I haven’t been sleeping very well---spent last night awake, tossing and turning all night long. I was so fucking delirious I thought for a moment I saw a ghost outside the trailer. It was a figure of a man lurking behind a tree. I made it out in the faint moonlight. The figure was sort of there one moment and then it just disappeared. Then there was that glowing thing in the trees that came and went in an instant . Maybe it was a barn owl. Maybe it was natural phenomena, who the fuck knows. Caused by gases coming off Purgatory swamp---will-o-the-wisp. The dog wasn‘t happy with me at the window half the night. He was fucking yapping every time the creepy feeling came back and I opened the curtain once more to look outside. Make sure everything was OK but find no reassurance at all.
I saw a ghost-light once years ago. Jack-o-lantern they call them. It was when I was all beaten down with chemo treatments, so who knows if that had something to do with it. I know my mind wasn’t right then. Maybe it was all a hallucination. You see a ball of light come out of a swamp like that and float around, you’re left wondering whether you’ve lost your mind. But they say these things are seen coming out of swamps all around the world--- that it’s a natural phenomena caused by some kind of ignition of flammable gases from rotting material. The burning gas appears like a floating orb of light. There’s been accounts of these orbs following people around, but they say that phenomena might have scientific explanations also. Could be static electricity caused by tension between plates within the Earth.
In Ireland, the will-o-the-wisp is attributed to Jack the Drunk, who made a deal to sell his soul to the Devil in order to pay his pub tab. But then old Jack was caught trying to trick the Devil and was left to wander the Earth for all eternity carrying an ember from the fires of Hell with him inside a hollowed-out turnip. That’s where the Jack-o-lantern came from. It’s been said my Irish ancestor, Barney Noonan saw the will-o-the-wisp come off Purgatory Swamp too when he lived here in the 1800’s. My father always believed this place was haunted by Barney Noonan, that he wanders the night looking for his lost Hamiltonian trotting horse---the one he claimed was stolen from him by the Confederates during the Civil War.
Some cultures believe will-o-the-wisp appear over the locations where there’s buried treasure. If that’s the case, maybe there’s more of that treasure down there yet from old Claudius Smith.
I don’t understand that Percy. He wants to debunk my father’s dowsing abilities, but when I told him about the hallucination of the Indian I had back when I was sick, he said it must have been a vision quest---an effort by an Indian spirit to communicate with me and guide me. He’s got all kinds of strange New Age notions in his mind. I should be the one debunking that asshole. Instead he’s got it switched around for once. I’m the biggest skeptic in the world when it comes to all this paranormal stuff, that’s why it’s so weird for me that I would react so defensively to Percy’s theory that Dowser Boy was all a scam. In some ways I can follow along with what Percy’s suggesting perfectly. That is, until it gets down to the matter of it going against what my father believed about himself. Then it hurts for some reason. He was such a bitter, rotten man. I guess when I thought of him as once being a child with special abilities, it somehow took away some of the harshness I felt about him.
I better find a lock to put on the tool shed out back.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
02/20/01
After Phebe got back from God Knows Where to relieve me and Percy with the baby, I had to catch a ride back to Percy’s house to get my truck. During the ride Percy brought up the old story my father told of finding Claudius Smith’s stash of stolen silver on the farm when he was a boy.
I don’t know, it was like Percy was purposely looking to stir some shit up with me:
You do realize the likelihood of that story being true is pretty low, Percy says.
What do you mean? I say defensively, That’s what Dad told me happened: He found a chest of silver. . .buried by Claudius Smith.
It pains me to tell you this, Percy goes on, but I think ‘Dowser Boy’ was some kind of scam your grandfather concocted.
What the. . . where the Hell would you get that! I protest.
I think your Dad believed he had special powers to discover treasure because he was exploited. I think he was made to believe what he did to carry out the scam convincingly. And the adults who were handling him never let him in on the reality of the scam.
You’re crazy! I holler.
