Didn't mean to disappear

Sorry i didn't say 'bye after you all welcomed me so nice and friendly... i even started feeling all mushy inside... i've never had a multiple internet relationship before. Unfortunately, i only have internet at the office - for the moment. So, now i have no more secrets (except what exactly my tatts are), since you can now all identify me on the street! To clarify, i AM, in fact, hairy, except on the head. Apparently when i was born i looked like a faun: all hairy below the waist. When i was a lad growing up, it was all that allowed me to get in to adult parties, as i'm also very little (5 foot 1 or 2, depending on wind direction and barometric pressure). You all made me feel so special and so unlonely that i decided to write my tatt-story for you! (applause) Alas, i do have to at least pretend to do some "work", or somebody might reconsider paying me. So... watch this space, over the course of the day i'll slide in my exciting, revelatory and blockbusting "Confessio de Clarkebus Rastalorum" (who's good with Latin?) Again, thanks for the good feeling guys! I'll be writing! PS - so does this mean i have to renew my US visa to attend TAzfest and meet you all? Who has spare bedding for an undersized third-worlder?

Come on down! Or up in this case ...hell you can sleep at my house everyone else does!...Hope to see ya Ras!!!...TAz

You just can't sleep on me!!!!!! Actually TAz, I sleep on the floor at home..................I never use my bed,,,,,,,,,,,,, well, almost never. Ras can have the sofa, how dat be? Ras, getcher ass up here man!!! I remember Ras saying he was hairy back when I disclosed I shaved my legs.....................................Stay on the sofa, DAMMIT!!!!! TCE

Part one: By the time our episode begins, I have been born in England (the same month they shot J Kennedy), and come to Jamaica on a banana boat. I went to school, etc. in much the normal way, except… I’m supposed to be some kind of child prodigy, but nothing came of it, or you would have heard of me. Anyway… my mother is an east Indian who looks like a white woman (red hair, grey eyes), while my father, an Anglo/German/Jewish mix, looks like a black man. So i spent a lot of time - whether in black or white society - wondering "Who the hell am i supposed to be?" While they were married, they were rabid conformists. Since I was a small tadger … er a smaller tadger, I liked bikers, tattoos, rock music… a lot of stuff that is not particularly popular in the Caribbean. In my teens I met an American girl who taught me to tattoo with a sewing needle and a ball of twine, and I actually marked a few people. Fast forward. My 30’s found me once divorced, still with no bike and only the little scorpio sign in my elbow (it still looks quite good). I worked my way thru the best advertising agencies in the country, appeared in plays (celebrity level: comparable to a player in a middle-sized American town), and produced a couple (expense level: comparable to small yacht, and a year’s maintenance). So the only thing to do now was become a priest! O yes, bretheren and sistren, the Boss called me. For one year I lived the life, and I rather enjoyed it… I was not TOO TOO diligent about my vows, I’m afraid. And then, just when I was defenceless, God presented me with a sweet, pretty Trinidadian woman and told me to marry her. And you can't just deny the Boss. Well, tattooing in Trinidad is a big thing. On hundreds of corners you can find a crack-head with a needle and a pot of ink… and just down the road, a guy selling home-made unguents to soothe the plague of infections that follows. During seven years in Trinidad, I got married, stopped drinking, had affairs, got divorced, and had some ink put in: a Jesuit signum at the base of my spine, an AA (the drunks, not the drivers) symbol on my arm, and, the first rose vine around my left forearm. And, er, a moon, and other little junk which i might have to undress to remember. I got a cat on the chest (which I turned into another, more handsome cat, a couple years later), a tribal thingy on one thigh, and the name god and I share (YHWH, which, in Hebrew, you could pronounce Juh-Weh. Most folks call me joey). During the busting-up process I lived half a year in another island, St Lucia (of jazz fame), where tattooists are extremely hard to find. In 2002, I was offered my job of seven years before, and I came back home. Since I’ve been back, I’ve more than doubled my ink-quota, quit that job, gotten a motorbike, fallen a couple times, and met some crazy tattoo enthusiasts, tattoo artists and tattoo enemies. But that’s for part two…

Ras, That's quite a first chapter.....................I was born in Chicago a month after JFK was killed, and then I sort of grew up......... a little.......... TCE

By the way TCE, thanks so much, and i will certainly take you up on it. I am housebroken, but it's a good idea to spread newspaper.

