looking for ghosts and goblins...

I was almost fourteen, it was early 1987. My mom and I had just moved outside of Chico California. I decided I didn’t want a bed in my room because it was tiny. Just a two bedroom cabin under a tall cliff with three crosses perched on it. I had lived there about three weeks, sleeping in the hammock I had installed above my desk and dresser. My older sister had gone to Mexico on a cruise with her husband and they left their Chow dog, “Teddy Bear” for me to take care of while they were gone. I decided I was going to sleep down on the ground with “Ted” since I was tired of my hammock and I didn’t wanna leave him alone on the floor.

I had just laid my sleeping bag and pillow out, at an angle with my feet towards my window and my head a couple feet from my bedroom door. as I wiggled my way down into my sleeping bag, I remember looking over my right shoulder at Teddy Bear, laying on the floor with his eyes blinking slowly. My room was low lit by my stereo. The power was on but no music was playing. I had just laid all the way down and pulled the cover up to my chin.

Not more than three minutes had passed when, as if someone was standing under my floor with a sixteen pound sledge hammer in hand, swung it and hit just under my feet. without a sound, but with the sudden thrust of a man swinging it with all his strength, my feet were slammed off the floor. My legs stayed straight, hinging at my waist they flew about eight inches or so off the floor... Now... It was so sudden and so unexpected, I didn’t really react. I only recall taking a quick breath in as I stared at the ceiling. Instantaneously, as I gasped air into my lungs, a sudden burst of power came from underneath my shoulder blades. It felt like someone was laying directly under me and shoved me out of rage. The whole top half of my body flew off the floor about five or six inches and, as I slammed back to the ground I couldn’t do anything but try to take in another breath. I remember looking at Ted as he laid there, eyes closed, peaceful and still. I pulled the sleeping bag over my head and prayed that God wouldn’t let the devil drag me into hell. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak, I could only pray. I didn’t cry, I think I was too scared to cry. I just laid there, head covered, and waited to be grabbed by whatever force had just shoved me off the ground twice in ten seconds. When I woke up the next morning, my reasonable mind began to think of all the logical reasons for the experience. The problem was there was no logical reason. I got up and went outside to look under my bedroom floor through the vent under my window. As I shined the flashlight through the rusty wire mesh, all I could see the was dirt ending about eight inches below the floor joists and sub flooring where my carpet laid on the other side. Impossible for the kris crossed boards to be moved, I... to this day.... can’t explain it. I lived there for three more years, never once having another experience. Not a single strange sound, nothing came up missing, or moved. I left that house with that one single mystery. To this day I can’t explain it. I grew up on Cemetery Hill in quincy and have a hand full of strange stories of doors slamming, weird sounds, faucets turning on, footsteps and phones ringing with no one on the other side... but nothing I can really explain. I believe whatever you perceive to be real is real to you. The problem is, sometimes our perception can be distorted and skewed. This leaves me just wondering. I wonder if it was real? I wonder if I remember things truly the way they happened? I wonder why kids seem to have more of these experiences than adults?

I have always been intrigued by "ghost stories" though I'm skeptical of real ghosts. Even though I have had a few happenings, and even the one I just told you, a physical, real experience... yet I am still skeptical.

I am looking for your stories. I don't want your opinion. I don't want your beliefs. I don't want an explanation. I want actual, real happenings, things that happened to you, not your friend, mom or anyone else you know. I am looking to compile real, first hand ghost stories. Please send your stories, unembellished to my email: Paintings@gogueart.com

If your story is real, and intriguing enough I will contact you for publishing rights to be used in a book of ghost stories and art.

Thank you for your time and consideration for this project. Please keep it real friends.

Jeff Gogue

as I see it...

AS I SEE IT WITH JEFF GOGUÉ



Is she born with it? Or is it Maybelline? Do you remember those commercials? The obviously beautiful woman, a professional model, in makeup applied by a professional makeup artist, with the wind blowing perfectly through her flawless hair. Are they still doing those? There is another thing I remember clearly: the first time I ever saw Stevie Ray Vaughn play the guitar. I had often heard his songs but never really thought much of them. Half-listening, I had heard his guitar playing in the background in lots of coffee shops and on random radio stations as I was driving. But one late night, I was flipping through the channels and came across his appearance at Austin City Limits on a public TV station. In all honesty, my jaw dropped as I watched this man with a grin on his face, his head tilted back and eyes closed, move his hands and fingers effortlessly over the frets and strings with such precision, speed and accuracy. I honestly questioned if he were really playing. To actually experience the complexity and hear the number of notes he was generating absolutely baffled me; the subtleties like his strumming high up on the neck to get one kind of sound or right up against the bridge to produce another, how he’d hammer-on the strings as they were being plucked or how he’d slyly turn the tone knob, the volume knob or pull up on the tremolo bar all while playing. And never once did he look down at his hands. The only word I could use to describe it was “effortless.”

Now, I actually can play the guitar and, I can assure you, it never has and never will come close to being “effortless.” Never! I don’t care how much talent you’re born with. But what is talent anyway? The best definition I could find is: “A special creative or artistic aptitude, or ability.” Aptitude is a capacity for learning, inclination or tendency. Personally, I think most people mistake “skill” for “talent.” Like I said, talent is a special capacity for learning. “Skill,” on the other hand, is the learned capacity to carry out predetermined results, often with the minimum outlay of time, energy or both. So do you need talent to attain a skill? Do people think I was born knowing how to draw? Was Stevie Ray Vaughn born knowing how to play the guitar? Of course not. We—and that includes everyone on the planet—aren’t able to speak, walk or even keep from pooping our pants when we’re born. It’s not talent that impresses people, it’s the skill, the learned capacity or ability to do something and make it look easy.

Talent, at least in my life, has generated a seed of resentment for many of the people with whom I come in contact. “I wish I had your talent,” they say to me. What they mean is, “I wish I had your skill” or “I wish I were able to do what you do and make it look easy.” Well, I truly believe that just about anyone can “make it look easy,” if they really want to. Being “talented” or, in other words, inclined to learn quickly and easily, would obviously get people to their goals faster, but it’s not the speed at which you attain something that is the most important thing. In fact, that can actually take away from one’s credibility and respect. Compare someone who worked her entire life to attain a great skill to someone who came to the same skill level quickly and with very little effort. Which one are you going to respect more? You’ll respect the one who worked hard for it and you will, by nature, suspect the other. Unless I miss my guess, I assume that anyone would rather be “respected” than “suspected.”

Whether or not she was born with it or whether she uses Maybelline, that doesn’t really matter to me as much as whether or not she is intrinsically beautiful. You may be extremely talented and things come to you easily (and you can’t help that) or you may be one of the lucky ones who have to work hard for your accomplishments. I envy the latter. Nothing feels better than accomplishment. Especially accomplishing something that’s difficult. The trick is, once you’re there, make it look easy.

R.I.P. Stevie Ray Vaughn. I’m sure you worked harder than any of us will ever know.

San Francisco Zoo...

Jeff's Magic

sneak peak

Mick