Once your fairy tale ends and you’re forced to face a heartbreaking reality, you don’t want to hear more bullshit.

Unfortunately, traditional get-over-heartbreak talk is as aggravating and distracting as the situation that broke your heart.

How to Overcome Heartbreak Without Projectile Vomiting: A Guide for Cynical Hopeless Romantics is the only heartbreak book that doesn’t mention your Ex.

Aren’t you tired of lamenting about everything that’s wrong with him or her?

When relationships, dating, and love are the themes of heartbreak examinations, the discussions focus on External factors—the people who hurt you and the circumstances that cause heartbreak.

But heartbreak isn’t about them.

It’s about You.

Why This Book Is For You

Heartbreak affects your identity whether or not you acknowledge its influence.

If you want to get over heartbreak, you must recognize that It’s in the room, shake Its hand, but then swiftly and calmly escort It outside OR tell It to go fuck itself. Whatever works best for you.

How to Overcome Heartbreak Without Projectile Vomiting: A Guide for Cynical Hopeless Romantics isn’t absolute advice, tips, or tricks.

The book is a philosophical spotlight on heartbreak’s role in the formation of your identity.

Not my identity (no personal anecdotes here).

Not your best friend’s identity.

Not that bitch at work’s identity.

Your identity.

You adapt the guidance according to your own evolution.

Flip through How to Overcome Heartbreak Without Projectile Vomiting: A Guide for Cynical Hopeless Romantics, available now:

♫ “Rye Whiskey” by The Push Up Club ♫

Take Back Control

Stop letting heartbreak manipulate you.

You can get over heartbreak in a new way each day by monitoring the only person you can control, You.

However, when you’re heartbroken, you only control what happens next if you’re aware of how heartbreak shapes your behavior.

What’s really going on with you?

Download Instantly

• 150 pages: I don’t want to waste your time.

• Easy-to-read: The text is formatted for your screen, tablet, or smartphone.

• Immediate relief: Get over heartbreak in the most manageable and practical way.

Because you can either mask your pain or destroy Heartbreak’s power.

CLICK HERE to download How to Overcome Heartbreak Without Projectile Vomiting: A Guide for Cynical Hopeless Romantics for $5.

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About the Author:

Stefanie Flaxman is the creator of Revision Fairy—philosophy for writing & editing your life.

You press the Up arrow in the lobby of your apartment building to summon the elevator.

Only a few more moments before you can indulge in your fuck-the-world attitude in private.

But then a neighbor arrives home from a long day at work, as well, and you wait for the elevator together.

“Hi, how are you?” she asks.

You give her a quick glance but don’t respond and go back to looking down at your feet.

When you get in the elevator, you press the number of the floor you live on and do not ask where she is going.

As she jets out her arm in front of you to press the button she needs, you’re even more frustrated that she came in such close contact with you.

Everyone is irritating.

Everything is wrong.

Nothing is comforting.

You’re consumed with your own personal book of heartbreak.

When we chose not to see beyond our broken heart pain, our actions reflect a self-centered mindset.

Does pain from heartbreak exist if we don’t think about ourselves?

Can we shift our attention away from events that hurt us to behavior that makes us happy about who we are?

Heartbreak is often viewed as an affair that involves multiple people or external relations: life circumstances or other people break your heart.

Your goal, then, as established by many heartbreak books is to get over heartbreak by moving on from a specific circumstance or person.

But that objective gives the circumstance or person power and space in your life.

That circumstance or person infiltrates your identity.

As you experience heartbreak, your identity evolves with every choice you make.

But you don’t view your rudeness in the elevator as a choice.

Even though it was a reaction to the fact that you’re upset, it’s still a choice about who you want to be.

The act of rudeness is independent of anything happening in your personal or professional life.

That choice is only about you.

Whatever put you in a bad mood is done. It’s history. It’s not happening anymore except for the memory that you perpetuate in your mind that affects your behavior.

You spread the heartbreak by projecting your internal pain and drama on the people you encounter.

Looking back is the default response when we’re consumed with heartbreak.

Looking forward is overwhelming and unmanageable because everything is murky.

When you overcome heartbreak, looking forward isn’t a struggle. It’s clear and natural.

Heartbreak can defeat you or make you compassionate.

Other people’s heartbreaks don’t diminish your pain or need to make you feel guilty for feeling hurt, but you control your pain’s impact on your identity.

