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The Effects of a Winter in Isolation

What is gained by modifying our bodies if not experience?  How can one confidently say that they know who they are, in purest form, if they have not tested their body's potential to change?  Those who are afraid of their bodies may never know or have the privilege of finding out what their bodies are actually capable of.  Thus they miss out on what they are sure they already have: a natural understanding of what or who they are.  However, those who do stretch themselves beyond what they were born with may do it for the wrong reasons, such as escapism.  As a result, regret may become a close and personal companion for those who can't go back to what they once were and have to settle for something that will appease their inner conflict.  Just a hunch.  By now you must be convinced that I'm some self-righteous, philosophical, anti-conformist and as much as I would like to try to persuade you into thinking otherwise, I am not a lair and would rather wallow in my flaws.  Pretty  typical of an anti-conformist, don't you think?

Ah, but now we come to the part where my personal experience is relevant.  It may not be especially relevant to you, but then why would you be reading this?  To understand what I do, you must first picture where I live.  I am one of the few inhabitants that live on a remote island off the coast of British Columbia, Canada.  This is where I grew up.  This is where I was not influenced by anything of interest and became the blithering idiot that writes for you.  To put this all into perspective, growing up in isolation is not healthy for the developing mind.  The outcome for such an individual is varied; my poor mother could have never imagined I would end up being so destructive.

I came upon the means of my modification in the winter.  I cannot explain for you the effects that a winter in isolation has on me.  It is a very personal time where I tend to keep to myself and think too much.  It was during one of these profound moments of thought that I picked up a very simple razor blade and carelessly dragged it over my skin, barely leaving a scratch.  Although damage was not intended, I couldn't ignore the sudden shiver that resulted in another passing of the blade over my skin.  This time, a thin rivulet of blood eluded the precise incision.  Upon a third passing, I found the courage to push down.  I could actually feel the skin parting and giving an almost undetectable cracking sound as it did.  This was more satisfying than anything I had ever experienced.  When I thought that my wound was sufficiently deep enough, I impulsively repositioned the blade so that it ran parallel to it.  Again, I push the blade hard into my skin and pulled it through ef fortlessly, striving for that shiver.  When my profound moment of thought was over, I had three parallel wounds running diagonally on the inside of my left elbow.  I found the marks to be quite beautiful, but I couldn't find a reason as to why I did it.

Since then I have acquired a number of methodical scars.  I have not strayed from the "parallel wounds" motif and I tend to keep them on the inside of my arms, above the elbows.  I have no reasoning for this except I like the look of the dark scars on my pale skin.  This flawed look only compliments my flawed disposition.  This is where all my scars reside except one that lays on the outer front of my left arm.  I pushed so hard for that wound that my flesh parted nearly 1/4 of an inch.  Needless to say, I should have gotten stitches.  I didn't and now a have a rather large, rather raised scar.  She is very pretty.

I have been chasing the same shiver for roughly a year.  Nothing compares to the first cut, but the satisfaction in what I create never fades.  I still don't know what made me pick up that razor and I don't regret using it.  However, I do regret the pain I have caused others.  Unfortunately, I have been unsuccessful in trying to convince the people around me, that are important to me, that what I do doesn't hurt.  I am not trying to hurt myself, I am only trying to find out how far my body will take me.  I will never be satisfied until I can get there.  I have seen the look of disappointment in the eyes of the ones I love, and nothing hurts more than that.  They are afraid of their bodies and for them I have sympathy.  I will not let them prosecute me for utilizing mine.


submitted by: Anonymous
on: 10 Jan. 2002
in Scarification

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Artist: myself
Studio: a+profound+moment+of+thought
Location: in+isolation

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