I was going over to pickup my antique windsor round eye glasses made in the 1920′s that I brought off of Ebay for a great price $85.00 US. They looked like they were never worn and in excellent ++ condition.
Anyway I was going over to the pick them up and parked the car. Got out and there was a watch on the ground. I picked it to check it out. It was a Baume et Mercier watch. Whatever that was I didn’t know. But it look pretty nice to me. I picked up my new glasses with my favorite purple lenses and then drove over to an upscale jewelry store in town. And I said I think it needs another link added and the clasp fixed so it will fit and I can wear it. I causally asked how much it was worth. Brook the women who was helping me said, well we sell this particular watch new for about $4,000 dollars. And how much to fix it? $250. I told her I’d found it laying on the ground – she said I found a great Christmas present. So chance and luck comes and goes. – John
An excerpt from: “The Bogeyman of the Sandpits” by John Poole December 2000
The bogeyman is seven feet tall with black incrusted shaggy hair and beard. Old blood and icicles hanging for it. Red ruby eyes see in the dark like an animal, his hands as big as baseball gloves. I looked back at the treeline, the sand pit a quarter mile away, beyond. He wears rabbit fur and remnants of little girls dresses and underpants with locks of their hair sewn in around this thick dirty neck. He steals from old farmer McGee. Raids the pumpkin fields. Eats from the cabbage crop. Sours the spring water with old blood and machine greased fingers, crushing twigs and leaf litter with garbage bagged boots. Sniffing the air. He smells cooking from houses where warm lights are on and families laugh at comedy shows or play board games around dining room tables. He hunts for that ribbon of sweet scent. The smell of freshly bathed little girls through the earthy stench of his nostrils. He’d eat boys too, I’m sure, if he were hungry enough, or maybe he’d just torture them and let their blood run out slowly, saving it for salt and pudding. If he follows you he will catch you. No exit, no escaping his gallop and his final grip, carrying away his catch under one arm, and smothering his wriggling prey with his other big greasy hand. Maybe he could be out there. I made it home safely.
My mother was cooking and my father was reading the paper. “Honey”, his father said speaking from behind the paper. “Did you know that the Robertson’s daughter has been missing for two days? It’s here in the paper. Aren’t they the neighbors down the street?” “Oh my”, she said. It send my heart into my throat. The bogeyman’s got her. Roasting her over the hot coals right now, or already eaten her. But maybe he’s saving her for Christmas dinner next week. Maybe he’s saving her for that.
Copyright 2000, 2009 John Poole All Rights Reserved
It’s no good. I’ve always said we don’t know the half of it. I will never know what I feel now. I can’t think whether to laugh with annoyance or relief. Is it what we make of life – or what it makes of us?
Though the sky is a deep bluish-black, the sun has caught the raindrops. A rainbow is lightly painted in watercolours up above. I’ve traced the whole spectrum in the past two days. I don’t know what to make of bipolarity, electrics, or undying love. If I appear thoughtless, I’m just dazzled.
doing just fine …they found out that my gall bladder isnt functioning right …sooo ….i am gonna have it removed ….weeeee ….this oughtta be fun …hope you have a good holiday season …thank you for everything …peace brother .
This is from Charles Goodloe. He is suffering from a spinal neck injury and now this. If you want to email him because he rarely reads the blog this is his email address:
Just wanted to let you know that we are on the top of the google list for bipolar artists and other combinations in pages as far as seven so far. I am adjusting the titled pages to get to the top or close enough that surfers will find us. We are doing better with every change. I think December is going to a slow month. But it will pick up. Google also has the blog listed. - John
I sit with my eyes closed everything is in slow motion like a goldfish in a bowl
I have been sleeping.
Now my spoken words make clouds which obscure the sliver of the moon. There are no lights and I know you cannot reach me. Even so, I tell you that no matter how hard I try, I cannot get my name to rhyme with life. I am sick of depression and marzipan – they both smother everything at this time. Really we are powerless and stuck here. It is cold and my thoughts freeze still.
P.S. I’m slowly trying to get back into the rhythm of writing. Truly stuck in heavy snow here. But the power did come back on this afternoon.
How does everyone reading this think and feel about Christmas and the Holiday season? Personally I gave it up years ago and my family is 2700 or 1200 miles away. Deborah’s family is in San Francisco. So we chill out. We go out and buy stuff that makes us happy. No gifts. Mail a few christmas cards. That’s it. How do ya’ll deal with it?
Sometimes, the legacy of depression includes a wisdom beyond one’s years, a depth of passion unexperienced by those who haven’t traveled to hell and back. Off the charts in its enlightening, comprehensive analysis of this pervasive yet misunderstood condition, The Noonday Demon forges a long, brambly path through the subject of depression–exposing all the discordant views and “answers” offered by science, philosophy, law, psychology, literature, art, and history. The result is a sprawling and thoroughly engrossing study, brilliantly synthesized by author Andrew Solomon.
Well it was good to have a break from being chained to the computer. I still don’t feel I’ve got any subconscious drawings or paintings welling up in me. So I’m going through my 10,000 photographs that might be of interest and contribute a different perspective. I think I have some things to write about so I’ll work on that also. I hope that all’s well with ya’ll. I felt like I fell off my horse. I’m in the saddle again.