No one with perspective gets swallowed by heartbreak.

You write the story that unfolds in your heartbreak book.

How has Heartbreak shaped your identity?

Do you control Heartbreak, or does Heartbreak control you?

Stefanie Flaxman is the creator of @RevisionFairy and author of a new book about heartbreak.

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Unaware we were actually getting exercise—one of the reasons for recess—my friends and I regarded the physical activity as a way to socialize.

The different types of playground equipment were the youth equivalents of coffee shops and nightclubs.

Older girls always sat on top of the monkey bars, forming a tree house of sorts where they surveyed the playground and gossiped.

My days of simply doing pull-ups and hanging from the structure seemed numbered; if I wanted to grow up, I needed to learn how they climbed up through the bars to bask in all their glory.

I studied the Monkey Bar Queens’ techniques for weeks, noting how they positioned the palms of their hands and the moments when they paused to get their balance.

One day after school, when I didn’t have to be rushed back to class, I decided I was ready.

I swung to the spot I desired, pulled my legs up, and thrust my feet through the horizontal ladder to give myself leverage to pull the rest of my body through the opening.

My fingers tightly gripped the cross-section of the bars as I adjusted into a sitting position.

I was pretty much a professional gymnast.

All my hard work paid off, and I swiftly reached my goal on my first attempt.

It felt great, and I couldn’t wait to show everybody the next day at recess.

Time to get down.

Down?

Uh-oh. I hadn’t studied that part.

My entire focus was on reaching the upper-level of the monkey bars; I didn’t realize I’d still have more to learn.

I considered reversing the steps I took to get up there, but all I could think about was falling flat on my face.

I froze.

The gates would close, the sun would set, and I’d stay on the playground all alone overnight.

Just as I got comfortable with the worst-case scenario and accepted my fate, a friend walked by.

“Hey, Mike …”

“Yeah, Stef?”

“I climbed up here and don’t know how to get down. My mom’s waiting for me in her car, and I bet she’s wondering where I am. Can you go get her for me?”

Mike, The Saint, obliged.

Once my mother was there, my panic faded, and I began to see a way down.

I knew exactly what I needed to do, but I was too mentally and physically exhausted at that point to attempt The Descent.

A Big & Tall after-school playground attendant was called over to lift me up and carry me down.

My journey to monkey-bar maturity turned into a humiliation that made me feel more childish than I had in a long time.

When you get to your destination, there’s always another obstacle.

Do you know how to get down from the monkey bars?

Stefanie Flaxman is the creator of @RevisionFairy and author of a new book about heartbreak.

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The man in front of me in line at Starbucks pointed to the rose tattoos on my upper arms.

Before I had a chance to answer, he continued.

“That’s cool. I like pain, too. That’s why I got married.” Smirk.

The lack of caffeine in my bloodstream made it difficult to reply.

“Ahh, uh huh,” I giggled.

He wanted to chat, but since I’ve had the “I want to get tattoos, too” conversation countless times with his faceless counterparts, I wasn’t interested.

A stranger is not the best person to advise you about a permanent marking on your skin.

Besides, I already got what I needed: I like pain, too. That’s why I got married???

“Have a good day!” I affirmed, trying not to be rude, as I hurriedly stuck a straw in my green tea latte and went on my way.

We’re programmed to think in terms of: pain = bad, no pain = good.

We want to avoid physical pain but don’t take the same precautions with emotional pain.

The Coffee Patron made an astute connection between our choices that produce physical and emotional pain.

Why would you put yourself through physical pain to create designs on your body?

That’s ridiculous.

Similarly, why would you put yourself through emotional pain for the sake of a permanent relationship in your life?

It is implied that we might want to avoid getting a tattoo because it hurts, but we don’t prevent broken heart pain when we have the chance.

No one ever points to a group of friends and asks, “Did that hurt?” even though most frustrations in life arise from our relationships with others.

We’re intrigued by a conscious decision to receive physical pain—so we inquire why someone would want to put themselves through “that”—but people don’t go to therapists to talk about the recurring pain from a tattoo.

They do, however, go to therapists to talk about getting over heartbreak from months, years, and sometimes decades of emotional pain caused by relationships.

While the physical pain from a tattoo is temporary, emotional pain lasts.

But I digress; my heartbreak book is not about relationships.