Maybe the silver your father supposedly found was stuff that was stolen by your grandfather’s friends. Maybe it was something Dutch Schultz cooked up. It’s planted on the farm, your father is led to it. He discovers it. ‘Wow! This must be Claudius Smith’s treasure!’. Your father develops some ego over the accomplishment. He comports himself with confidence now. That’s the key to selling the whole thing: getting a child to appear confident in his abilities. People say, ‘you see that little kid out there strutting around like a peacock with that forked stick. That boy is really gifted. Can’t never be a scam!’ Next thing you know you have ‘Dowser Boy’ traveling around the countryside during dry summers charging $50 a pop to site new wells.
You’re crazy! I holler again. You know, you’re really nuts, Percy! You’re really just a fucking nut!
I don’t know, it was like Percy was purposely looking to stir some shit up with me:
You do realize the likelihood of that story being true is pretty low, Percy says.
What do you mean? I say defensively, That’s what Dad told me happened: He found a chest of silver. . .buried by Claudius Smith.
It pains me to tell you this, Percy goes on, but I think ‘Dowser Boy’ was some kind of scam your grandfather concocted.
What the. . . where the Hell would you get that! I protest.
I think your Dad believed he had special powers to discover treasure because he was exploited. I think he was made to believe what he did to carry out the scam convincingly. And the adults who were handling him never let him in on the reality of the scam.
You’re crazy! I holler.
Maybe the silver your father supposedly found was stuff that was stolen by your grandfather’s friends. Maybe it was something Dutch Schultz cooked up. It’s planted on the farm, your father is led to it. He discovers it. ‘Wow! This must be Claudius Smith’s treasure!’. Your father develops some ego over the accomplishment. He comports himself with confidence now. That’s the key to selling the whole thing: getting a child to appear confident in his abilities. People say, ‘you see that little kid out there strutting around like a peacock with that forked stick. That boy is really gifted. Can’t never be a scam!’ Next thing you know you have ‘Dowser Boy’ traveling around the countryside during dry summers charging $50 a pop to site new wells.
You’re crazy! I holler again. You know, you’re really nuts, Percy! You’re really just a fucking nut!
Monday, March 14, 2011
02/19/01
Couldn’t help thinking to myself as I went through Phebe’s underwear drawer looking for the money she told me about, might be the last time I ever get my mitts on her panties. . .almost considered taking one as a souvenir. . .sure wasn’t anticipating getting aroused like that. . .
Phebe keeps a nice home, that’s for sure. I sure felt a little envious being in a clean, toasty warm house for once with room to move around in. With all the work that’s been put into it over the years, I’d say the house is probably every bit as nice as when it was built in the Victorian times by our ancestor, Ronan Butler Noonan.
Found a lot of nice snacks in the fridge. . .
So I got in touch with Percy before I headed over to Newburgh just to see if maybe he was up for a ride. He said to come over and he would drive. Said it was better to have the baby ride in the back seat of his car than ramble around in my old pickup truck. Along the way Percy asked me again about what I thought about his novel--- the four pages I claimed to have read anyhow.
I said, you know so much about what happened around here in the Revolutionary War, Percy, I’d prefer to read a book from you about that, frankly.
So what you’re saying is my great strength is in non-fiction writing? He says.
Absolutely! I reply, not realizing what I’m encouraging, local history, man! That’s your forte right there! That’s your great strength, no doubt!
Well that’s really encouraging, he says because what I really want to devote myself to now is a non-fiction study. . .
That’s great! I say
. . .decoding Crypto-Judaism within the Huguenot settlement of the New Paltz patent. . .
Oh. . .well now, I stammer, Crypto-Judaism, you say. . .now I would think General Washington’s battle to maintain control of the Hudson might make a better read for some reason, Percy. . .quite honestly. . .
Percy got quiet on me after that. God forbid you ever give the guy some honest feedback. I think the guy spent the rest of the trip thinking up a way he could get under my skin. When we get to Lander Street, he starts chatting it up with Fauntleroy. Starts discussing Fauntleroy’s earlier career playing professional cricket in Jamaica. Meanwhile all the guy wants to do is get over to the hospital to see his stricken girlfriend
Maybe you’d like to join my mythopoetic men’s group, he asks Fauntleroy.
Yeah, yeah, maybe we can work on that, Mon, Fauntleroy says. Then Fauntleroy kills me---he presumes Percy must be a NASCAR fan for some reason--says, very sorry to hear the bad news at the racetrack, Mon.
