Thursday, April 05, 2007
Tomorrow morning, I will be laid out, locally anesthetized, and punctured with a needle. I have no problem with needles. I actually like needles especially when they are being used to deliver anesthesia of any flavor, local or otherwise.
The target of the aforementioned needle is my spine and I couldn’t be more thrilled about it. My back has been jacked up for maybe three months now and I’ve just about had enough of this shit. An MRI has confirmed that my skeleton is no longer performing the function for which it was intended, vertebras are degenerating and disks are “bulging.” I found a guy who says he can put me back in the saddle by poking a needle into my spine and injecting “something” into it. I’ll find out what that “something” is tomorrow.
I don’t really care what that mysterious “something” is, whether it be hammered goat testicles or motor oil, it just doesn’t matter at this point. I haven’t set foot in my pottery studio for months, my precious Les Paul is gathering dust and my biblical directives have been terribly neglected. What biblical directives you ask? Consult Deuteronomy, or maybe Leviticus, I can’t remember where it is but it goes something like this, “Go in unto thy brother’s wife and marry her, and raise up seed to thy brother,” sorry, that’s not the one. I’m working by memory here but I’m pretty sure Gawd wants me to “know” my wife and “lay” with her or maybe it’s “on” her. The Laured and I don’t agree about…anything really, but I can get behind him on this point. Actually, I couldn’t care less what some jealous and wrathful deity thinks of my personal life, I just like saying “Gawd” and “Laured” almost as much as I like putting words in “quotations.” Bottom line, my back’s been giving me fits and I’m ready for that sweet, sweet needle.
Regarding my duties to wife, work and art, it is my potter’s wheel that has suffered the most neglect. My current state of physical torpor renders any thought of clayworking completely out of the question. So, as a memorial to the hunks of clay that are languishing in their plastic bags, I’m posting the results of my last Raku pottery firing extravaganza three long months ago.
I call this one "Urn." Seriously, I don't know where I come up with these names. Sometimes the pottery tries to name itself, stuff like "Despoiled Terra" or some other such lame self-indulgent nomenclature.
I call this one "Hopes and Dreams." Just kidding, I call this one "Urn." I prefer consistency.
I call this one "Urn," because to me, it just says "Urn."