it's saturday; i have four days to go before the new moon. before i get my first word. i am feeling impatient. my body is impatient for the word, for the ink. i am excited by the anticipation of it all. what word will the first person choose? how will they choose it? what will their handwriting look like on my skin? i crave it - the sensation of the ink on my skin. the word itself. i can't explain it. something about the way the word looks on my skin. black sharpie ink against copper. more beautiful than black ink on paper. and without the pain of a tattoo. wait. wait.

okay. i have to confess. i just tried it out. the sharpie. i tried it out on my left arm, just to see if it would work. it does. there is a word there right now, but it doesn't count. it's just a trial run. to see if the ink will stick. to see what it weighs as i wave my arm around in the air. it's just one small word. really has more to do with what i'm thinking about in terms of getting ready. i have to go get the film tomorrow. i have a set of sharpies on hand. but i have to go get the film. i have the camera. i'm going to be taking polaroids. that's the word i wrote: polaroid.

i mentioned that i'm doing this to a friend over the phone. she lives in colorado. i'm in austin, texas. she said she'd like to give me a word. i hadn't thought about inviting friends in distant places to give me words. if they do that, they must also give me locations. but i will miss their touch. i will miss the way their writing looks on my skin. so i don't know. i'm going to have to think about that possibility. perhaps i am being greedy. but i don't think so.

i'm traveling over the next couple of weeks. i wonder if i should ask someone at security to write a word on me.

it means that a few of my first words won't appear the day they're written. bear with me. be patient.

and then i'm thinking about the name of this piece. Written on the Body works right now, but i'm feeling the push of another title lingering at the back of my throat. don't be surprised if it changes during the course of the 100 days.

i have to shave my legs, too. they're hairy. not too hairy. but hairy enough. the writing surfaces will include my arms, my legs up to my knees, my back, my neck, my hands and feet. no face, no chest/stomach/thighs action going on. i decided. so yes, shaving legs it is.

okay. i'm going to go show off my word. or maybe, i'll just sit under the lamp and admire it for a minute. i must wash it off. it doesn't count.