Percy just pretended to know what Fauntleroy was referring to. Percy’s about as familiar with Dale Earnhardt as I am with mythopoetic mens groups. . .
The baby slept some in the car and stayed pretty content overall. That was good.
Damn cute kid that grandson of mine.
You weren’t gonna ask me to join your mythopoetic men’s group at some point, were you? I ask Percy at some point during the drive, trying to break the silence.
I figured you wouldn’t be interested, he says.
Fucker.
Phebe keeps a nice home, that’s for sure. I sure felt a little envious being in a clean, toasty warm house for once with room to move around in. With all the work that’s been put into it over the years, I’d say the house is probably every bit as nice as when it was built in the Victorian times by our ancestor, Ronan Butler Noonan.
Found a lot of nice snacks in the fridge. . .
So I got in touch with Percy before I headed over to Newburgh just to see if maybe he was up for a ride. He said to come over and he would drive. Said it was better to have the baby ride in the back seat of his car than ramble around in my old pickup truck. Along the way Percy asked me again about what I thought about his novel--- the four pages I claimed to have read anyhow.
I said, you know so much about what happened around here in the Revolutionary War, Percy, I’d prefer to read a book from you about that, frankly.
So what you’re saying is my great strength is in non-fiction writing? He says.
Absolutely! I reply, not realizing what I’m encouraging, local history, man! That’s your forte right there! That’s your great strength, no doubt!
Well that’s really encouraging, he says because what I really want to devote myself to now is a non-fiction study. . .
That’s great! I say
. . .decoding Crypto-Judaism within the Huguenot settlement of the New Paltz patent. . .
Oh. . .well now, I stammer, Crypto-Judaism, you say. . .now I would think General Washington’s battle to maintain control of the Hudson might make a better read for some reason, Percy. . .quite honestly. . .
Percy got quiet on me after that. God forbid you ever give the guy some honest feedback. I think the guy spent the rest of the trip thinking up a way he could get under my skin. When we get to Lander Street, he starts chatting it up with Fauntleroy. Starts discussing Fauntleroy’s earlier career playing professional cricket in Jamaica. Meanwhile all the guy wants to do is get over to the hospital to see his stricken girlfriend
Maybe you’d like to join my mythopoetic men’s group, he asks Fauntleroy.
Yeah, yeah, maybe we can work on that, Mon, Fauntleroy says. Then Fauntleroy kills me---he presumes Percy must be a NASCAR fan for some reason--says, very sorry to hear the bad news at the racetrack, Mon.
Percy just pretended to know what Fauntleroy was referring to. Percy’s about as familiar with Dale Earnhardt as I am with mythopoetic mens groups. . .
The baby slept some in the car and stayed pretty content overall. That was good.
Damn cute kid that grandson of mine.
You weren’t gonna ask me to join your mythopoetic men’s group at some point, were you? I ask Percy at some point during the drive, trying to break the silence.
I figured you wouldn’t be interested, he says.
Fucker.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
02/18/01
Phebe called me first thing this morning, asked me to go to Newburgh to pick up the baby from his grandmother’s house on Lander Street. She said the grandmother has been really sick lately with diabetes and went into the hospital last night after going into a coma. Phebe said Mookie’s mother has been running the streets again and is nowhere to be found. Baby’s been in the care of the step-grandfather---Fauntleroy---since yesterday. Fauntleroy is this old Jamaican dude, once was a big name years ago in professional cricket. Phebe said Fauntleroy is desperate to be relieved, not sure how much longer he could hold up caring for the baby. He’s got the baby’s grandmother to worry about too. She said I should bring Mookie back to the house--- not that God-forsaken trailer. Said she’ll relieve me when she gets back.
Why don’t you pick up the baby on your way home from work? I ask
Who says I have work today? She says all annoyed.
You home right now? I ask.
No, I’m not. She answers.
Well, where the hell are you? I ask.
That’s really none of your business, she says.
Well how the hell am I gonna get in the house? How am I gonna pay for gas and things might be needed for the baby?
Phebe gives me instructions where to find a house key. Tells me how to turn off the new security system. Says I can find a hundred dollars in her underwear drawer.
