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When I think of a time in my life where I needed to have my massively successful designs brought to life on my arm or ankle, I headed right down to my local artist down in the mall near the record store and told her just what I wanted. She seemed to be impressed with my inklings and wore a careworn expression upon her face as she fired up the gun, donned the gloves, had me lay down upon the table of examination, closed the curtain and got to work.

Well, I can tell you that the results were beyond my imagination in terms of their quality and delightful seeming texture.

You see as a child of the seventies, I had many fine ideas which I chose often to share with my colleagues and sandbox playmates. Heightened senses and a natural ability to run the bases made me the perfect choice to visit my nearest vendor of artistic services. Harkening back to those halcyon days make my lower lip quiver with anticipation of reports of successful endeavours.

I feared that one of the many buildings destroyed in the quake would be the sheltering roof of my local artist. He had spent many long years there doing what he could to help all the hepsters make their various and sundry dreams come true even in such a limited way as by writing various words and incantations upon their forearms and eye orbits. It's a cultural phenomena that sees not only the application of irrevocable markings but their accompanying piercings. I met a girl called Lucy once who not only had far ranging powers of persuasion but also had the odd knack of being able to criticize one for their poorly executed physical attributes.

I still stand by my previous position which posited not only the existence but eschewed its reality. There is a good chance that the casual reader may find the exposition of such delicate topics not only difficult to understand but also tiresome read. It is my fond desire and hope that the antiquated criteria of judgement will be overthrown in a vanishing cloud of yellow sentiment.

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