Category Archives: fake knuckle tattoos

weekend knuckle tattoos, part 6?


hello from the lower east side! i am sitting in my sister’s purple bedroom, waiting for her to get back from the doctor’s. i’m here for the feminist zine fest in brooklyn and sorta-my-dads-birthday-even-though-he-doesn’t-celebrate-it-because-he-is-depressed-about-getting-older and general why-not-ness. so many good people to see and so little time to do it! but it’s ok, i can try.

i drew these knuckle tats on the megabus yesterday. surrounded by a bunch of whiny, healthy, well-groomed college kids. i got two seats to myself because i look weird. hooray. the tats are an unconscious reference to an awesome drawing by my friend o’ryan, and also, of course, because i was headed “home”. but is new york my home? no, i don’t think it is anymore. i miss the people i know but not the city so much. i kind of wish i was at my actual home, but i’m glad to be away. i know getting away is important. trying hard not to forget that.

weekend knuckle tattoos, pt. 1


so yesterday i was sitting at my desk at work, not much to do, and my mind wandered to knuckle tattoos. every so often i get strangely obsessed with getting a set, although i know i’ll never do it because i have a hard enough time finding gainful employment as it is, and i don’t want to make things harder for myself.
anyway. i had a brief fantasy of myself as a tough hot butch top, living somewhere like the bay area, with knuckle tattoos that say “FIST FUCK”. it made me smile, even though i’m a faggoty bisexual bottom and san francisco is far too expensive & pretentious (not to mention passe!) for me.
anyway, i decided that from now on, on friday night i will write something on my knuckles that i could never get away with in my monday-friday life. i was gonna write it on my knuckles last night, but ray and i were meeting with our realtor this morning (yeah, you heard me right) and he convinced me that it would perhaps not make the best impression upon her. so last night i just wrote “FIST” on my right fist, labeling it i suppose, and then immediately after we’d gotten home from looking at a house (cute, but too small & the counters were stupid) i went upstairs and wrote “FUCK” on my left hand and took these two pictures.

i couldn’t figure out which one i liked better, so i put them both up. the one with no glasses is better-composed & more attractive but doesn’t really look like me.
anyway, i don’t think a single human being on the planet has noticed these yet, but it’s okay. i like looking down at them.

in case anyone’s wondering what i’ve been doing lately, here is a short list:
-riding the bus (2+ hours a day! yesterday i literally made EIGHT different bus trips)
-getting pre-approved for $80,000 worth of mortgage, even though i only made $15,000 last year
-trying (and failing) to not get bitter over the class differences in my current relationship
-reading a lot
-attempting to get my co-workers to like me (with mixed success)
-listening to tori amos like i’m 17 again. all i need is a pack of marlboro menthol lights & an embarrassing dog collar around my neck & i’ll be partying like it’s 1999 again.
-not writing or calling anyone
-thinking about gender variance & how there is almost no public sphere in the world where i really feel safe or attractive
-reading “just kids” by patti smith, which is an excellent book that i’d recommend to just about anyone
-turning over ideas for a new zine in my head.
-enjoying the sunshine, sorta.