I Got My First Tattoo Was I Was 9…

My Grandma tore my ass up.  What was she to expect? Having uncles with prison tats, my grandfather had the old sailor tattoos, it was inevitable that I was going be tatted at some point in my life.

Since 9 years old I’ve been infatuated with tattooing.

That’s all I ever drew.

I grew up seeing tattoos.

I didn’t choose it, it chose me.

I can do this shit all day.  Travel the world, like a lost Ronin…like a lost samuri.  Searching the world for a worthy opponent…somebody that can teach me something – sign me up.

My passion takes me to the bottom of the world.  To a far, far away land.  From the Coliseum, to the Eiffel Tower, to the temples in Tokyo.

Seeing life from everybody else’ eyes. That shit opens your mind and broadens your horizon.  Let’s you look at the world from a different perspective.

It refines you – it cultures you.

The world’s a small place.

If all I gotta do is do this, and see the places I see, then I’ll do it – sign me up.

My passion consumes me.

Consumes every cell in my body.

I put my heart and soul into this game.

I put 26 years into this game.

I’ve become an ambassador for that Chicano style.  That style I grew up doing, that I love, that I got so much shit for.

What’s next? Jupiter, Venus, Mars.  I got an email from Mars today telling me he wanted to get his fucking dome hit.

It’s ya boy Boog, traveling the world…paintin’, eatin’, and, ya know, livin’.

 

 

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