#firstj

[bodymodificationnation]

By firstjing

[mitski-slope]

JKAE IS SO FUKCIGN STUPID I CNAT . WHJY IS HIS FIRSTJ REASON FOR GETTIGN GROUNDED CLOGGING THE TOILELT . WHAT . I DOKNT EVEN WANT 2 IMKAIGNE THE LEVLEL OF CATASTROPHE THJAT WOULD HV TO INVOLVE FKR IT 2 WARRANT A GROUNDING

[myfatmuses]

"as you wish. I promise you when I firstj got here I would obey your rules and I have no intention of breaking that promise l." They said doing the best not to look at it but clearly were

@hazbin-heavyweights

“So how is work coming along? I know February is an….odd time for demons like us.” Charlie laughed as she walked with Kneesocks. The princess fully erect due to mating season urges and Kneesocks erect due to the princess being erect.

"I would prefer enough to have this conversation."they said clearly embarrassed by their natural state this time of year

[bom-is-spring]

firstj

[skzdatingdoorsforyou]

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐊𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐫

𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭.

𝐀𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫:

𝟏  /  𝟐  /  𝟑

𝟒  /  𝐱  /  𝟓

𝟔  /  𝟕  /  𝟖

[officiallittletattoos]

By First Jing, done in West Hollywood. http://ttoo.co/p/282262

[tatuajespequenos]

Por First Jing, hecho en West Hollywood. http://ttoo.co/p/277546

[pequenostatuajes]

Por First Jing, hecho en West Hollywood. http://ttoo.co/p/282262

[tatuajeshombres]

Por First Jing, hecho en West Hollywood. http://ttoo.co/p/244031

[tattoofilterus]

By First Jing, done in Los Angeles. http://ttoo.co/p/238973

[astraltrain]

did mark SERIOUSLY forget his wallet, adwm style?

[inkstinct]

Artist: @firstjing Follow and support the Artist!

[worldtattoogallery]

Tattoo work by © Firstjing

[hello-yue-here]

90: 90 moot ur my first moot i tink which is sick as fuuuuuck

firstjes

omg u can commwnt fiest ur that person

“first!” HAVEVHAHAHAHHA

can we go sledding together

sledding is so fun i once got ran over by an inner tibe sled thingy while sleddin i cried it was fun

no ir so nice and cool and HILARIOUS I GEEK EVERYTIME J POST AOMETHING

geekiest of the geeks

giggling the gigs

for shits n gigs

thags ur motto

shits n gigs is ur vibe

[bom-is-spring]

firstj

[adaruthless-blog]

What is this fuss about our hair?

Once  about 30 years ago I went in Singapore to a hairdresser. The fringe irritated my eyes and the bob in total had grown too long, must have been the very humid air to make my hair grow faster. So I needed a trim. I decided on a salon not quite next to the Raffles and not the Shangri-la, a bit more into a side road. I didn’t want to blow my budget. I also thought that my hairstyle must be familiar to Asian ladies with their straight hair themselves. I stepped into the salon and immediately the young ladies were all over me and my hair. Each one keen to cut it. The first shushed the others away. She and no one else wanted the job, the others retreated. With each streak she giggled. I found it amusing and well aware that my hair must feel very different. The giggles were not admiration more sort of a pity and feeling sorry for me: oh baby hair, so soft, but nice colour she kept saying. I have this very ordinary  northern European ash blond, thin hair, straight as spaghettis, not even cooked that would form nicely around my face, no, completely straight like uncooked. But at least with a nice shine and with the help of the sun a natural bleach occurs.

The Asian hairdresser did a fine job after all. The other ladies took a glimpse and I could see they were dying to touch my hair. The offcuts fell onto the floor onto much thicker black hair like a handful of dawns blown away. The ladies wished me well and chattered behind their hands.

It is not uncommon to touch one another’s hair. Especially among girlfriends at school. There was Martina with her olive skin, dark eyes and shiny black hair, wavy but thin like mine, the longer it grew the more curls she had. She sat next to me for a while and I remember the feel of her hair. There was Conny Herrman. Gosh, she had fantastic hair, the same colour as me but thick and long, she seldom had to wash it, she always looked like a filmstar with a huge mane. When we were lying on the lawn during break her hair was like a cushion of hair. I can’t remember the other girls name, she was a ballet dancer. She performed in France at our school exchange program. Her hair was also long and thick, similar colour but a bit more brownish and with long heavy corkscrew curls! That was the biggest attraction on her. But not with a nice feel, it felt rough like a shoe brush.

Hair is definitely something that shapes our appearance. It grows out of the follicles more or less rapidly.  We trim it, we cut it, we change the style. We are happy or unhappy with our hair. There are woman constantly unhappy with their hair. I have come to live with my hair.

There comes a moment in life where one just knows what is best for oneself.

