most recent tattoo last week. It’s a big one. It’s my 7th. I started getting tattoo’d when I was 20, and I’ve never really looked back. I’ve had pieces in magazines, placed in contests, and had internationally known artists work on me.
Then I read this article. Basically, according to Mr. Carpenter, I am a subhuman freak. On par with prostitutes, pimps, people with mental illness, and ancient tribal people. Frankly, I was offended by what he said. And I’m not offended very easily. While I understand everyone doesn’t appreciate or agree with my choices of self-expression (my parents being in that category), it certainly isn’t mutilation. And putting the artists in quotes, as to infer that they aren’t indeed talented artists? I’d like to see him attempt to draw something with a vibrating pen on a squirming person.
But he can’t. But he’s too busy making broad judgments. Like assuming that Mike Tyson’s face has anything to do with my ink (it doesn’t) or that, in his own words, “No one can deny that the heaviest concentrations of tattoos occur in
the lowest segments of society — prostitutes, pimps, pugs, prison
inmates, Ku Klux Klansmen and the members of street and motorcycle
gangs.” (they don’t).
So basically, in Mr. Carpenter’s world, I’m a freak. And yet, on any given day, Mr. Carpenter would have no idea I’m the kind of person he knows nothing about, yet feels the need to chastise. Heck, he may even think I’m a nice family man. As stated by one of my favorite bands, Good Riddance, “hatred is the stillborn child of ignorance and boredom”. Sounds like Mr. Carpenter has too much time on his hands.