Title: Holiday Heart Syndrome

Gear:Canon 400D, Canon EF50/1,8 II

Data: 50 mm, x sec, f1,8, iso 800

Comment: Like in my rite of passage I decided to have a change of appearance. Holiday Heart Syndrome is irregular heartbeat pattern in otherwise healthy people. A lot of things are going on inside my mind and my soul and heart is aching of love. What keeps me in line today is the thought of her. The sweetest scent. She keeps my chest warm.

Yesterday I was having some friends at my home laughing and smiling. We watched a film together and thrived in a big pile of cookies. During the late after midnight hours we went over the Internet in a quest to find good illustrators. Naturally I turned to one of my favorites, Aquirax Uno.

It’s not the first time Mr. Aquirax has influenced me with his 60’s posters but today I thought it was time to publish his work to anyone who might have missed him. Enjoy!

So I thought I might just give you another update just as well. I continued working on it and this is how it looks just right before I turn the lights out and call it a day.

I’ll pop some red into it and it will be awesome!

Just to show you I’m not dead I hereby introduce you to my next project. It’s so far made up from acrylics and brown ink. Unfortunately I’m running out of brown at the moment… Well. I’ll get some new ink soon, hopefully. The swastika is a bitch to fill but it’ll come around quite nicely.

At the moment I only have 1,5 mm pencils which means that large areas take quite some time. But I’ll keep focus on the lion and the sun on its head until I get larger markers.

Title: Soundtape

Size: 50×70 cm.

Media: Ink and acrylics on canvas.

Availability: Not for sale, private gift.

Comment: I made this for a friend, but not as a planned gift but rather as a spontaneous result of her giving me inspiration for a long time. It was really fun to work with the layers for this one. The vivid and playful dripping colour combined with the solid black markings from my ink pen worked nice together.

”The worm”

Our story begins, as these stories often do, with a young boy dreaming of becoming a pirate. Pirates have wooden legs, scurvy, eye-patches and monstrous tattoos filling their big, hairy, Caribbean-sun burnt arms. I guess you know where this story is heading already.

Honestly I have no exact memory of when I encountered tattoos for the first time but I’m pretty sure it was through comic books rather than actual events from real life. I grew up in a pretty secluded village where the only ones with tattoos were the ones considered to be feared. Or maybe they just seemed scary when I was that age – I’m not really decided.

To keep things interesting let’s just go with the idea that my first inspiration to get tattooed derives from the world of cartoons and move on further towards the present. As far as I can remember decorations in general always felt natural to me and since my body always has been my only home of course it felt just as natural to decorate it. I still have pictures of me at the age of five sitting in my parent’s bedroom reading a book about dinosaurs with my arms covered up by rub-ons resembling the beasts I was beholding in my book. Indeed my fascination for body modification seems to have started far earlier than any person would imagine if they saw me today. For most people this is just a trend. A phase we outgrow. Necessary but unimportant. Well, we’ll see about that.

It was through the song ”Dig” by nu-metal band Mudvayne that I first saw heavy tattoos on legs. The music video for ”Dig” was released in 2000 when I was eleven years old but it must’ve taken me a couple more years to find the behind-the-scene footage of the video. In it the drummer Matthew McDonough shows off his beautiful legs to the camera unveiling colorful tattoos that went all the way covering over both his legs. I was awestruck by the sight and couldn’t really let go of the memory. Ever.

The next I step I took was fairly natural in the development of my perspectives: The first visit in the world of BMEzine. I read every FAQ I could get my hands on and went through the entire encyclopedia with the same eager I had read about Tyrannosaurus Rex just a few years earlier. I was mesmerized by the depth of body modification and finally started to understand the significant link between decoration of the body and its impact on ones soul. All of a sudden there was a deeper meaning behind the modification than just the aesthetic appeal. Featured experiences told me stories of men transforming themselves spiritually through their bodies physically and again my interest reached a new peak. Indefatigably I continued the search for more knowledge and the further I walked on my journey the deeper I sank into the culture. For good and for bad.

