Postcards Exchange

My name is TIFFANY. I am a Minister with the Church of Body Modification, a member of the Stay Classy Suspension Team, a Licensed Private Investigator #24291, a Commissioned Notary Public, and an amateur photographer.

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or Email Me at: tiffany@tmhahn.com

My Piercings:

  • 1" Lobes (bottom hole)
  • 4g Lobe (second hole)
  • 14g Bridge Piercing
  • 12g Septum Piercing
  • 16g Philtrum Piercing
  • 6g Labret/Lower Lip Piercing
  • 14g NIpple Piercings

My Tattoos:
  • Full color butterfly, left forearm
  • Blackwork Butterfly, right forearm
  • Blackwork Crop Circles, left calf
  • Infinity Symbol, back of neck

My Cuttings:
  • Squares Inside of Squares, right calf

Suspensions and Pulls:
  • (dates coming soon)


English is so Uncomfortable
3/15/2003 | 8 comments

Men cenuva fánë cirya
Who shall see a white ship
métima hrestallo círa,
leave the last shore,
i fairi nécë
the pale phantoms
ringa súmaryassë
in her cold bosom
ve maiwi yaimië?
like gulls wailing?

Man tiruva fána cirya,
Who shall heed a white ship,
wilwarin wilwa,
vague as a butterfly,
in the flowing sea
rámainen elvië
on wings like stars,
ëar falastala,
the sea surging,
winga hlápula
the foam blowing,
rámar sisílala,
the wings shining,
cálë fifírula?
the light fading?

Man hlaruva rávëa súrë
Who shall hear the wind roaring
ve tauri lillassië,
like leaves of forests;
ninqui carcar yarra
the white rocks snarling
isilmë ilcalassë,
in the moon gleaming,
isilmë pícalassë,
in the moon waning,
isilmë lantalassë
in the moon falling
ve loicolícuma;
a corpse-candle;
raumo nurrua,
the storm mumbling,
undumë rúma?
the abyss moving?

Man cenuva lumbor ahosta
Who shall see the clouds gather,
Menel acúna
the heavens bending
ruxal' ambonnar,
upon crumbling hills,
ëar amortala,
the sea heaving,
undumë hácala,
the abyss yawning,
enwina lúmë
the old darkness
elenillor pella
beyond the stars
atalantië mindonnar?
upon fallen towers?

Man tiruva rácina cirya
Who shall heed a broken ship
ondolissë mornë
on the black rocks
nu fanyarë rúcina,
under broken skies,
anar púrëa tihta
a bleared sun blinking
axor ilcalannar
on bones gleaming
métim' auressë?
in the last morning?
Man cenuva métim' andúnë?
Who shall see the last evening?

Keepers of Time
3/14/2003 | 1 comments

After the shower, I went to bed. I felt good about the world, and calm in my own skin. I found a new piercing place in Pasadena called Prix. I will probably go by the shop this weekend and check out their shop and their jewelry selection. But once I drifted off to sleep, the dreams commenced.

The War and the Keepers of Time

I was in some sort of helicopter, high above a jungle or a forest. The helicopter wasn't anything I had ever seen before, and it made almost no noise. We descended on a military fort - a clearing in the trees surrounded by high fences and armed guards. As soon as it touched the ground I jumped out, followed closely by my two bodyguards. They called me "Daniwah," which seemed to be a rank similar to Commander or General.

A woman approached me, accompanied by one of my Advisors. She identified herself as Tan-e, the new wife of an ex-husband of mine. The Advisor had a letter in his hand, apparently written by Tan-e. We had received it some weeks ago. I had thrown the letter away, but apparently, the Advisor had retrieved it and read it.

I started walking. The War was coming to an end. Within the next six-moons, I should have the last of the negotiations settled and the last of my dead burried. I didn't have time for the whining of some girl. The Advisor tried to stop me, pleading that I speak with the girl.

I drew my gun and shot the girl. Then I shot the Advisor. As the Advisor's body hit the ground, he dropped a large sack that was slung over his shoulder. A single Ah-ten (a religious pendent) fell out of the sack and onto the floor.

My Advisor was a Keeper. Of course, I didn't *know* he was a Keeper of Time when I shot him, or else I would have had him dishonorably discharged and returned home instead. In my culture, a Keeper of Time is a military position, active only during times of War. The Keepers always have another position to fill. In this man's case, he was an Advisor to the Daniwah. Keepers of Time approach dying men on the battlefield, usually only those in one's own Faluque (one's own side, like the Army or Navy, only there was one unified military). The Keeper approaches the dying man, and asks him if he has any messages or last words to return to his family. The Keeper takes the man's personal items, the last words, and delivers them to the man's family (at an address provided by the soldier) once the War is over.

