tengu

"Some men wear their heart on their sleeve. Me? I wear my conviction."


I'm a fairly introverted person in real life.

While I have the tendency to be loud-mouthed, I rarely - if ever - discuss my personal life in public. Never tell folks what it is I do for money. Don't talk "shop" 'round my friends 'n family. Don't discuss my private affairs with my team leads, or fellow monkeys, as we find ourselves dancin' along to that groovy organ grind.

Here, on the Interwebs? Well, fuck. None of ya'll know me from Adam. Feel a skoshi safer divulging whatever the fuck it is that pops inna my wee lil head. 'side from the Pen Pals kids, nobody knows where it is I live.

Presently there be that tiny bit 'o drama in the Tattoo forums infamous "Tasteless Tattoos" thread. Man, I love that thread.

The whole Nazi tattoo deal.

I'ma keep my mouth tightly shut in this'un. But... 'sides Giggles, I'm not sure anybody even reads my blog (HI, GIGGLES!!!). So'm safe.

My first tattoo - 'sides the half-finished Tengu wings what remains my only tattoo - is an anti-swastika armband. That's right. Let that soak in.

Despite bein' on my forearm, there's only a handful of folks know it's there. Nobody in my family is aware I'm half-covered in blood-red wings and what with the anti-'stika on my arm'n all. Some of (not all)'ve my friends know I've got it. Only one of my co-workers knows it's there. All of my hiking family know about it. But, then again... we're nekkid from time-to-time. You're in the wilderness. You're drunk. You're hiking. Nudity happens.

Mmm... flesh.

So, yeah. I've had a big 'ol anti-swastika for longer'n I care to remember.

When I went to the shop to get it priced, the owner's wife, Ms. Mick, was scheduled to do the honors. Only thing... she backed down at the last minute. Said she'd never, ever tattoo a swastika. Anti- or not. I came to find out later that it was the first swastika tattoo she'd been asked to do. Apparently the idea scared her some. Now, years later, she loves me (come to call her "Aunt Mick" *Insert sheepish grin*). I understand, however, that the idea of permanently slugging the symbol inna yer flesh is... scary? Scary seems a right-enough word.

There are, on occasion, times when I think to myself "was this a wise decision?". Then, like clockwork, something happens in my life that reminds me of why I decided to put a big 'ol "No Smoking" sign through a nice, fat swastika.

I've walked barefoot through Buddhist temples like the Birla Mandir in New Delhi where swastikas are prevalent. They are - in context - beautiful symbols. But, as a mostly-agnostic American, the symbol means som'n completely diff'rent for me. I think it does for most of the World, for the past... well, shit... goin' on 70 years now. That's heading towards 4 generations of human beings who all know what Nazi Germany turned the symbol inna.

That's why it's there. Recognizability.

It's not s'much my "Tengu Hates Him Some Fuckin' Nazi's" or "No-Nazi" as most folks who see it for the first time say (them that don't simply ejaculate "WOW!", all wide-eyed). It's more, "The 'gu fucking hates hate."

Reasons are my own. I stopped trying to tell people exactly why I got it put on me.

Instead, I just say, "Some men wear their heart on their sleeve..."

[EDIT: Scrounged up a photograph. There aren't many. "Hedgehog" shot this during a Thru-hike 2 years ago. Yes, I'm white. But in my defense, the fucker used a flash.]