My first encounter with African hair was in 1984 at a Pick’n Pay when I tried to buy shampoo. I was strolling along the shelves until I came across a brand name ‘black like me’. I was fascinated. It was my first time in Africa. I thought: “oh, this is nice that Africans can at least find such a big variety of hair products. Their hair must be very different with different needs.’ Beside the domestic worker at my friends house, who did her work quietly with her head under a cloth matching her apron, I did not have any contacts to black people. All the other African ladies I saw had the hair covered in a similar way. The men had their hair short or a shiny bold head. I had seen Rastafarians and I knew Jimmy Hendrix from a vinyl cover but otherwise I had never spent a single moment thinking about black hair. During my travels in and around South Africa I did stroke a black child’s head occasionally and noticed the difference. As adults we just don’t wander around touching other people’s hair. Some years later, when my daughter was about three years old we had the grandchild of our domestic worker staying with us. It was a hot summer day, the two played together, I filled water with a hosepipe into an old bathtub we had as a feature in our garden and put the girls into it. My daughter started scrubbing the girl because the soles of her feet were white. Nandi, the African girl, laughed her heart out. In return she started to put mud on my daughters bleach blond hair. They had a ball. Mavis came running into the yard and wanted to shout at her grandchild. I stopped her and said: “no, no, this is ok, they play and this is fun to watch how they experience themselves.” Mavis was still cautious but glad that I saw it as child’s play. The two girls played that whole summer and had embraced their differences, which were never an issue for remarks, slurs or any other sort of nastiness. This incident had made a deep impression on me. I thought if children are put together with just curiosity they will find a way to understand one another.

A few years later I had opened a children’s theater for puppetshows, shadow theatre, clownery and comedy. I was constantly short of good scripts. So I wrote some myself. I wanted a play for school starters and work on the worries small children might have in an inter racial school. The ‘hair thing’ was looming around in South Africa, African girls had been punished for their Afros, African ladies mobbed for their wigs.

For previous plays I had created a main character, a little bunny by the name of Nogwaja, the clever hare. Nogwaja was worried that the children might laugh about his huge ears, a girl was worried about her curly hair, a boy concerned he was too small, another girl had freckles and glasses. During class they learned that they all were more or less shy, during break they experienced that they were all fun to play with. They touched their different hairs and ears, were surprised about the different feel and recognized that short legs can be fast and freckles look just normal and even cute.

After having this show on successfully for many times one day a mother stopped me and was very upset. In her opinion this play was racist! She does not want her child being exposed to a play where differences are pointed out, we are all the same. She was inconsolable and I stayed puzzled. I took it off the playlist for the simple reason I did not want to have any discussions about racism.

Hairy stories continued in the news and on social media, black lives matter also had posts about hair issues. Apparently blacks forbid not to have their hair touched by whites. I came across an art exhibition in Johannesburg by an Angolan Artist,  Grada Kilomba, she had a piece about the ‘hair thing’. She was present. Looking at her I was surprised that she had an issue with this hair thing. She certainly has no extraordinary hair besides it is black and wavy. I thought I had approached her nicely. She was reluctant to talk to me when I tried to explain my little theatre play and if she would see it as racist. Maybe she was not in the mood to discuss my experience of my daughter and the puppet play and she did not want to confirm me that I am not racist about the ‘hair thing’… and hopefully not at all.

And then this weekend came along. I had the opportunity to perform for sixty seconds as a puppeteer in a huge potpourri of a ballet performance at the Soweto theatre. I did it out of friendship to the choreographer, he needed some African handpuppets which I happened to have. Rehearsal plus 3 shows. Each time I had to wait long at back stage for my little performance. I absorbed the beautiful atmosphere. The eagerness of all the dancers. All of different ages. A group of preschool children, a group of primary children, a group of high school pupils and students. The little ones were intrigued by my puppets and as I found out by my hair!

They gathered around me and used the puppets only as a vehicle to be able to be close to me. They wanted my hair! At first a bit shy. Then when they noticed I wouldn’t mind them touching my hair they were all over me. I was sitting in a lotus seat on the floor, they were standing left, right, in front of me touching, stroking,  petting my hair, my neck, my arms. I did the same to show interest and to tell them how pretty they are and what beautiful hairdos they have. One girl said: I think your hair is nicer. No, your hair is nicer, I said, and you can do a lot more things with your hair than I can do. Why, they asked. My hair is too thin, it would break, it tangles, I would be bold. They thought that was interesting. I thought their reactions were interesting. I could see that classical ballet has probably established an ideal of beauty. But for my taste and because of this performance where I could watch more than 50 ballet dancers my ideal of beauty has become these beautiful African girls with their beautiful perfectly shaped heads and bodies. It had made me happy to see a curiosity and an appreciation on diversity …on both sides.

So for me the hair thing has now been sorted out – don’t touch unless you get touched firstJ

Ada-Ruth Kellow