Prophesy # 3

Nothing you do will ever matter
No one will remember you
You will never aquire enough
You will always hide who you really are
You will always keep running.
You will never be able to purchase enough to fill the emptiness inside
You will only appreciate the good times once they are sitting uselessly in the past. 
You will continue to purposely hurt yourself. 
You will draw negativity to you. 
Your entire life will be full of regrets
Your egotistical pride will think this is written about you.
Your egotistical pride will think this is not about 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.

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

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

When to stop

I think it's a wonderful moment when someone else helps decide that a picture is finished.  It's also interesting to see what they feel it is worth.  Often I feel that placing a monetary amount on an act of creative inspiration diminishes the product that this act inspired.  There are lots of words I could use to describe what was happening when I made these pieces, but now they have a new owner,  and what those owners decide to say about the pictures is more important than anything I could say