Yeah, we can judge others—humans in general I mean because the aforementioned quote belongs to someone outside the tribe of the tattooed. She has piercings instead. Not the same thing. Her piercings include a septum ring—a tool used on farms and ranches to prevent rooting, encourage weaning, and control very large, very powerful mammals.
It’s no coincidence bulls were the first in on this trend. Involuntarily of course.
Not that I’m judging her piercings. No, I’m judging her thought process—judging but not condemning. I suspect there’s a great deal of confusion between people who are inclined toward process and those inclined toward results.
Never mind the chaos inherent in people who toggle regularly and haphazardly between both worlds. Yeah, that would be me, and this new revelation has brought with it an awareness of my lack of control over said chaos.
I don’t know where to begin sorting it out, nor am I certain of using or contextualizing the word ‘process’ correctly here.
What I do know is this: I love process (or my definition of it anyway). I sometimes touch up my tattoos not because they’re in need of it but because I am in need of them. Sometimes I need to take that walk even when nothing is calling out to me, begging to be transcribed on my body.
Sometimes I need to splay myself on a hygienic table surrounded by ink and disinfectant making more than small talk with a man I know oddly well hovering over me, talking about everything or nothing, needle to flesh, fresh blood flowing as I access places in myself I otherwise cannot reach. I feel slightly self-conscious as I write that, believing as I do that I should have mastered myself by now, that I should not need help to go 4mm and more deep.
Too much process is the thought behind the reproach.
Then another part of me shows up with a fuck you attitude and a baseball bat and shuts that shit down, all the while reassuring me that it’s fine, it’s okay, and who the fuck cares about my processes anyway? Really—who the fuck cares?
I get where I need to go and that’s the end of it. Or is it? Because the bitchy results-oriented side of me isn’t having it, not for a moment. It’s not the tattooing she objects to but to the notion I have created, implemented, or designed nothing new and have failed to address anything she considers a problem.
The result is invisible, internal, and very much none of her business. I’m pretty comfortable drawing that line; it’s when I immerse myself in a results-oriented attitude that the shit hits the fan.
Results seem like an attainable goal to me. They require a) A goal b) Time—and lots of it for a brief epoch c) The drive and will to succeed d) Accolades—be it money, recognition, or self-satisfaction.
I like the rush of it. It’s like cocaine, speed, and the best orgasm of my life rolled into one.
I get to step out of my reflective, meandering thought process and plug into a less familiar drive, a world full of dead ends, missing ends, unexpected opportunities, and more energy than I can properly handle.
When results are divorced from process I end up mainlining the energy I’ve conjured to get the job done. My nervous system gets jacked and everything is a go all the fucking time. I am busy, busy, busy and the more energy I spend the more I must conjure, and the more I conjure the more jacked I get and the higher and more magnetized I become.
Every try slamming the brakes on a fully loaded tractor trailer cruising along at 300 miles an hour? No? Well shit, let me tell you that it’s destined to fail.
But I could live on that high forever.
Until I crash, until I’m overstimulated to the point of wreckage.
Kevin Smith compared an episode of The Walking Dead to someone giving you head long after you’re over it. Yeah—he went there, so I will too. Being results oriented generally leads me to pursue pleasure to the point of pain, which I cannot relinquish until I crash down into a state of disembodied, slightly dazed horror.
And yet on I go, circumstances depending.
It’s amusing, yet not.
I’m chortling now that the last two weeks of my life are over and those waves of energy and adrenaline are softening in their spikes and pitfalls.
Because I need time to, er, reflect on the process of getting results and finding a way to move through both worlds without burning out or abusing the pleasure of constructive outcomes.
I also need to increase my awareness of the interplay between these two dynamics to better form a productive, functioning relationship between opposing yet congruent forces.
Good luck to me because Lord knows I need it.