Can we avoid emotional pain the way we think we can avoid physical pain by not getting a tattoo?

All suffering occurs in our own minds when we focus on what we have, don’t have, never have had, or never will have.

There are other things you can focus on.

Stefanie Flaxman is the creator of @RevisionFairy and author of a new book about heartbreak.

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Ouch

You quickly pull back the finger that accidentally brushed against the pan on your stove set to medium heat, shaking your hand to relieve the stinging sensation.

Pain from a hot burner makes us rethink our actions and creates an awareness of our surroundings.

We proceed more cautiously because we don’t want to burn our hands again.

With pain from heartbreak, we don’t assume the same responsibility.

We don’t define a broken heart properly and note that the pain is a signal for us to remove ourselves.

Instead of taking extra care to avoid repeating the mistake, we revisit the pain.

Getting over heartbreak isn’t our goal. We want to fix the broken heart.

We want to touch the hot stove without consequences.

We have confidence in our manipulative abilities and lack confidence in our abilities to go in the opposite direction.

The hot stove is the object we desire, and we have to face the unknown if we decide to give it up.

Facing the unknown can cause an equal amount of pain, so we attempt to mend the existing pain from the hot stove rather than deal with the heartbreak that accompanies the unknown.

We fail to acknowledge that the growing pain of the unknown helps evolve our identities.

Lingering around the heat sets us up for more broken heart pain.

We persist when we should walk away.

But you can’t manipulate flames without getting scalded.

To overcome heartbreak, you have to see the existing pain clearly.

Let it hurt you.

And know not to settle for it.

Stefanie Flaxman is the creator of @RevisionFairy and author of a new book about heartbreak.

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It’s a painful feeling that’s often irrational.

You can’t calm down.

You don’t want to calm down.

Define what you’re going through?

Go to hell.

It’s awful and terrible, and that’s that.

Heartbreak affects The Sensitive and The Stoic even though each case may have distinct appearances.

Your initial emotional reaction to heartbreak is understandably out of control because the loss you’re experiencing is not intellectual.

A feeling you wanted to keep is now not a part of your reality or you know it can’t be a part of your reality anymore, no matter how much you wanted to hold onto it.

The present is fuzzy and unreal—a shaky foundation for the future.

You don’t know what’s going to happen next. There is no Next.

The thought of getting over your heartbreak is laughable.

However, if you know you’re heartbroken, you have an advantage.

You can define a broken heart by simply submitting to the black hole of heartbreak.

Awareness of your hopeless feelings gives you direction; it gives you a starting place.

When you’re heartbroken but you fail to acknowledge the state or carry on as if you’re not devastated by your current reality, you’re vulnerable.

Your broken heart causes you to make choices that shape your identity (often in self-destructive ways).

But you think you’re fine. Or fine enough. Everyone’s miserable and pretending to be okay, right?

Your heartbreak cure is to remain the same despite your confusion and disappointment.

Business as usual. You’ll just behave like everyone else.

That’s good enough. That’s how to overcome heartbreak. Act like it doesn’t exist. It doesn’t affect you. You’re not like that. You don’t care.

You’re not the same person you were before heartbreak and you must proceed accordingly.

How do you define a broken heart? Tweet about it.

Stefanie Flaxman is the creator of @RevisionFairy and author of a new book about heartbreak.

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But those people want to make you feel better, so they’re not going to tell you the truth.

The truth hurts.

Lies may comfort you and provide temporary relief as your spinning head tries to pick up the pieces of your broken heart.

They serve as makeshift hope that prevents you from completely shutting down.

Will they give you long-term satisfaction?

Here are seven soothing sentiments, but irrelevant lies your close companions will tell you about how to overcome heartbreak.

1. It will be okay.

It won’t be okay. You’ll be a different person.

2. Time will help.

You don’t need time if you immediately recognize a change has occurred that you need to incorporate into your life. There’s no getting used to it. This is it. Rip off your denial like a band-aid and deal with the heartbreak presented to you.

3. You’ll find something better.

Positioning situations as “better” or “worse” makes you resent the past, and you need to appreciate the past in order to move forward. You’ll find something different and a better fit for who you are now. What you had (and lost) fit you at the time, but things have changed.

4. You can’t give up.

Give up. You can’t recreate what you had and don’t need a replica of the dynamic that worked for you at a certain time. Something new will appear even if you give up.

