Prophesy # 2

You will always miss the connection you had. 
You will see it in the special food / beverages you shared
You will see it in the movies
You will hear it in the music selling you things as you walk around the store. 
You will continue to get subtle reminders of the essence that you have grown to love,  unique to only one thing
You will remember that you asked it to leave. 
You will remember and question how you could ever not be attracted to it. 
Your longing for the past will never cease.  You will continue to lie to yourself and others
You will not see any of yourself in this Prophesy
You will see all of yourself in this
Your temper will always be an issue. 
When you get angry,  you will try to hurt the ones around you. 
As you read this,  your anger will still be pounding in your head even though this piece has absolutely nothing to do with you. 

Prophesy #1

You're biggest fear of being boring and unimportant will be chasing you the rest of your life. 
You will continue to place your entire self esteem on your physical appearance,  until enough time has passed and you can no longer hide from how ugly you truly are. 
You will continue to consume and attempt to purchase your ease of mind. 
Gifts for those who support your perspective on yourself that you wish was true. 
Balding from the genetic stress and joints arthritic with resentment,  and bitter lines tell the story of years of denial and delusions of grandeur unrealized. 
This words will hibernate through the years of celebration.
Pretending to like alcohol to appear more interesting and fun until the day comes where you are not able to hide behind the loud music,  dim lights,  and youthful lusts connecting with people. 

You will quote popular spiritual sayings that are trending at the time to elevate your self perception of pretend internal growth. 
"I'm really trying to learn how to love myself and put myself first " or" I'm learning how to be comfortable on my own "
" I'm really trying to face my fears "
As these words begin to fulfill themselves your sense of guilt and regret will drive you to a form of charitable penance where you no longer search for praise on your faded physical beauty,  but instead look for artificial confirmation on morally impossible emotions like compassion,  empathy,  selflessness,  or humility. 
Your fears of being alone will haunt your empty halls of unimportant buildings. 
You won't be able to escape the memories of the love that was rejected. 

The next 30 years will be spent doing one of following : trying to relive the good past memories.  2. Running from whatever the perception of unpleasantness that you might be feeling in the current moments.  3. Waiting for a future idealized moment that will never come. 

You are so vain,  you will:
first be angry that you feel like this is written about you.
2. Your ego will kick in and say" that's not me. 
3. This Prophesy doesn't know anything

The only love you will be able to give is the type that is purchased and then gone later. 
You will hold onto your possessions and gather more to you as you feel more and more lonely and unlovable. 
When there is no one else who wants to buy your love,  where will you be??
You will hide in your mindless entertainment designed to sell you more unhappiness to fill your sense of guilt and identity. 
You will always be late. 
You will have days when you won't get out of bed because you are so empty. 
If you have children,   you will spoil them with a life of unreal expectations,  Consumerism,  entitlement,  and emptiness.

Watching ants

As I watch the ants busy on their way somewhere important I think on a thought of how I once believed in soul mates. 
Sesame lays next to me only long enough until a squirrel decides to venture onto the leafy ground and she is gone. 
She is now sitting,  No laying a few feet in front of me in the sun.  The huge cow leg bone the noodle shop gave me is next to her,  as though in defense from the squirrels. 
I don't know if I believe in soul mates anymore.
  The sun feels warm on my skin.
Her black furr radiates some heat .
It's a good feeling of reassurance when someone is trying to hurt you with their words,  but they don't know you well enough to actually say anything that can hurt you. 
They try to lash out to protect something that the believe everyone else is blind to. 
The squirrel's nest above my head has been used by generations over the years.
Hours of sitting around,  looking at these trees. 

Bodies

Before our bodies were shamed by clothes, 
before our minds were dulled by language
We sat laughing in bubble baths

Waiting

The silence of waiting,  waiting
for the clay to dry out a little more
Waiting for messages and images to work their way out of wrinkles around our eyes and lengthen our noses
As we lay awake lying to ourselves about the stories that brought us to this moment
The one that we give credit to everyone else for creating for us. 
Broken eyes and teeth cut our fingers deep. 
Blank stares reflecting when eyes were more than just seeing, but actually being used for a purpose. 
Even a piss pot of exquisite terribleness is still more fulfilled than the ghosts of vessels broken looking out blankly as they stick out as empty decorative tradition that no one cares for. 
The many different faces throughout my life that move across the clay surface until they are eventually frozen solid in dry clay. 

