... said the sailor to the tattoo

Ask and I'll gladly show you. There's no reason to lift up my shirt sleeve, rub my arm like my tattoos are going to come off. Yes, they're real. And some have significant personal meaning, but I don't feel like telling any stranger that asks.

It's great that people are curious and enjoy looking at my arm. I think it looks cool too, but I the idea wasn't to entertain. Sometimes I prefer to wear longsleeves. Not because I'm embarassed, but because I want to keep them to myself for a while.

Ideas of identity, purpose and motivation keep traveling to the front of my mind, they take up residence there, set up camp, light a fire and sing songs. Unfortunately I need that room for other things like short term recall and quick reference. So I give them physical form. An image, applied to the skin, which frees room in my conscious mind. An expression that cannot be continually held, but can be forever displayed.

That's why I have tattoos.
They free me. They clear my mind. They make life easier. Like a to-do list of thoughts I can ruminate upon and examine at my leisure without worry they will disappear if I let them go. There always to never be forgotten. I love it.