From "Baptist Missionary Magazine" 1871

TATTOOING.

BY REV. A. T. ROSE, RETURNED MISSIONARY.

The Burmese and Shans practise tattooing universally; the Karens to some extent,—but only as the result of living among the Burmans and to some degree adopting their customs. The males only are tattooed. There is a tribe of people known as the Chins, living west of the Irrawadi river in the hills and mountains, and quite numerous in the valley of the Chindwin river, which is the largest tributary of the Irrawadi, and its western fork. The Chin women all have their faces tattooed. It is hard to believe that the human face divine can be made so frightfully disgusting as you see it in these Chin women. The fluid used in their case must be a blue, or a blackish blue. But the texture of the skin is so destroyed as to look more like the skin of a diseased dog or other animal when the hair is off. I have seen them at their homtes and met companies of them when travelling, and they are the only people that I have seen in whose faces I could find no line of beauty, no trace of comeliness, no expression of intelligence and affection. The eyes and mouth looked unnatural and inhuman, and almost hideous. This act of defacement and spoliation is perpetrated while the girl is quite small. I have asked for the reason of destroying their daughters1 faces; they usually reply, "It is our custom, and it makes them beautiful." With regard to the origin of this custom, tradition relates that formerly the Chin young women were fair and beautiful, and the Burmans used to steal them away. To prevent this, the parents hit upon the plan of destroying their beauty and making them ugly by tattooing their faces. If this be true, it proves that that which is ugly, and was once regarded so by them, they now regard as beautiful. But to return to the Burmese. It has been asked, "is tattooing a part of their religion?" I answer, No; i. e. their sacred books do not enjoin it as a religious rite or duty. But it has a very strong hold on the people. Parents as much expect their sons to be tattooed at the age of from 8 to 14, as they expect them to marry at a later period in life. I doubt if you can find more than one or two men in a thousand finong the Burmans not tattooed. It is a superstitious fear and dread of evil that secures the universal observance of this cruel and dangerous custom—for. it is both cruel and dangerous, subjecting the boy to days of agony during the operation, and sometimes resulting in death after the most excruciating suffering

I have witnessed the operation frequently. In those cases the boy was drugged with opium, to render him insensible to some extent to the pain. He is held by one or two men on a board or table, or on a mat on the floor. The professional tattooist then commences his work. The instrument used is of brass or iron, quite heavy, handle and all some 20 inches long; there is a slit in the point 2 inches in length, made to hold a large quantity of the fluid,—it is therefore double pointed like a pen. Dipping the instrument into the cup of indelible fluid and stooping or bending over the boy, the tattooist proceeds; his hand moves faster than you can count, and every blow pierces the skin and draws- blood. The poor boy winces and writhes, and his flesh is all in a quiver. He groans and rolls his glassy eyes, but is firmly held. The work goes on two, three, or four hours at a time, as long as the boy can bear it. He is then laid away for the day, and nursed and soothed and

refreshed for the morrow, when the siege is renewed.

Sometimes from pain and exhaustion the boy swoons. I was once near when a boy was being tattooed. He swooned, and the excitement that followed was great. A large company of people was on the ground in five minutes. When the boy was restored and the excitement subsided, I began to preach. "Tattooing,'1'' was my text. I spoke of it as wicked, cruel, dangerous,—a child of ignorance and superstition, which reflection, knowledge and the light of the Gospel would lead them to abandon.

It takes from three to six days to finish the work on a boy.

All the body from below the arms, and the legs to the knees or below them, are entirely covered with the indelible fluid, which is usually black; but blue and red material is used, especially among the Shans.

Sometimes black, blue and red are intermingled on the same body. Tattooing is something more than mere covering or painting the body—it is dress, it is ornament, and is for effect. They are as fastidious about the style and figure of this new dress as our people are of their dresses, or the caqiets on their floors. Well they may be, for they wear it through life; it is their winding sheet, and is consumed only in the flames of the funeral pile.

Figures of tigers, elephants, horses, snakes, birds, fishes, &c, &c, are often seen well formed, making the prominent features of this new dress.