A Keeper of Time was a very important, almost religious, roll. Unfortunately for me, it was agreed upon by our Faluque (pronounced Fawl-eek) and by our enemy's that, if someone kills a Keeper, they are required to fulfill the Keeper's position. In essence, by killing a Keeper, I became a Keeper myself.

I picked up the sack, and ordered one of the guards to have the Advisor's body sent to my personal chambers. I wanted to make sure I collected all of the Advisor's belongings so I could complete the Keepership. In the case of Tan-e, I ordered her body to be creamated. I read the letter she sent me. It said that she betrayed the trust of the Faluque. She had been a spy, working behind enemy lines for a number of years. She married my ex-husband to help my side win the War.

My ex-husband was the King of our enemy. Tan-e was one of my spies. She couldn't help but love the King, and stopped sending me intelligence after about a year. Her letter said she was coming to visit me, and she begged that I kill her instead of her being tried for treason. The only other person who knew about this was the Advisor. Tan-e had done the Faluque such a service - ultimately helping us win the War - that I decided to grant her mercy, to kill her, and to cover up her act of treason.

"Tine an Faluque." (Long live our military.)

Emotional Dictatorship
3/14/2003 | 0 comments

Last night, I went home and took a candle lit shower. I continued thinking about wanting to go "home." I started to wonder - what if this feeling is nothing more than some rogue chemicals in my brain? Is that not what most emotions are? Chemicals in the brain, and our reaction to those chemicals?

I pictured myself at the end of my life, on my deathbed. In those final moments, I wondered to myself, what if I was just me all along? What if there is no "home" to return to? What if I spent my whole life looking for something that doesn't exist? What if this "feeling" is nothing more than rogue chemicals and an over-active imagination?

Lying in bed as a child, I used to think there were monsters that roamed around my room while I slept. They were clever monsters; they would disappear if I opened my eyes. But if I closed my eyes or hid under the covers, they appeared. But even though I feared the monsters, a part of me knew they weren't real. Part of me knew that no harm would come. Part of me liked the feeling of being afraid. The monster situation became a nightly game.

I think we know when something feels real, and when something is only being entertained by our minds. In the case of the monsters, I was entertaining the fantasy on purpose. But in the case of "home," it doesn't feel like fantasy. There is nothing pretend about it. It seems as real to me as the true memories I have of my past.

So I guess I keep looking. I am not going to put any intense focus on this search. But then again, I'm not going to stop looking either.

The "I wanna go home" dreams again...
3/13/2003 | 3 comments

So here's the premise. I keep having these dreams and feelings like I don't belong here (this time, this place, this planet - unknown). Here's a little update...

I talked to a therapist about the "I want to go home dreams." Her suggestion was, perhaps I want to return to the way I felt as a child when I lived at home with my parents. Um, no. I'm actually way happier as an independent adult.

I talked to a random Christian minister (someone I didn't know, especially since I've never gone to church, but someone I knew would listen). He asked, do you think you're going to die? Perhaps return home to be with the Father? Um, no. Although I have no problem with (other people who aren't me, enjoying) organized religion, the concept of "returning home to be with the father" wouldn't have crossed my mind. And no, I don't think I'm going to die anytime soon.

Someone suggested aliens - other worldly or from another dimension. Of the three suggestions I've heard, this seems the least wacky but I still really don't think so.

Does anyone have any other suggestions? I'm willing to entertain anything at this point. And if the UFO comes and takes me home, I'll make sure make a post before I leave for home...

Definately Not A 2g
3/12/2003 | 0 comments

I am stretching my lobes again. They are at 4g. I have 2g and 0g glass plugs, all lined out. And I have tapers to 000g. I have all the stuff from last time I stretched. Only, I'm having a problem. The 2g taper is smaller than the 2g plug (glass is in mm instead of gauges usually). The taper goes in, no problem. The 2g plug won't go in. The 0g taper almost goes in (and by *almost* I mean after hours of slow pressure, warm soaks or shower, and lube). I'm going to try again tonight. But here's my question... What the hell did I do last time?!


15th Annual So. Cal. BME & IAM BBQ!

Aug. 1 @ 11 AM
Category: BBQ/Munch/Meet

The 15th Annual BMEzine.com and IAM, body modification professional ...


506 headshots.

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