Berkeley Hippie Revival Project

What does it mean to be branded with the mark of iron on one’s throat, or more importantly, what does it mean to be the Ironthroat? It is a question I long pondered before and after the brand. To many, it may seem ridiculous to dedicate yourself to personify a neck tattoo at only 19. To them, I would say that it takes someone ridiculous to make that choice, to live through it, enjoying every second. No ridicule or lost job opportunities could take away what is now forever a part of me. The joy to walk around being recognized by a sexual innuendo that does not even refer to my throating ability, or lack thereof, is unmatched.

To answer the question in a more pragmatic manner I would say that I enjoy the idea of having a horseshoe piercing through my Adam’s apple. Such a piercing is not viable — for several reasons. And so, instead, I got it tattooed. To answer the question in a more philosophical manner, with my own ramblings included, I would say it is a commitment. “A commitment to what”? One may ask. To those who ask such a question, I would tell them to finish reading the damn words I put time to write. To the rest of the ever so patient and, may I say, gorgeous readers, I would say it is a commitment to many things, mainly a commitment to be myself in several ways. “In what ways?” One may ask again. And again, I would recommend they take notes from the other readers who do not waste my time with questions that will clearly be answered only a few words down the line. Now, for the rest of you, it is a commitment to never let society’s expectations of me dictate how I choose to live my life. It is also a commitment to treat my body like the work of art I perceive it to be.

For quite a while before the tattoo, I was in search of what would be my greatest bit, a bit that I could commit my life to, a bit that is so perfect that it has no other option but to define me and the essence of my being. The tattoo was not supposed to be this bit originally. One time, after having acquired it, I went to hang out with some of my friends. They proceeded to point and laugh and call me several names as any good friends would. The names varied, but some examples would be: one of one throat, unbreakable throat, metal throat, penetrated throat. Eventually, on that fateful outing, I would be called Ironthroat. It hit me like a truck, maybe more like a freight train, that was it, the bit I had been searching for. Unlike what I imagined, it required no planning or setup; that was it. I would walk around introducing myself as the one and only Ironthroat. Immediately, I got to work on it; everyone who once knew me was reintroduced to the new me. It was not an alter ego of myself but rather a transformation of who I was. I would employ all my friends to spread my name and tales of my adventures, however true. So that when I would meet someone new, I could ask if they have heard the name, and when they inevitably said yes, I could point at the tattoo and say it’s me.

In the before times, I was highly self conscious, I lived my life in fear of how others would perceive me. At my worst, I would spend my time absorbing other people’s personalities, so I could understand their world views, and then I would perfectly understand how one could come to dislike me. I had reduced myself to an observer of others’ lives, where my judgments of them informed judgments of me. Before I knew it, I could no longer identify myself; I felt like nothing in a sea of overpowering personalities. In the sheer absurdity of being Ironthroat, I found my escape. Some people could immediately dislike the Ironthroat persona, before meeting Ironthroat the person. It was inevitable, but in that inevitability, I found an opportunity. If people could judge me based on a brand I could not remove nor hide (I refuse to wear turtlenecks, and if you were thinking that, perform coitus with yourself), then all that was left for me to do was to win them over. It challenged me to be my own overpowering personality and leave a lasting impact on the minds of those who get to experience Ironthroat. In a way, it was me working towards my goal of having the name spread. To create a figure so much larger than life, I had to pull out all the stops to try and live up to it.

In its purest form, the tattoo is a transformation of the self. The person I was had to be brutally murdered, torn limb from limb, so that it could be frankensteined into more than the sum of its parts. While I speak of all this as if it is long in the past, it is an ongoing effort. My mark shall never be removed, and while its ink may fade, the image the name echoes never will. I must forever work to attempt to live up to my own name, a never-ending effort. While this may seem exhausting to an extent, like Sisyphus, one must imagine me content. For in my mind, to pretend to be larger than anything I could ever live, is better than to believe I am less than everything I have lived. And in my long-winded explanation, I hope that I may inspire someone to live a beautiful lie, until its fantasies no longer contradict their reality.

the weather has been nice. it’s been warm, strangely so, yet it brings me outside more often than other februaries. i always make an effort to go outside during sunsets since they bring me so much joy. the same sky that occupies most of my happiest memories.
i think i reminisce too much… i tend to get lost in the soft, constricting embrace of memory that whispers to me feelings of contentment and happiness. i lay there, drinking in the sunlight that peers at me through my blinds as i sink into my bed. its 7 am now, and i need to get up for class, but remembering feels so good. so different than the cold air that scratches me, the indifference of the world, the rubble that decorates the floor, the smell of anxiety, the lump in my throat whenever i embark to campus. i’m obsessed with it, returning again and again to memories where i felt warm. even if it was with people that i’ve had disgraceful fall-outs with, or places that are no longer the same. it’s intoxicating.
you know those movies where the main characters get so lost in fantasy that they lose touch with reality, and that ends up becoming a major obstacle in the movie? i used to think that they were stupid and unreasonable, but upon further thinking, i reckon i am stupid and unreasonable. i mean that doesn’t have to be a bad thing, it just is what it is, especially living life as a human … i feel like i am neurotic for most of my life, and i feel things too deeply, i think too much, i can’t let go, i fear and i fear… i am riddled with fear maybe 90% of the time.
and it’s during these brief moments of repose, where the sky is blue and orange simultaneously, when the clouds stretch as if reaching out to a higher sky, when i can only hear the wind and feel the breeze on my face, and i sink into my memories… i feel no fear.
but it’s during these times when the country threatens to collapse into itself and it becomes ever clear that our latent complacency and our disconnect with each other has resulted in a world brimming with hate and apathy, that i try to live in reality… i try to be okay with feeling. i try to talk to people more, to perceive people more, and to let people perceive me. i need to feel the present, because the present is all that there is. i need to remember what it feels like to just be.

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stay hippie 🙂

nome