Like many others IAM and bme.com gave me a sort of false contentment about myself and who I was or wanted to be. Online I was normal, a freak even compared to the other heavily modified forum users, but in the real world my ideas and wishes seemed unorthodox to others (of course this has changed a lot by the years but I think many of you can recognize the feeling of alienation at young age and how it has affected you as adults). IAM, bme.com and the like were treacherous this way but of course it continued to feed me with information I kept hunger for, and for that I am thankful. In the encyclopedia I read about one of the most influential men in my life; Fakir Musafar. He taught and showed me things about myself and others that truly helped me clear out the path for my future. Somehow his teachings aided me to put my feelings into thoughts and words and really made things easier in pursuing my dreams. It was also through bme and Modblog that I came in contact with Little Swastika, whom I to this day state to be my absolute favorite artist in the world of body modification.

I never decided on tattooing my legs. It never came to me like a struck of lightning one day. I never thought ”this is what I really want and need”. Somehow I just knew. To me it felt like I had had my mind set on it since day one. I kept looking at Little Swastika’s designs and there was no argue that his work was the only art I craved. And that was that.

”The cocoon”

My best friend in the whole wide world (imagine Christopher Robin and Winnie the Poo and you’re getting remotely close) bought a painting from me that I had made in 2008 – a self-portrait. The painting was based on the bme calm-logo (which I found fitting since I really loved that logo and thought it was a good reference for a self portrait) but looks nothing like me , although at the time it represented my emotional side very well. On the sides of the painting are some words written in Swedish. To the right is ”självrespekt” (self-respect) written in an Arabic-like font and on the left you can see ”ingen skam” (no shame). The friend who bought the painting actually went to Little Swastika in Germany and got half of it – självrespekt – tattooed as a full sleeve. Like anyone would be I was very humbled by her gesture and happy that my art could inspire and make her more satisfied in life.

Our relationship possibly grew even stronger after that. Who could have though a tattoo could make a difference? On a superficial level it never did but emotionally it actually gave me a good shake. It affected to me to such an extent that I decided to honor her the same way she had. Getting the same tattoo as someone else is usually a pretty bad idea from many points of view but so far I haven’t found a single reason why I shouldn’t have. Apparently the tattoo she chose was highly personal for her and something she was proud of doing, and how much more personal do you get than when you make a self-portrait?

The word self-respect means a lot to me. No matter where I turn in life I always wish to look back at my achievements and think that all efforts were worth it because in the end I succeeded. I don’t want to live a mediocre life. I don’t want to end up without achievements. I don’t want to die forgotten by the world. And to make that happen I need to respect myself and my strengths and my limits more than anything.

”The butterfly”

When I finally reached Little Swastika in November 2009 after several years of wait I was really happy with life. This was my time. He was going to help me further down the line to completion.

Once at his working place he drew the designs directly on my leg. We talked about a few ideas and discussed my vision back and forth. The major layout was finished since long in my head but the details were very vague. I said ‘flower’, ’självrespekt’, ’sketchy’, ‘black’ and ‘pink’. He stopped to think for ten minutes and then drew the brilliant design. This was my very first tattoo so I didn’t know what to expect of it. Retrospectively, I’m not one of those who enjoy the pain of tattoos.

Time flew by and to be honest I’m not sure how many hours I was under the needle. Little Swastika is incredibly fast both with designs and fillings and I didn’t think time had any relevance for my experience. We split the whole tattoo into two sittings. Day one we did the flower together with its shading, the text and the few outlines for the black parts. Day two we went on filling all the black spaces. I’m not sure which I preferred. The black didn’t hurt as much (partly, but we’ll come to that) as the outlines and text but on the other hand was more focused on one spot at the time. As you can see on the photos the black parts were pretty large so it took a lot of my energy to endure it. He started to fill the front of my leg first moving down the thigh, knee, shin and foot and then I turned around to do the back part done. The worst covering was on my knee caps, which felt really awkward since the vibration of the needle got all the way to my tail bone and continued up my spine. Also the hock was pretty horrible with it being so sensitive. The sweat was flowing out of my body and all my muscles were tired from flexing all the time. There wasn’t much left and I had gotten incredibly tired. However he did save the worst for last…

Little Swastika told me (in his cute German accent) that tattooing the butt cheeks was less like tattooing and more like ”a knife stabbing you in the ass”. Sure, that was intimidating to hear but I still remembered how I had endured every ordeal so far in my life and this couldn’t be the worst yet.