As I have said, this operation is not only painful, but dangerous. The fluid poisons the blood, fever and inflammation set in, and after a few days of dreadful suffering, the boy dies. Notwithstanding this, parents dare not omit this custom, and no boy is willing to grow up without being tattooed.

If they do evil, "Nats*" will visit them with terrible calamities. How would our American boys like to be tattooed?

"In this society, as far as the legitimate economy goes, only a certain amount of people are productive. The ones who are not productive, you have to do something with them. You could be and educate them and take care of them and make them part of your economy, or you could say "Go get high."
The addiction rate is increasing-not only in the inner city, but all over the country- because jobs are disappearing, and if I don't need you to work anymore, I'll just get rid of you.
I can't kill you, that would be bad, so I send you down the road of addiction, which is hideous, and I'm quite content to say "It's your fault because you got addicted, not society's fault"
And that's the interesting thing- why don't we do something about drugs? The wars been going on for 30 years and they haven't begun to do anything about it. If drugs went away, law enforcement, as it's structured today, would take a terrible hit."
-Ed Burns


 Yet another brilliant quote from a brilliant dude. America will do anything but take a long hard look at its problems. I see this mirrored in my own life, and in the cultures I choose to participate in.

Holy Jeebus. I feel awful.

So Black Mountain played at the Magic Stick last night. We decided to drive down early, hang w/ Jack, see the show, then drive back.  We from Traverse, its how we do. No big deal, right?

Wrong.

By about midday I was already feeling pretty tired. We ended up drinking a bit the night before and I was feeling it, so I had an impending sense of doom regarding this drive back pretty much all day but I did my best to think positive. Anyway, we ate some good food and shit, hit up the show, had our brains melted by how good Black Mountain were. David Vandervelde opened, which was actually really good, for fans of Tom Petty anyway (which I am).
 Really though, Black Mountain have an amazing live sound. I love that they have the ability to lay down absolutely crushing stoner rock riffs at will, but only do so sparingly, which lends them even more power. So so good. I would describe this in a way that made better sense, but my brain is dying.
So yeah, we get out of the show, Jack drives  my car back to Ypsi just for a little break, and then we head out. At first, Im going strong. FTW. By about half-way, I was totally wrecked. My eyes stop focusing and we were in serious danger of my sleepy ass catapulting us over the median, so I played the entire Terror discography in my brain all at once just so I could SMASH THROUGH the last 40 miles to the next Rest Area. We found a dark-ish parking spot, then proceeded to sleep til LIKE 5AM FUCK. I meant to take a cat nap. The rest of the drive was still really tough, but a last minute tactical maneuver involving coffee and Holy Fuck got us home. Aaron went in to the store, because she is a champion (and got to sleep while I was driving) and I proceeded to spend the first half of the day writhing in psychic pain that can only be achieved by such an asinine sleep/travel schedule. My brain hurts. I have no concept of time other than tomorrow being the 4th, which means we have to work all goddamn day. SUNDAY IS SUPPOSED TO BE OUR DAY OFF. GIVE ME MONEY.

Oh and speaking of terrible white people: Aaron and I got our little scumbuddy Colin (ex-TANOOKI SUIT) into the Look At This Fucking Hipster book!

Some mo-mo whiteboy with an acoustic guitar is covering Cat Stevens across the street at the Shed. Traverse City has more douchey singer-songwriter nerds than it does black people. Im not even kidding. Pug-life.

Oh! And THIS is a fucking original study by the great French illustrator DERIB that I received as a gift from the lovely and talented Diane and Noemie on my birthday, (they're related to him) who I first met because they used an image from a sticker that I used to vandalize the back of Horizon Books (it was a cat sitting on a wrench, I think?) for their band, Mue Sephei. Side note: our friend Jeff Pearce drums for them. Small town!!
That was mostly one run-on sentence! Small brain!

Final draft of a shirt design for my buds in V!FTS. I actually like the draft that came before this one a little better but hey, life is just shit sometimes.