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| Ginny contemplates existence. On the toilet, natch. |
My left forearm now bears the mark of Margaret, fulfilling a dalliance I entertained in my initial blogpost. Nice follow-through, Hawkins! These last four lines of Margaret Atwood's Variation on the Word 'Sleep' serve as a testament to my allegiance to the written word, both mine and that of others. A constant reminder that it is through writing that we come to know ourselves, and through reading we come to know our world. And maybe something about love, blah blah.
Taken within the context of the orginal poem, these lines have an eerie voyeuristic quality, a desire to be unknowingly essential to someone. But I also appreciate how they resonate in terms of the muse -- that which inspires us (sometimes unbeknownst, sometimes fleetingly) to act, create. That muse that inhabits us for only a moment, giving us the capacity and space to take a heretofore inchoate thought and forge a tangible product or empirical action. Thanks to all the muses out there. (Especially Josh Silverman of Schwadesign who helped me with font selection, and my tattoo artist-in-residence Mike of Black Lotus.)
I had another tattoo finished in this sitting, but Imma waiting for that to heal 'fore I post photos. Think: an ode to Providence.
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