This tattooing, this sense of induviduality. Making statements that need to be made and hiding things that are no one’s business. Those hierogplyphic marks had written out on his body a complete theory of himself.
The ink like any other autobiographical art form, the stories so vivid that he in his own person was a riddle to unfold. A wonderous work in one volume. This lifelong journey on the living parchment that is his skin.
These inscribed stories, this creative narcissism, these mysteries were therefor destined in the end to moulder away with the living parchment whereon they were marked for ever, and so be unsolved to the last.