Gluing on that Osama bin Laden beard on fright night pales beside the kind of, um, piercing body modification five Nashvillians undertook Halloween night.
As they have on special occasions for the last few years, a group of childhood friends and California transplants gathered to perform so-called suspension rituals last week at Quest body piercing and tattoo parlor on Lebanon Pike. Rather than masquerade as Cher or Attorney General John Ashcroft in search of Snickers bars, this group, led by 27-year-old Quest proprietors Jason Stampfly and Devin Peña, celebrated Allhallows Eve by embedding steel hooks half an inch or so into their skin, then hanging by the piercings. To promote business, they invited potential customers and voyeurs to come by for a show.
Suspensions often are tied to Sundance and O-Kee-Pa rituals (recall the latter from the 1970 Richard Harris film A Man Called Horse), but Jason and Devin aren't pursuing Native American spirituality. "I do this," Jason says, "to see how far I can take the pain, to try to push myself to another level beyond the mainstream of tattooing and piercing."
They have learned these limits to their pain—as well as many techniques—through trial and error. "When we started this, we didn't know how deep to embed the hooks," Jason says with a somewhat devilish grin. "We had some tears" (as in ripping, not weeping).
In truth, Jason has learned more about anatomy than one might imagine. A six-month apprenticeship with a more experienced piercer gave him a rudimentary understanding of skin and muscle. But that didn't stop him from having a little fun at his friends' expense before the Halloween show. "If that don't hold, man, I'm fucking sorry," he said with mock sympathy after installing two hooks in his buddy Rodney's back.
With Rodney ready to go, Jason wiped down his table with disinfectant, and Devin prepared himself to be baited on 12 hooks. First-timer Kyle was already outside, however, four feet off the ground and hanging by two hooks suspended from a chain stretched between light poles. He opted against stoicism, playing to the alarmed crowd by asking to be jostled. He even took a call on his mobile phone. Kyle said he felt a certain sense of "euphoria" after his suspension but admitted that his primary reason for participating was to help his friends deliver a good show.
Jason was one of the last to participate, suspending a flaming concrete block (helped along by a sock and a generous amount of lighter fluid) between himself and another piercing enthusiast and walking around the circle of viewers. Devin decided after all the necessary piercings (supposedly the most painful part of the procedure) that the show was a bit too distracting for him, and he wanted no part of it. Like anything else, apparently, piercing and suspension can become too commercialized.
The finale, a scarification ritual featuring six scalpel slashes to Kyle's chest, frightened away some of the thinner-skinned bystanders, but most of the 50-odd patrons seemed equal parts satisfied and horrified with the show. Whether Quest drummed up any new business remains to be seen, but any potential takers probably were impressed with how cleanly the flesh takes the piercings.
Devin and Jason hope to generate more interest in body modification, so they've got some bloody good deals going. Choose from several packages: one suspension for $200, two suspensions for $300 or a series of five for $500. Plus, at the end of five hangings you get to keep your hooks. "Sort of a memento," Jason says.
While they await masochistically minded clients to buy hook packages, they're planning their next offering: barbwire hammocks.