5. You’re only remembering the good things.

Remembering “good things” causes pain because you think they’re not part of your present circumstance. No magical heartbreak cure will make you view memories clearly.

6. You won’t make the same mistakes again.

Yes, you will. Because we always prefer fantasies over realities. The fantasy of what could be is so much more pleasant than reality, so we ignore it.

7. It’ll make you stronger.

You won’t necessarily be stronger when you get over heartbreak. When you think you’re over it, you may not be at all. Although you’re not aware of the symptoms anymore, there may be habitual effects of heartbreak you don’t notice that shape your identity in detrimental ways.

What lies do you hear about getting over heartbreak? Tweet about it.

Stefanie Flaxman is the creator of @RevisionFairy and author of a new book about heartbreak.

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The following example depicts a similar case to highlight Danto’s art philosophy argument.

The Creations of John and Kevin

John is in his fourth year of art school at the undergraduate level and still feels he has learned nothing about what makes a creation a work of art.

His drawings are drastically different from other students’ drawings in his classes, yet they are all treated as works of art during his class critiques. John’s drawings appear three-dimensional and resemble photographs, while many of his classmates do not approach art through realism, and instead produce, what John considers, very juvenile drawings. Nonetheless, these drawings are evaluated, put on display in school art shows, and considered art by everyone John comes in contact with, in the same fashion that his drawings are considered art.

One day, John gets fed up with producing art for a college that is going to consider anything he produces a work of art. He no longer wants to spend time using care and precision in his drawings to make them look like photographs. John decides that since his work will be treated as art regardless of what it looks like, he might as well not even physically produce the art himself.

To complete his work for the remainder of his time in art school, John designs a computer program that randomly generates “art.” The software produces colors and shapes that form a composition, and the only effort John puts into creating an artwork is pressing a “generate art” button. When John hears his classmates and professors try to analyze what the colors and shapes could represent in the first work that his software produces, he laughs to himself because he knows that no artistic intent went into the creation of the work. The composition took virtually no time to create and symbolizes nothing for John.

John’s classmate Kevin has a neurological condition called digit-color synaesthesia.

Synaesthesia, in general, is a condition that interconnects the senses, and in the specific case of digit-color synaesthesia, there is a sensory overlap between the auditory and visual senses. When Kevin hears words, he visually sees colors that correspond to each word. Though the colors that a digit-color synaesthetic individual sees upon hearing words may be different from another digit-color synaesthetic individual, within one synaesthetic individual, the colors that the individual sees upon hearing words are extremely consistent. This is due to the fact that each digit-color synaesthetic individual sees a color for each letter of the alphabet; therefore, the same color appears every time the letter is uttered or that letter is used in a word.

When Kevin is asked the color of an eight-letter name, he gives a detailed description of the color of each letter that makes up the name. For example, if a name begins with the letter “T,” “T” may be described as “red with a little bit of orange in it.” Each letter of the name is described to form the color description of the name.

The consistent aspect of synaesthesia is relevant here because no matter how much time has passed in between inquiries, for each color description that Kevin gives, when asked to give it again at any time in future, he will give the exact same description verbatim.

Since Kevin has had this condition his entire life, the colors that are associated with his family members’ names appear quite frequently for Kevin due to his common interactions with them and common discussions about them. These sensations are a very personal experience for Kevin, but he would like to try to show, physically, the colors that he sees in his mind. He also wants to make a family portrait, but instead of rendering his family members realistically, he decides to represent them by the colors that he sees when he hears their names.

Kevin creates his composition on his computer using different shapes to represent each family member. He colors in the shapes with detailed color transitions in the order that each color appears in his mind to depict how each color blends in with the next color that appears.

When Kevin finishes his creation on his computer, he prints it out, and it happens to be visually identical to the first work that John’s art-generating program produced. Are these identical creations both works of art?

If John’s frustrations are valid, then any object can be considered a work of art. We would not need to use the term “art” or the classification of something as “art,” if any type of creation could be viewed as “art.” Deeming something “art” would become obsolete, and the reference to something as an object, thing, or creation would suffice to describe a work in question.

I argue that if the term “art” is used to classify something, which it currently is, then there has to be some central properties or essence to the classification. Claiming that everything is “art,” or nothing is “art” does not further our concept of the genre that has been traditionally used to classify types of paintings, sculptures, photographs, etc. We need to find out the essence of artistic things.