Well.

I was wrong.

Terribly fucking wrong.

The pain caused by a mere needle going up and down the skin in the buttocks was beyond words. It wasn’t like a knife stabbing. It was like a saber plowing rapidly in and out through my complete torso via the rectum. If I was to pile up all the pain I have gone through so far in my life and throw myself in it I would thrive in that pile compared to tattooing the ass. When he went over me with his machine I was screaming my lungs out, and not the fuck-that-hurts-so-bad kind of way. Rather the stupid-American-character-in-X-horror-film-gets-tortured-for-fun kind of way. No air could reach my lungs if there was the slightest pressure on my stomach so that I had to support my upper body with my elbows. If I relaxed my arms and let the torso down I felt like I was gonna vomit any second. My focus was pointed directly towards my breathing to keep a constant rhythm of breaths and make sure they were deep enough. In my hand I held a plastic bottle that was completely shredded by the time we were done from the squeezing and biting. During those minutes I experienced a proper wish for death. Had I had the choice of a bullet or five more minutes in hell the bullet had seem like a golden relief. Honestly. True fucking story. Not even trying to be funny.

So how did I feel afterwards? The moment he said the beautiful word ”Done” and I could get down from the bunk I felt something really awesome. The torture I had just abided made me feel incredibly alive afterwards. The fantastic restfulness in my body was stronger than anything I had felt before. It was… I don’t know. Empowering.

Yes, that’s the word.

I looked at myself in the mirror and stood before it both in awe and disgust. With a stare on both my legs I felt so unnatural. This was just so very wrong. What had I done? It seemed so weird and alien that leg I was looking at. How did this happen? Why do I feel like this? And then I realized. My reaction was not directed to my beautiful left leg, it was the empty white page that still was left untouched that felt so unfamiliar. I kept looking at it and wondered how I could ever have lived without a black leg. The right leg seemed so strange to me and yet I should be very much used to the look of it after 20 years attached to it.

A very peculiar discovery. Peculiar indeed.

A week ago I got to experience my second suspension. And that experience was perfection.

Many asks me how it feels, why I put myself through it, if it hurts terribly and all other possible thoughts that might pop up watching a man hanging from hooks in flesh. Many are even ”uuhh, that’s he who hangs from hooks – he must be a weirdo.”

Fine. I can buy that. It’s a strange fucking activity.

a) It hurts.
b) It costs money.
c) It takes up precious time.
d) It’s considered weird and you put yourself in a position where you easily get labeled in a way that is not always to your advantage.

Well, I got my arguments.

a) It usually hurts less than what you imagined and the pain is in general tuned out quickly.
b) Yes, it costs money, but so does everything else in life and from whichever point I view it the experience feels invaluable. Also the price you pay is not exactly a ridiculous sum.
c) Time is money and we all know that consumption is THE most important thing in life. Right? Yeah, but then… If I skip the pub twice I can actually afford something that most consider a life changing experience.
d) You can always be anonymous. No one but you and the practitioner that helps you get suspended has to know what you have done or been through. Ever.

But way argue anyway? I don’t need to convince you. The experience is mine and mine entirely, and really the reason I write this is to give you my side of it. Not make you put hooks in your skin. My body, my temple, my choice, you know. Plus most of you are freaks anyway.

Now and then

The feelings this time and the first time differed greatly. I’ll probably never receive the same pleasure as when I did my first suspension ever again. The first was completely insane and no words in our vocabulary can possibly be combined to adjective bubbling sentences that can justify the sensation. But this time was different. I can’t find a better way to put it than this: If the first time was an orgasmic cascade of relish then this was a playful roller coaster of pure joy. Am I being over-pretentious? I don’t give a damn.

