Japan... my mistress

Back in Tokyo, my mistress where old dances with new. Shrines whisper tales of the samurai, nestled among towering skyscrapers and neon lights. Japan, my muse, my haven for design, inspiration, and soul-searching.
Today, I'm back in Master Horitoshi studio, the tattoo sage who's been etching his mark on me for nearly six years. Tebori, the ancient art, precise as a surgeon's blade, sacred as a temple ritual. Each prick, a communion between artist and flesh, a dance as ancient as the hills.
Stepping into his studio, the world outside dims to a dull hum. Here, time warps, folding like paper cranes, whisking me to a realm where permanence is etched by hand, not by data.
With each jab, I dive deeper into my own depths, shedding layers of falsehood until I'm stripped bare to my essence. Pain transforms, transcending into something more, blurring the lines between flesh and spirit.
Outside, the world rushes on, a cacophony of progress and clamor. But here, in this sacred sanctum, I find peace in the quiet between heartbeats, in the silence that speaks louder than words, in the eternal dance of transformation. - Josh