She

She does not have a word for most of what frightens her. 
She is afraid of the late night city revving it's fuel injected muscles
She is afraid of the load echoing surprises of the great outside unknown
she is afraid of being left on the outside. 
She is afraid to be alone
She can not see so well. 
At night she wants to curl up next to the ones she loves
she is afraid of the ghosts  that haunt her past buildings and of the meetings yet to happen. 
She is afraid of the birds that hop slowly between the tires of the cars of the people grocery shopping
It makes her uncomfortable and is she is afraid to let people get to close

Fire flies

I feel like all day like I'm catching creative fire flies.  At the end of day I get to relax,  stop chasing them,  and watch all the beautiful ideas I'll never have time to bring to life flash in front of my eyes until I fall asleep.  Lol..  As I write this :-D

The creative muse.

Her face and name is always in the shadows of the individual interactions that cross my path. 

The thrill of the beauty in the softness of Shadows that is her appeal. 

She flirts and tempts me most during the night hours where she can comfortably expose more of herself. 

Like a young teen who has just discovered their first sleepless dial up nights wide awake fervently jacking it.

Wandering into class in an ecstatic foggy haze where even your breath seams to buzz with the feeling of being too alive. 

In those Ohh too short of nights might have been when I first felt her power.
Her ability to leave you feeling so empty and spent. 

The uncertainty that she will make an appearance next time I need her makes me feel like a desperate jealous lover that can't get enough of it.
The perfect website that you had spent all night desperately hoping existed, 
only to see the early morning light coloring the polluted morning clouds brilliantly. 
The birds sounding their alarm that daylight was coming and the muse had to return where no one could see her.

Kiln thoughts

Smashing knuckles against the sharp gritty walls of the tomb as the chisel misses it's mark and slides wide.  The weight of the mallet only stops when the knuckles come to a dragging stop on the shattered rocky surface. 
My muse of misery that is apart of so much of my waking hour thoughts.  She grows stronger as I grow weaker.  I'm a slave to the miracles of beauty that she creates. 
She is mocking,  cold,  and terribly cutting.  There is no choice of anything better.  Addicted to creating at all costs,  regardless of the cost. 
Although related, I believe that the the muse is not you. 
There can be long periods of complete silence from the muse and regardless of how I try to tempt her,  I only find that I know nothing about her.
Maybe it's her cruel unpredictable nature that is so appealing.  The thrill of the unknown is intoxicating

More rotation

What do you see?

Rotating

What do you see?

Rotating

What do you see hidden?

A walk through grandma kates yard

Barefoot bricks between lines of 

 and prickly pine needles sticking to toes 

as we wonder around watering the different plants. 

I her the story of a 16 year old smoking 

Marlboro lights that I brought from Taiwan

 at 2 in the morning about 14 years ago.   

Chasing drag after drag 

with glass after glass of whole fat milk, 

 away from jetlag,  away from America, away from Taiwan.  

This moment removed from everyone 

everything trapped in time. 

We clean leaves out of the cold  fountain 

where I grew up playing endless  gi Joe stories 

I remember my first plastic blue boat 

that I waited a childhoods eternity to play in this fountain.  

The two tiers of rocks,  mountains,  lagoons, and  miniature Trees

  actually twigs and sticks.
all these were waiting for my promise as an early teenager who was no longer allowed to play with toys because of the stigma he attached to it, 
to return some day with my own children.  And let them climb and sit in the water like he did as a toddler. 
And to finally finish the unplayed stories that are waiting to happen in the water. 

We return inside and chuckle again at the story of sesame perched in the Window sill wondering why she was being forced to pretend to be a goat to get our attention
Conversations between trips outside carried on over the wooden table that replaced the one where young bickering love grew into long dialogues of alternative perspectives.  Where silence was treasured as much as the mysteries of the universe that they were trying to uncover. 

