horror that is prison life would help them from commiting further unlawful acts. Among this delinquent party was a lad named Johnny, who was of the stretched ear-plug, semi-punk rock tattoo variety. He had happened to catch the last few snippets of this interlocution, and ran over to the cell to debate, much to the dismay of the warden, who had his own problems; he had just discovered that his own son was abusing Sudafed that morning. Johnny charged over to the bars like a raging bull elephant and demanded to know, "Why are you putting down my lifestyle?" Ramon mulled over this specimen and said calmly, "I am sorry, friend, we did not mean to offend anyone." Johnny was not to be placated, and firmly stated, "This is how I assert my individuality. And it allows me to fit in with a worldwide community who has body modifications." Luis said, "But is it all that individual? You can be assured that several people have the same or similar tattoos as you do, especially if yours is of a standard variety like that obscenity inscribed on your knuckles," pointing to the "Fuck You" in ink adorning Johnny's hands. Johnny said, "Well my artist Weasel said that it was the first one he had done like that." Ramon decided to field this retort, as he considered himself an artist. "But do you think Weasel is speaking kindly of you behind your back? Of course not. Many artists hide their insecurities in a continual volley of insults directed at individuals and the tattoos they chose to have." Luis chimed in, "Although this didn't prevent them from taking anyone's money." Ramon offered an example, "I knew a guy who was embarrassed about having some chinese characters on his arm, so he forked over a couple hundred bucks to have some guy cover it up with a black arrow. Not two months later, my friend was getting a piece done by the same guy, and he wouldnt stop mocking the dude with the black arrow! Can this honestly be considered professional, let alone enlightened?" Johnny was still not convinced. "But how can you disagree with the body mod e-zine community, who allow me to talk to similar minded folk all over the nation?" Luis said, "Although I can hardly vouch for all those folk, I can say that they were probably trying to assert their individuality in a somewhat superficial manner. At least the ancient Gauls had the sense to use paint on their bodies that would come off, and charge onto the battlefield naked. Can you actually say that you or any of your friends used your art for such a utilitarian purpose?" Ramon then brought out the end-all to the arguement, "And let me tell you about another group of similar minded folk who were using tattoos to identify people. They were the Nazis, and they tattooed ethnic groups to take stock of them in concentration camps." At this comparison to a group Johnny had read about in some Crass lyrics, his thoughts were piqued. He chewed on this elucidating statement made by the urinary bandit, and asked rhetorically, "So am I really that individual when I mark myself in a way that leaves me easily identifiable?" Luis offered some helpful assistance, "Not only must you worry about that, but it makes you extremely visible to the cops. I myself wouldnt have been thrown in for those donut shop thefts if I hadn't had this prominent septum piercing." Johnny looked warmly upon these two victims of the California penal system, and said, "Thanks guys, I never knew that I was so wrong about this subject! My body is beautiful enough as it is, I dont need to modify it further! Now I must depart, as I do not want to miss the tour when it passes through the nutrition-bestowing mess hall." Ramon gazed at Johnny's shadowy figure departing out of the cell block and said, "You know, I think that kid is going to be all right." Luis knew that he would, and said, "Quite right, chum, but now would you mind using some of those old Playboys to stop this bleeding in my hand?" |