Preface - I would like to start this story with a declaration of incompetence. I am not a writer and have no illusions of my abilities in that area. I leave writing to my good friends, Dan Sullivan and Brenda Adams; who know how to put words, sentences and paragraphs together in compliance with the rules of English. They also know how to keep their readers entertained and wanting more. My approach tends to ignore spelling, grammar and story line construction in favor of getting the main point across.
So, with that said, you may find that you don’t need to read the entire story to get the main point; which is “You don’t want to own this guitar”. If you are convinced of that, then you can stop here and not waste the time necessary to complete this rather long warning.
Curse of the Voodoo Guitar copyright 2013
Get you back to where the boat leaves from
Gotta be there before the mornin’ sun
If you can’t get to the landing fore the mornin’ sun
You be running thru the jungle till your life is done…………………
WHAT!!?…………….. I WAS running through the jungle and I WAS trying to beat the morning sun and it didn’t look like I WAS going to make it. I was dead tired after the terrible night I had been through and now it looked like I’d be left on the island. Crap!, I pushed on, pulling every spare ounce of energy I could muster. The dirt trail I was running down started to open up. I could see the ocean through the scrub trees and jungle vines. My heavy pack was banging against my back; full of the treasures I had come here to get. Would I make it to the boat?; just maybe. I had until the bottom of the sun broke loose from the ocean. The boat would wait that long.
“Run faster“, I told myself, but I didn’t have much left. I rounded a bend in the trail and there was the landing! And the boat too, and the sun was still partly in the water. But, the boat was pulling away from the dock; the buggers were leaving early!! I found some extra energy and sprinted toward the departing boat. One last burst, one final sprint and I leaped from the dock trying to make the boat …………………….
Three months earlier …………………… I make guitars. The closest I get to “Indiana Jones” adventures is the local movie house AND I like it that way. But when I get a crazy idea in my head I usually can’t just ignore it. I have to take a complicated, circuitous route from relative sanity to the mental edge and then wonder why I couldn’t have just let it go. Let me tell you how I got into my current misadventure.
I have a good friend, Sam M - singer, songwriter, poet and pretty good guy as well. Sam plays one of my guitars, the 9th one I made and the 1st one I dropped on the day I finished it. The drop was on a concrete floor and the damage was rather extensive; split tail block, two cracked braces and two large cracks in the sound board from the tail to the bridge. That was six years ago and Sam is still playing that guitar. I repaired it the best I could and it does play and sound pretty good but it doesn’t exactly project the message I want my guitars to give to potential customers. And Sam is my best salesman - “Giltzow Guitar Salesman of the year” - two years running. So I wanted to get another guitar in his hands.
I gave Sam another guitar about 4 years ago and he took it to one of his shows and sold it to a fellow musician. He came home and gave me the money and wouldn’t take a commission. So, I made him another guitar, gave it to him and guess what? Same thing. It was starting to look like I wouldn’t be able to get old #9 away from Sam so I was looking for another way to show him how much I appreciated his promotion of my guitars and his faith in my ability.
At about this time Sam came to me with a guitar that someone had given him. People give Sam guitars, lots of them. I don’t quite understand it or maybe I do; after all I’ve given him three (now four). But other people do give Sam guitars, too. I’ve seen several in the past few years, usually because they need some “minor” repair work. This guitar was typical of the ones he gets - need a pair of pliers to turn the tuning machines, action high enough for a small rodent to run between the strings and the fret board and a bridge that has moved but was never glued down in the first place. But what was ‘special’ about this guitar was that it was small, like a Martin parlor guitar, and Sam wanted a small guitar he could take on vacation. Something that might fit in the overhead compartment of an airplane.
Ding or Dong or maybe a small light bulb coming on over my head - I could make Sam a parlor guitar he could take on vacation! Brilliant! But wait a minute; what would keep him from selling it like the last two? I know, I’ll redesign the plans of a small parlor guitar and name it after Sam. I’ll designate it the SMG model where S & M stands for Sam M. I soon realized that wouldn’t or couldn’t keep him from selling it either. It was then that I got the idea that was going to get me in so much trouble. I’ll get a curse put on it. Only Sam would be able to own it. This was sounding really good. I’ll just get a curse put on it and let everyone know that it’s cursed and he won’t be able to sell it. You can probably see the downward spiral of lunacy that I was about to step on, but I couldn’t - I’d just solved my problem.
Now I have to tell you I don’t really believe in curses ( that was then) and all I really needed was for any potential buyer to think there was a curse on the guitar. But I wanted authenticity, this had to be realistic - I wanted an actual curse. So where to go? There’s nothing in the yellow pages - I looked. Fortunately for me the internet is full of crazy stuff and I started spending my nights researching …… Voodoo! (This is where the camera zooms in and out really fast and some dramatic, screechee music plays in the background and some scary lady cackles like the witch in the Wizard of Oz). And I sit at my computer screen blithely ignorant, not a care in the world. And that’s exactly what I did.