Out front:
I question what the little white flower bush is that smells so great "I don't know.  I knew at one time,  but I forget now."

The picnic

Thinking back to Green grass silhouette
Panting puppy punished for defiantly chasing squirrels. 
Waiting in the shadowed woods on mossy picknick tables. 
The stash of empty beer cans is found after retrieving the retriever. 
The owners return shirtless,  happy,  and ready to return to their regular week of poverty and depression. 
You on your computer or with your books sitting next to me and you couldn't be any further away. 

The kiln of waiting

The kiln of waiting. 
Without love,  wandering around the endless chores of dusty lungs and braking bones and ground down skin,  and burning flesh.
The purgatory time of waiting and thinking of lost love. 
There is comfort in repeating what has been done a million times by finger ghosts of my ancestors. 
Invited in by the succubus weed to flirt with you down memory lane.  Forgotten beauties that sworn not to be forgotten: the repetitious line
And I dive down into the sticky thick mire of clay and memories,  stuck.... 

And he remembers me from a far with a dramatic "hey,  Sam! How's it going?" like I were being greeted upon my arrival into heaven for the first time.  I see my bowl... " you got old" 
Age and death taking their tax each year until we arrive here.  Where we started.  10 years later in the exact same position,  doing the exact same thing.  Something I swore I would never do. 
This repeating vortex of repeating events that steals a little off of your soul with every pass. 
One moment at a time.  One step in front of each other. 
Driving the same direction,  in the same way we did the same way 10 years ago.  Tired and dirty and ready to explode into something great. 
The tax this year has been great.  There is now less of the substance remaining to explode. 
As I remember the past pleasantness and anxiousness ,  I breathe in deep the thickness of stasis slumbering
There are certain interactions that are inevitable.  And while this memory was a moment of heaven,  the moment of hell will come.  Or maybe it's already been paid. 
The ghost of the cup climbed onto my wrist as I brought my memories into the light.  I flung it away as reflexive fear flung the memory.  Smashing it's essence into shards.  The 8 legged homeless nomad went on its way to another home. 

And every story has always led to,  started from,  or ended with you .  Our beginning and ending will always be my life story.  From the moment when I first saw you,  to the last moment that I will ever see you.  This is my story.  I chose this story. 

Stuck in an eye

Who am eye?
And why am eye here?
Stuck in an I,  eye wait in silence,   shouting between the marks that cover emptiness. 
Eye see you everywhere and in everything. 
Do you see my face everywhere as well?

Tea for two

Where will my dreams lead me?
Cartoon kisses distract my hurting heart. 
2 pieces of clay made from one source,  one set of hands,  one burning fire,  and now set to the task of waiting to be set on a table. 

Packed away,  sleeping cups wait,
What awaits us when we sleep?

Dreaming of you

We sleep to remember the dreams that inspired our passion for life. 
The lines that draw a map of mountains to conquer and moments on pinnacles to share. 
Together are dreams wrapped each other into our souls that we share as one. 
The peace in reaching a summit of familiarity shared from a moment before we were born.
The beauty of sharing uncertainty certain in the surprises that make each day worth waking for. 

Exploring

Take my hand and trust the paths that lead us here. 
Hearing your panting,  It doesn't matter what I'm looking at,  holding your hand makes it the most interesting. 
We find and make our adventures in every area we walk together. 
As we quietly struggle to the destination I look past the dirt and sweat and see beautiful determination. 
One more corner,  one more bend in the path,  one more ridge,  up further and deeper in. 

Little kids creating

I love the way kids create things on paper.  It's hugely inspiring.  I want to learn to create with the immediacy that they do.  There is more to a face than the lines that make it.  It's all the little stories and tiny details throughout life that create us and change us.  This is a collaboration between little children's hands and my own. 

I love you

I want to hold your hand
I want to kiss you
I want to play games with you
I want to continue to have adventures with you. 
I'm sorry I'm grumpy.
I love you.