Well, where the hell are you? I have to ask again.
I’ll be back tonight to take over care of the baby, she says. That’s all you need to know. Get going and get that baby!
Yeah, what kind of monkey business that woman was up to, I’d sure like to know.
Why don’t you pick up the baby on your way home from work? I ask
Who says I have work today? She says all annoyed.
You home right now? I ask.
No, I’m not. She answers.
Well, where the hell are you? I ask.
That’s really none of your business, she says.
Well how the hell am I gonna get in the house? How am I gonna pay for gas and things might be needed for the baby?
Phebe gives me instructions where to find a house key. Tells me how to turn off the new security system. Says I can find a hundred dollars in her underwear drawer.
Well, where the hell are you? I have to ask again.
I’ll be back tonight to take over care of the baby, she says. That’s all you need to know. Get going and get that baby!
Yeah, what kind of monkey business that woman was up to, I’d sure like to know.
02/17/01
Well, you knew it was only a matter of time before George started bombing the shit out of someone. . .
I feel sorry for those Bruderhof folks from Ulster County I read about in today’s paper. Here they are over in Iraq on a mission of good will and the American bombs start reigning down all around them. What the hell did the Bruderhofs have to do with violating the no-fly zone?
I guess George feels he’s gotta enact vengeance against Saddam Hussein for trying to kill his Daddy that time in Kuwait. Why they never took that fucker Hussein out in ‘91 when they had him in their clutches is beyond me!
I’m kind of fond of those Bruderhof folks for some reason. Hate to see any of them bombed, really. They’re kind of like the closest thing to the Amish the Hudson Valley has to offer, and who could ever bring themselves to bomb an Amish person? The Bruderhofs are trying to buy a big tract of farmland right now out in the Town of Montgomery for one of their communes. Maybe they’ll start looking to dump a few million on a farm out my way and I’ll have a solution to all my problems. Or maybe the Hasidics from Kiryas Joel will decide to get into farming. All these NIMBY snobs around here would sure like that! I’m sure the NIMBY snobs are not too crazy about my obnoxious ass occupying the land either, but they know I was here first and there’s nothing they can do about me quite yet.
All the neighbors nervously want to know what I want to see become of the place. They talk up the land trust and conserving open space just like Phebe does. Yeah, like any of them would hand over the entirety of their fucking wealth for my benefit. They ate up all the best farms with their big ass houses, and now that I want to do just the same as every farmer before and let more land go to McMansions, they try to shame you and make you think you’re doing something wrong. Somehow you’re the asshole who’s ruined the countryside, not them.
I feel sorry for those Bruderhof folks from Ulster County I read about in today’s paper. Here they are over in Iraq on a mission of good will and the American bombs start reigning down all around them. What the hell did the Bruderhofs have to do with violating the no-fly zone?
I guess George feels he’s gotta enact vengeance against Saddam Hussein for trying to kill his Daddy that time in Kuwait. Why they never took that fucker Hussein out in ‘91 when they had him in their clutches is beyond me!
I’m kind of fond of those Bruderhof folks for some reason. Hate to see any of them bombed, really. They’re kind of like the closest thing to the Amish the Hudson Valley has to offer, and who could ever bring themselves to bomb an Amish person? The Bruderhofs are trying to buy a big tract of farmland right now out in the Town of Montgomery for one of their communes. Maybe they’ll start looking to dump a few million on a farm out my way and I’ll have a solution to all my problems. Or maybe the Hasidics from Kiryas Joel will decide to get into farming. All these NIMBY snobs around here would sure like that! I’m sure the NIMBY snobs are not too crazy about my obnoxious ass occupying the land either, but they know I was here first and there’s nothing they can do about me quite yet.
All the neighbors nervously want to know what I want to see become of the place. They talk up the land trust and conserving open space just like Phebe does. Yeah, like any of them would hand over the entirety of their fucking wealth for my benefit. They ate up all the best farms with their big ass houses, and now that I want to do just the same as every farmer before and let more land go to McMansions, they try to shame you and make you think you’re doing something wrong. Somehow you’re the asshole who’s ruined the countryside, not them.
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