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Quote by Shirin Naghashlou

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Shirin Naghashlou

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“Contrast between textured areas and smooth areas in a tattoo can help direct the viewer’s eye to the most important elements. Highly textured areas will draw the eye and feel ‘closer’ to the viewer than areas with smooth or solid elements. Same goes for highly detailed areas vs. more blurred and soft areas.”

“Tattooers could decide to mix their own ink. However, I believe choosing tattoo ink from well-established companies who supply ink to the public, use safe handling practices, and regularly test their ink, is an excellent choice.”

“Knowing when to turn your power up or down comes with cautious experimentation. Remember, that when you adjust the power supply setting you must compensate by adapting hand speed, pressure and hand movement to avoid damage to the client’s skin.”

“So, why were you trying to flirt with that asshole at the boardwalk?” My jaw drops. I’ve got to be hearing things. I— “Wow, there,” Ruby says. “That’s a new form of distraction I haven’t heard before. I like that. I thought you two were a couple by the way you look at each other but—” I panic-stare at her and she snorts, “Never mind, you do you, keep talking.” I stammer. “It…it was…” Jack says, maybe to Ruby or maybe to himself, “Ellie’s not usually like this, for sure.” “How would you know what I’m like?” My cheeks flush, and I barely notice Ruby lining up the needle. People love to label me. What about what I want to label myself? Especially Jack—he’s pretended not to know me for so long. Jack grins. “Well, we’ll have to debate later on that.” “No, we won’t!” There’s no way I’m going to let him ignore me. I’m going to throttle him as soon as— “You’re all done.” Ruby places a mirror in front of me. “What do you think?” Already? I turn my head to look; my skin’s a little pink, but there it is—the star-shaped silver piercing is on my right ear, at the exact spot I’d chosen. I breathe out in surprise, giving it the label I want. “It’s perfect.” Jack smiles smugly, standing up from the stool. “And I was the perfect distraction.” I’ll ignore that.”

“I dreamt that I took William Burrough’s penis and tied it up with piano wire. I hung him like a Chagall painting…In the next part J.G. Ballard swam through streets of female urine. The girls read his book Crash and then mowed him down with their Volkswagen, crushing his chest slowly against a brick wall. As he screamed in agony larger than representation can accommodate, they referred to his text and had orgasms. Later, they jumped up and down yelling, ‘You’re not a hero. You’re not a hero. You’re not. You’re not. You’re not.’ “ “How do you analyze that part of the dream, Anna?” …”I guess I’m nervous about my birthday.”