(no subject)
You don't want to piss off the guy with the needle in his hand, no lies.
While sitting under needle and his heavy grip I thought to myself he really loves her and he won't take shit from her so I don't have to worry about that. Grounded head and nested moral fibers, the foundation, reaching out - to my foot, specifically, but that's not quite the point - and pricking my skin, deeply embedding little blood-like jewels of greatness. Inside of these jewels there can be found a motivating force unlike any other. This is his gift to me. Words pass, a deliberate breaking of the silence he keeps around his body like a cushion. A guru, he needs his space to wander in dream and thought. He has useful words, he shares them with me and inserts them underneath my skin. There's a lot to think about during these hours on the tables. Oh how he hates to touch the work of another but I desire his passion. I want him to touch me again with that pulsating wand of gore and paint on me a permanence that will out-live me. I trust him. He fixes me up and then takes me farther. I'm one step closer and just this once I don't feel rushed.
Thank you, thank you.