To differentiate the two paintings, Danto places great importance on the artist’s explanations of what the works reveal:

How extraordinary, were one to hear these explanations, to discover the indiscernibility of the works. And at the level of visual discrimination, they cannot relevantly be told apart. They are constituted as different works through identifications that themselves are justified by an interpretation of their subjects … It is widely agreed that K’s is a success while J’s is a failure.

Danto uses K and J to refer to paintings that were created under similar circumstances as John’s creation, which can be equated to J, and Kevin’s creation, which can be equated to K. J was somewhat “randomly” produced, while K was composed with thoughtful preparation to serve a specific purpose. Danto argues that one needs to discover the circumstances of how a work was created to help determine if it is indeed a work of art.

As I have made explicit by now, my tattoo philosophy upholds a similar position. Situations such as the ones described above demonstrate that merely viewing a creation does not necessarily determine whether or not it is a work of art. For a view such as Danto’s and my own, the artist’s relationship to the work is a crucial factor in making an artistic discrimination.

But what if the artists are not always present to describe how the works were created when the physical creations J and K are displayed? How, then, would one be able to tell the difference?

In Languages of Art, Nelson Goodman has the same concern: “the information needed to determine what, if anything, is denoted by a picture is not always accessible.” This is possible, in the art form of tattooing, by talking to the artist-medium to find out whether the tattoo is an artistic success, according to my criteria.

If the tattooed individual does not verbally acknowledge his role in the creation of the tattoo, one can quickly determine the medium is not also the artist. If a tattooed individual is deceased, or not able to speak, we have as much limited knowledge about the intent of the tattoo as we do a painting that is separated from its creator.

— This is an excerpt from The Philosophical Functionality of the Tattoo: A Philosophy of Art. —

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Stefanie Flaxman is the creator of @RevisionFairy and author of a new book about heartbreak.

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What purpose does it serve to discuss tattoos as possible works of art?

Immanuel Kant discusses tattoos as a possible form of self-beautification in The Critique of Judgment. He writes:

We could add much to a building that would immediately please the eye, if and only if it was not to be a church. We could adorn a figure with all kinds of spirals and light but regular lines, as the New Zealanders do with their tattooing, if only it were not the figure of a human being.

It is Kant’s position that the Maori, who tattoo their faces, do not produce anything beautiful with tattooing because they disrupt the human’s inherent form. The tattoo designs, themselves, might be beautiful but not if they are manifested on a human being. The beauty of a human being, for Kant, depends on the human’s natural form. Adding a tattoo to a human being is an inorganic act and therefore not beautiful, he concludes.

Although Kant does not state that tattoos cannot be works of art because they are not beautiful, this evaluation of tattoos is only a superficial response to the presence of tattoos. Kant does not examine how the evaluation of tattooing as an art form may give rise to a more accurate assessment of what art is. A work of art is more than something aesthetically pleasing, though a work of art can also be beautiful. My view is similar to Danto’s position regarding aesthetics and art. Danto states:

that a work of art has a great many qualities, indeed a great many qualities of a different sort altogether than the qualities belonging to objects materially indiscernible from them but not themselves artworks. And some of these qualities may very well be aesthetic ones, or qualities one can experience aesthetically or find ‘worthy and valuable.’ But then in order to respond aesthetically to these, one must first know that the object is an artwork, and hence the distinction between what is art and what is not is presumed available before the difference in response to that difference in identity is possible.

My preliminary assessment is that the beauty of a tattoo is independent from whether or not it is art, and therefore the beauty of a tattoo is not a main factor when evaluating tattoos as potential works or art. With that said, however, I now wish to explore Kant’s view of beauty in regard to tattoos because it seems to be a position that some still hold today. I do not want someone to disregard my argument about what we can learn about art through tattoos because she is preoccupied with the notion that tattoos are “ugly,” “trashy,” or “stupid.” Tattoo philosophy differs from aesthetics.

Kant distinguishes between “dependent” and “free” beauty, as briefly described above. Free beauty is that of a flower. “Hardly any one but a botanist knows what sort of a thing a flower ought to be.” An object that possesses free beauty is independent from everything else. It has no purpose other than to be beautiful, and no external factors determine its beauty. There is no predetermined concept of what it needs to look like in order to be beautiful.

