trees

the thing about trees?
outside, they're pretty dope.
leaves, seeds, nuts, flowers, shade, oxygen,
lumber, timber, firewood, etc. etc. etc.....
yeah.
they're good for you.
but when they're on the outside of your body?
like, as tattoos?
that's juts a big ol' batch of ouchiness.
for serious, neighbors-
one of my longtime clients came in to straighten out his back-
figuratively, since it stays a little lopsided in the literal sense....
but,
we sat down together,
and i used my marky markers to correct the notion that being all atilt
means that he wasn't expert, anyway.
well, maybe he was and maybe he wasn't, i can't rightly say for certain;
however,
with a minimum of drawing time,
and a lot of hot lasers of spinal agonizing,
we got a good start on making sure he really IS now.
check the tree-time-type teleport:

ouch.
i think he likes where we're going with it,
but he haaaaaaaated getting it.
i almost felt bad,
or, at least, i almost felt like i should try to.
alas,
i was kept too busy riding the writhing skin to worry about emotions.
haha.
i tattoo an awful lot of trees.
i think that it might just be a thing.
like,
if you don't tattoo trees, you might not really be a tattooer.
or,
maybe my woodsly goodsly forest floorshining and ravine-style cellar-dweller
warrior poetry and the constituent proselytizing thereof have all predisposed me
to a sort of candid candidacy for elective nature-themed zips and zaps?
no?
well,
i still tattoo an awful lot of trees.
it's not actually even my thing,
but it's still the truth.
i do what is asked of me to the best of my ability,
within the constraints of our out-of-the-way inaccessible area,
the length of time and distance away from the wider waiting world,
and the lapses between appointments.
it's a hard style-
racing against my own internal clock, but also not rushing anything.
there's something to be said for pacing yourself.......
and that's that it's F*ing lame.
you're s'posed to bring it loud, fresh, and hard, y'all.
all the time,
and every time.
rules is rules.
otherwise, what are you even doing here?
*
the seismic disturbance of the fidgetiest flesh i've wrestled with in days
couldn't undermine my attempts at expert efficiency of motion.
uh-huh.
i'll fight my instinct to berserk out in the face of harm,
and i'll bury the battle-beast lambasting blast at the tip of my lips down deep.
mmmhmmmm.
i don't want to hurt anybody,
and i hate struggling to work well while i'm ruining someone's day.....
...but i'll do it, every single time.
movie checks don't come for free, kids,
and i'm not trying to play the part of impoverished nice guy.
F* a fresh-baked batch of THAT b!tchbaggery.
so,
with under an hour of drawing on, including catching up chats,
and assorted show-and-tells thrown in;
and even with the breaks on breaks on breaks we took in order to temper
the fury of the whiplashed backlash of backbreaking barbarian brutality my
teentsy-weentsy needles were inflicting,
we got what we could get done on there, in there, and outta there.
i was ready to doo-doo all that doo-doo all over again,
right on time for my next appointment.
i don't go to the studio to laze about.
c'mon, now.
it's not called going to relax,
it's called going to work.
and that's exactly what i'm going to do;
never quiet, never soft.....