At A Glance Author Virus Contact Virus@bme.anon When It just happened Artist Luke Studio Physical Poetry Location Leeds So it all started a few days ago, with "I want a piercing." This quickly went to "I want a lip piercing," then to "I want a nipple piercing," and finally settled, after a few trips to the piercer, on "I want a surface bar to even my arm up." Prior to this, I had no piercings at all.
Actually, it all started a few years ago, when I realised that surface bars are the most beautiful things since anything ever. I've wanted one since I was around sixteen, and now seemed the right time to get one.
Those who know me know that I've got two little circular scars, about an inch apart, on the flat top of my arm, maybe four inches up from the wrist. They've been there a long time and don't seem to be ever going to fade. So I decided to do something about them, and for most of the time that I've had them I've idly debated tattooes, scarifications and skin grafts to cover them up. It wasn't until more recently that I realised that covering them wasn't the nswer - I could combine them with my love of surface piercings to make something actually pretty out of them.
Cue a trip to Physical Poetry on Woodhouse Lane, where I'd been hanging around uselessly for the past three weeks debating on getting something done.
"Oh hey, you're the apprentice piercer who's terrified of needles, right?" Asks Luke, the unutterably fabulous piercer, who from now on I would happily trust with my life. I nodded mutely, laughed out some kind of reply, then asked about a surface bar. He looked at my arm, pinched the skin up a few times, said the usual "Bloody hell that's cold" then "Ok, looks like it'll work."
So the consent form gets filled out, with my hands shaking and my face pale, and I keep hold of the pen for later chewing. He goes to sort out the autoclave for my moral support guy's new ear piercing, then returns, and announces that I can go through, or rather "Get the punishment". This is my first time on the other end of the needle. I'm shaking like a shitting dog.
The piercing room is clinical - one surgical bed, one swivel chair, one folding chair, a few boxes of piercing gear, a tattoo gun being fiddled with by the other guy (Gary), and a stereo. Very pleasant, and nice and airy - All very non-threatening and sweet. Apart from the tray of autoclave baggies on the surgical bed. Oooooooshit, bad. I suddenly feel that I'm on the wrong end of the needle.
"That's one big fuckoff spikey, that is. What gauge?"
"One point six mil. Fourteen."
"Oh. Lovely. Did I mention I'm scared of needles?"
He cleaned the original sharpie marker off my arm, product of a very boring lecture, and marked me up. Perfect first time.
A few minutes of shop talk, small talk and anecdotes about dentists, and I'm moved off the swivel chair (Which I kept shooting across the floor away from him whenever I saw a needle) and onto a folding chair in a rather attractive shade of blue. For some reason, that seemed important. I was pretty much concentrating on anything other than the big sharp scary looking *THING* in the tray. Luke asked if I wanted some slightly calmer music on, to which I replied that I was ok, and that I rather liked Mike Patton anyway, and my arm was given a final check (All fine), clamped up (Not freaking out yet...) and my hand uncurled from its death grip on his other wrist (I'm cool, honest.) Then the needle was presented. I nearly soiled myself. I freaked out, backed away, tensed to flee, looked for an exit and otherwise panicked. I chickened out.
"Right, I'm not doing it."
"OK. But I really think you can do it."
How trustworthy can one guy look? Evidently, this trustworthy. I waved back towards getting it done.
"I'll have to charge you a fiver for the jewellery anyway."
Right, sorted.
I put my arm back, and he put the clamps back on, tightening them until the skin was completely white. I prodded it experimentally with a nail to see how it felt. Totally numb. Excellent. I looked away for less than a second, distracted momentarily by a flutter of wings on the window (Possibly a pigeon) then heard the immortal words;
"Ok, just exhale slowly."
I stopped breathing, then breathed out. A soft, sort of hot, pain in my arm, extremely localised. I looked back, hoping to see the needle in my skin. It was gone. There was the PTE bar, already through.
"Wow."
That was amazing. I'd seen (and done) enough piercings where the jewellery was fumbled around for what feels like hours, and this guy just managed to puncture and thread my arm in one swift movement, whilst I was still looking for the pigeon. I was in awe.
I sat, repeating "I have a surface bar," over and over in a breathtaken voice. I think I was in shock. My right leg was twitching uncontrollably. I laughed. And then I laughed some more. And Luke laughed.
I looked at my arm again, admiring it, as he took photos, taken on the promise that he would make copies of them for me. Then it vanished under a white gauze, not to be looked at for four hours.
I gave him the money and the tip as I returned to the waiting room, and got my aftercare sheet - Sea salt soaks and antibacterial soap, and be really fucking gentle with it. And a licence to damage anyone who touches my arm. Moral Support Dude (Joe) went in to get his ear done, and I sat chatting to Gary. Minutes later, Joe returned, paid up, and we could leave.
Wandering back home I couldn't help but grin like an idiot. Finally, I had the piercing of my dreams. I felt oddly complete, like an itch had just been scratched, or a gappy tooth had been fixed up. We bought some sea salt and made up the solution back in the kitchen over a mug of hot chocolate. And I began to count down the hours to taking the bandage off.
***
Well, it's been four hours, and the bandage is coming off.
***
It's gorgeous. It's perfect. It's so fucking shiny. The beads are a sort of dark titanium, and the posts sticking out through the flesh are translucent. They look like they're floating. I know that by tomorrow they'll be sunk into swollen skin, but for tonight at least they're beautiful. No pain, no redness, no swelling, just gorgeous silver orbs that look like they should have always been there.
***
On the more factual side, the piercing was done with a 1.6mm hollow disposable needle, and fitted with a PTE bar just under an inch long. The beads are 3mm across and made from titanium. Luke changed gloves half a dozen times during the procedure, and everything came from autoclave packets whilst I watched. The exact song playing as the needle went through was "Egg", by Mr Bungle. The camera was an Optimax 4x optical zoom, 3 megapixel digital camera. The chair may well have been from Ikea. The piercing was perfect.
Thank yous to;
Luke (The piercer and possible archangel of needles)
Joe (Moral support guy and financial help)
Gary (Tattooist and all-round nice person)
That Pigeon (A pigeon who distracted me from the terror)