Kant does think, however, that some things possess a predetermined notion of what they need to look like in order to be beautiful. Humans possess this type of dependent beauty. It is Kant’s position that human beings need to be in their natural form in order to be considered beautiful; he considers tattoos on human beings not beautiful because they disrupt the natural human form. The subjective nature of Kant’ s notion of dependent beauty helps eliminate the idea of beauty from the realm of determining what art is.

Instead of Kant’s view that human beauty is “dependent” on its natural form, let’s suppose that each person’s external human beauty depends on the depiction of concepts through tattooing that are important to that person. Just as it is Kant’s assumption that external human beauty depends on its natural form, it is my assumption, for this example, that external human beauty depends on manifesting concepts that help shape an individual’s identity. My proposed notion of human beauty actually corresponds to the general factors of dependent beauty that Kant describes. Unlike an object of free beauty that’s purpose is fulfilled through its quality of beauty, an object of dependent beauty must serve a different function or purpose.

It is a matter of opinion what this purpose is. It is clear to see why Kant thinks tattoos disrupt human beauty, but that view presupposes that human beauty is indeed dependent on its natural form. I do not wish to claim that human beauty depends on the presence of tattoos, but throughout this essay I discard the notions that a human being’s body must remain in its natural form and a human body is superior if it is unaltered. My above treatment of the subjective nature of Kant’s view of dependent beauty served to illustrate that sentiment.

In The Critique of Judgment, Kant also writes, “If we wish to explain what a purpose is according to its transcendental determinations, the purpose is the object of a concept, in so far as the concept is regarded as the cause of the object; and the causality of a concept in respect of its Object is its purposiveness.” In non-abstract terms, for example, a record player was created so that one could listen to music without any live music actually playing. Kant explains that the existence of an object depends on a purpose that it must serve. This purpose is based on a concept. The concept of listening to music when live music is not actually playing is the purpose that led to the creation of the physical object, the record player.

Kant establishes this idea of purpose or function prior to proposing his ideas about free and dependent beauty. The idea of purpose helps support Kant’s view that an object of free beauty needs no other function because its function is beauty, whereas an object of dependent beauty needs to serve the function of that certain object. Once again, Kant subjectively assumes what this function is and even states “there can be no objective rule of taste which shall determine by means of concepts what is beautiful.” Because Kant’s personal taste does not directly stifle my argument, I will not cover it any further.

Kant’s idea of objects serving functions of beauty is similar to my thesis that tattoos can, in some circumstances, serve artistic functions. Tattoo art helps show the importance of the artistic concepts behind physical objects of art, whether the creations are tattoos or paintings. H.W. Cassirer explains Kant’s notion that “the concept has brought the object into being. The object is a mere effect, which owes its existence to its purpose. The object would not exist at all, or at least it would not have the same form as it has, but for the concept which is to be regarded as its real ground.”

It is my position that tattoo art concepts demonstrate that human skin is the most appropriate medium for some artistic concepts, and tattoo art, in general, shows the function that physical objects of art can serve. Art allows for concepts to exist “in concreto,” as Roman Ingarden proposes in Ontology of the Work of Art. These concepts have no tangible existence without physical objects of art.

— This is an excerpt from The Philosophical Functionality of the Tattoo: A Philosophy of Art. —

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Stefanie Flaxman is the creator of @RevisionFairy and author of a new book about heartbreak.

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I get it.

Individual tattoo philosophy stories are not necessarily interesting, but tattoo creation narratives contribute to the general ontology of Art.

If tattoos are used as a form of artistic expression, why does someone choose skin for their creations rather than another material or medium?

Why is skin the most appropriate canvas for an idea?

Can a tattoo sometimes be art and sometimes just a marking?

How do you distinguish which is the case?

If That Girl is foolish for getting a tattoo while inebriated, does it follow that a person can never create artwork while intoxicated?

Is That Girl potentially an artist? Why, or why not?

Do tattoos evolve over time in ways that other potential art forms don’t?

Are tattoos misinterpreted more or less than other types of potential artwork?

When inspecting a tattoo, the viewer is potentially in the presence of the artist.

How does this relationship differ from other visual art forms?

What can one learn about art through a medium who can talk?

Click here to download The Philosophical Functionality of the Tattoo: A Philosophy of Art for FREE.

Stefanie Flaxman is the creator of @RevisionFairy and author of a new book about heartbreak.

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