Afterwards the joy was stunning – but if the first time opened up a door for me this second time was an orientation on the other side. Where the euphoria stopped in the ”Coma” the rush of happiness brought me further in my ”Suicide”. The emotions are so overwhelmingly powerful during a suspension, yet sublime and still enough to be graspable. It’s surreal yet so obvious.

One of the biggest differences between the two suspensions were the pain level.

I’m not sure if it was due to the placement of the hooks but piercing the skin to get the hooks in was really easy this time. At my first suspension it was quite endurable as well but this time felt I incredibly strong. It was so liberating to discover that the pain I had feared couldn’t get to me. It was beautiful.

To get up this time went really well. After a couple of minutes of stretching to get used to that awkward feeling of being pulled my feet left ground and I was transformed into a wave of pleasantness. Whatever could be identified as pain was exchanged to a washing sensation. It was immense.

The rest of my journey is a fog of euphoria. With great music in my ears and friends to make me swing back and forth everything known as every day life and commitments disappeared rapidly. In that moment I was really me.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8VNrITZt074&hl=sv_SE&fs=1&rel=0]

After what seemed like a second and half of an eternity all at once I was lowered to the ground again. And take me by the word that when a body that has been elevated by hooks through the skin gets down to earth again it feels like a colossal lump. When you reach the floor gravity hits you in the solar plexus and the whole world is on your shoulders the same time as it rather seems that all matter become vacuum and nothing can take you further from the forces of physics. It is peculiar, it is exhausting and it is wonderful. Everything is upside-down, inside-out and whatever other ways you can be twisted around.

After being suspended alone for quite some time I and Yukiko met for a ”Spinning beam”. The concept i simple: A long beam with coils in each end and one fixed point in the middle allows two people to spin in a circle, go up and down, swing like animals, in combination with the bodies rotating around their one axis. Swinging for adults.

One word: Fun!

Consider it for a second. Read the above about how completely awesome and phenomenal it is to suspend by yourself and imagine to share that experience with someone else. In a huge fucking swing. Fun.

We spun, we laughed, we moaned, we smiled, we skipped around and we were lost in the sensation.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iSRgDFxq8fY&hl=sv_SE&fs=1&rel=0]

Since then it feels pretty obvious that suspension will be an essential part of my life.

Fuck desk jobs.
Fuck crisis.
Fuck trivial.

Go life.

Title: Suspensionüberalles – Love

Gear:Canon 400D, Canon EF50/1,8 II

Data: 50 mm, 1/80 sec, f1,8, iso 400

Comment: This photo, among all photos I’ve taken of people suspending, is by far the most justifying. And what I mean by that is that the photo show the essence of suspending. Most people that lack experience associate the hooks with pain, blood and people that are hurt. Of course those elements are all included but in the end a suspension is all about the sensation, smiles and development.

Title: Quads – Game

Gear:Canon 400D, Canon EF50/1,8 II

Data: ∞ mm, 1/60 sec, f0, iso 400

Comment: Here’s the second try with my EF50 turned backwards to get the macro effect (thus the weird data). Growing up I found that escaping reality through the world of fiction was a true blessing and when I got my first Nintendo system it opened up a whole new dimension. Since then I’ve visited numerous places in various video games, each one just as comforting. This is a tribute to those places, and of course all the emotions they have provoked throughout the years.

Title: Quads – Smoke

Gear: Canon 400D, Canon EF50/1,8 II

Data: ∞ mm, 1/60 sec, f0, iso 400

Comment: This is the first submission in a photo project I started to keep myself busy. I love to shoot macro but I don’t have a lens for it. What I did here was to turn my EF50 backwards, which gives the very same effect. The data is all wrong because the camera doesn’t recognize the values when the lens isn’t mounted correctly. Infinite focal length and aperture is zero (in reality it’s the lowest; f1.8). This technique means no auto focus and manual shutter speed. But it’s okay.

Anyways, the idea behind this photo, and the upcoming in the same project, is to make four macro shots and put them into one picture. The objects are things I associate with my childhood. Without getting to deep into possible childhood traumas lets just say both my parents were smokers.