You're welcome..................from TAz...... Other excerpts of MY life story can be found throughout the forum................LOL!! TCE

Ras you crack me up....we needed somebody JUST like you to liven things up on this sometimes boring forum!! So glad you came along or should I say so glad the BOSS sent ya!!! Well We will be expecting you in October Joey!! Its gonna be a humdinger!!!

And there ya go!

Ras, you are gonna make a really great addition to this Familia! Al

More sex… more violence… and more tattoos! It’s rasclarke part two! Part one failed to mention that for most of my life I was known for my hair. Stylists screamed at it, girls swooned over it, and combs got tangled in it. While I was waiting to become an official full-time holy man, it hung down to my butt. It reflects all my heritage: at the front was the tight, kinky fuzz that bespoke my African forbears. The middle was wavy, in recognition of the Hebes who have gone before. In the middle of the back, it was quite thick and straight, reflecting the strains of India, and, under these, soft, straight fine fair strands of my European ancestors. In Trinidad, I grew it into locks: harder than you might think, for such a hybrid as self. O I would love to find, scan and send you some shots of my tumultuous mane. Soon. Back to our inky tale: So I came back to Jamaica and resumed work in an advertising shop I already spent five years in. First I met Kim, and she added a flaming heart to my butt-cheek, as well as a black dragon curling around my right calf. Also an Eye of Horus in my elbow. And then I met Malcolm, thru my partner/erstwhile roomie/mortal enemy/nemesis/hearts’ desire, and he repaired a flower for her, and put a phoenix on my shoulderblade. He has since added: a better rose for my vine, a rosy cross on my foot, a sword on my right calf, and Lucky the Wonder Horse, a kind of celtic horse that is probably my favourite. He rendered Esher’s “Drawing hands” on my back, a caduceus on my arm, and sundry touching up. AND, he’s responsible for a faun and a mermaid on my right thigh; many people say the mermaid looks like Alina, my partner/etc. mentioned above. Hmmm… Seems to me she might be worth a chapter all her own! Rats – got a meeting! More sex and violence later!

Sounds like the weight of your hair became it's own worst enemy.................... TCE

as a matter of fact, it was so long i used to sit on it. And then it became my worst enema! ...i guess i owe you a drink now?

Oh jeeesusss!!!!! Groan!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I can tell that TCE and THIS guy are gonna have a GREAT time!!!

.............I don't know if drinks mix well with enema's................at least not one drink..........better make it two!! TCE

It all depends what you drink... and where you pour it!

Like Doc John said..................that's an EXIT ONLY!! SEVERE TIRE DAMAGE RISK!! TCE

Just don't go down any slides sideways!

Which reminds me of my idea for my new George Bush movie: "Enema of the State" ... (pause, long silence)... hello? Tatt friends? ... anybody?... (crickets chirp, tumbleweeds skitter past) ...

Sob... sniff... i just realised i'm going to miss all of you this weekend. Unless i can find me a terminal. And that's not so likely. So here's what i'm going to do: i'm downloading some of the longer posts so i can read them as slowly and carefully as my deteriorating short term memory will permit. What were we talking about? O yes. This will prevent such happenings as me suddenly snorting with laughter in the middle of my quiet office, advising my boss to pierce her lip, or suddenly coming out with a "y'all" or a "get the fuck out!", which are not my usual verbal zingers, and come off pretty strange in my Jamaico-Trini-Anglo-Madman accent. At any rate: by monday i should have all the dirt on all of you! Nya-ha-haa! (thunder, lightening). Or, i will be so weepy with laughter/emotion that i'll need a sick day. Hmmm... Have a nice weekend y'all!