I wonder, at the moment, whether a symbol, a tattoo, is not more one's own than one's self is.
I did not choose myself, save in the very latest stages of the past, and even then it is tainted, an unbendable breakable.
I would never choose an image, a concept, a thought-made-flesh, a tattoo, that was not -me-. Otherwise it would only be another lie, another thing to put on to show the crowd.
On the other hand, a reminder of what I am, who I am, who I want to be, what I must remember, what I have choosen to forget... A milimeter push in the direction of clarity...
That is something that I could accept.
A material thing can never -be- everything that we need, and even all material things could not satisfy our most important needs. But I believe that part of the most noble purpose of things, existence, the tangible, is to remind us of those things that cannot be touched.
And that is what I would have.
Speculation on the future, always. But perhaps someday I shall decide that the future has had long enough.