That’s when I discovered Ed. Well, that’s not his real name. I let him read the rough draft of this story and he decided he didn’t want me to use his real name ( he‘ll be sorry when they make the movie). So for now, I’ll just call him Ed. Ed is a Voodoo priest; yes right here in Boise, Idaho we have a Voodoo priest. Actually there are several. I told Ed what I had in mind and he told me in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t that kind of a priest. I was asking for the “dark side” and he was with the good guys. He explained to me that voodoo was one of the most ancient of religions. That members prayed to Loa (powerful spirits) that interceded with the one god, Bon Dieu, on behalf of the member. He explained a lot about Voodoo, Hoodoo and the different sects. But I really wasn’t listening: He wasn’t going to help me and I needed another plan. I left while Ed was extolling his knowledge of African voodoo, Haitian voodoo and New Orleans voodoo………………Haitian voodoo, I’m guessing that would constitute the “dark side”; skulls, chickens hanging from trees and dolls with pins stuck in them - just what I was looking for. I began my search.
The internet really does have everything and I was well on my way with plan B - become a voodoo priest and cast the spell myself. But, I was running into some minor road blocks. It’s a little harder to get the voodoo priest certificate than it is to become an internet minister. I was thinking just pay a few bucks and I’d get a certificate that declared me a certified voodoo priest. Not that easy. It seems they wanted me to travel to a religious center and spend a few weeks in seminary. Maybe the spirits would pick me to be a priest and maybe not. This was not going according to plan B.
I was on the internet at 2:00 am trying to get around the most recent obstacle when my phone rang. It was Ed.
Ed - “How’s the research going, Mike?”
Me - “What research? And by the way it’s 2 am what are you doing calling at this time in the morning?”
Ed - “I knew you were awake and I know you’re trying to become a priest to cast the spell yourself”
Me - “How do you know that?”
Ed - “Mike, you came to me because you thought I might be in touch with the spiritual world.”
Me - “Oh and I suppose since I didn’t give you my phone number you got that from the spirits as well?”
Ed - “You’re in the phone book”
Pretty smart, but how do you explain that I never gave you my last name? I thought the question but I didn’t ask Ed; he was starting to scare me a bit.
Ed - “No need to let it scare you. Something has come up and I may be able to help you after all. You are going to Bimini in April, aren’t you?”
Oh boy!, I was going to Bimini in April for the Jim Morris CD release party; but how did Ed know that!?
Me - “Ed you seem to be asking questions you already know the answer to and you are starting to creep me out.”
Ed - “ Settle down, I’m just trying to help you get what you want and at the same time you can help me. There’s this woman (isn’t there always?). 'The Woman that can do what needs to be done'. She contacted me about you.”
Me - “She gave you a call about me?”
Ed - “We don’t communicate on the phone, it’s more a spiritual conversation”.
I got a mental picture of Ed sitting at home wearing an aluminum foil hat with coat hanger antenna, doing a spiritual call to the Bahamas. This might be getting a little out of hand.
Ed and I talked most of the night and came to something like an agreement. I would take a package from him to 'The Woman who can do what needs to be done' and she in return would put the curse on the materials I would bring. The materials I would later make into the parlor guitar for Sam. The package? I don’t know what was in it and I was specifically told not to look. I was assured that that would be a very bad thing to do. Now I know what you’re thinking - what about airport security? I asked Ed about that and he told me not to worry - they wouldn’t even look at it. Sure they wouldn’t! But as it turned out, it went through the x-ray without a hitch. Plan A was coming together nicely.
Bimini Island in the Bahamas - My wife Peg and I along with our friends Mark & Stephanie and Dave & Nancy checked into our 3 bedroom condo at The Bimini Sands Resort. On the dining room table was information about the resort and a letter with my name on it. I expected it to be from Ed but had expected maybe something a little more connected to the mystic world; not a letter. Maybe Ed lost his aluminum foil hat. First things first; we all changed into bathing suits and headed to the pool for a Kalik (local beer).
Later that night I opened the letter and read the short instructions that Ed had sent. “Wednesday evening take the island ferry to North Bimini (we were staying on South Bimini). Walk to the grave yard and wait next to the grave marker with Percy Duncombes’ name on it at exactly 7 pm. Don‘t forget your materials and absolutely, positively don‘t forget the package for “you know who“.- Ed
Wednesday evening as we started out for dinner and rum - lots of rum - I told my wife and friends to go without me; I was feeling a little rough from the night before (lots of rum). I convinced them to go to dinner and the concert afterwards without me and that I was sure I’d feel better in the morning. Did I forget to mention that I hadn’t told my wife or friends what I was up to? Hmmm……
I grabbed my backpack with my materials and the PACKAGE and headed for the ferry. Finding the graveyard was easy and ten minutes later, 6:58 pm, I was standing next to Percys’ final resting place. Percy was born August 2, 1916 and died on March 24, 1961. I read that several times as I stood there waiting and was just starting to think there was some importance to the date when someone yelled “Hey you!” and a dog barked on the other side of the cemetery. I turned to see a small man waving for me to come join him. I did and said “I’m M..”
But he cut me off and said he knew who I was - geeze!, Is everyone psychic but me?
He said “I take you to the plane”.
I said “What!?, no one said anything about a plane.”
He said “You no want to go? Fine by me, I already been paid”.
Me, “Okay, take me to the plane”
He said “Come with me, I have a boat”.
Yep, the airport is on South Bimini. We were going back the way I had come. If I ever get back to Boise I’ve got a couple of things I want to talk to Ed about.
But he cut me off and said he knew who I was - geeze!, Is everyone psychic but me?
He said “I take you to the plane”.
I said “What!?, no one said anything about a plane.”
He said “You no want to go? Fine by me, I already been paid”.
Me, “Okay, take me to the plane”
He said “Come with me, I have a boat”.
Yep, the airport is on South Bimini. We were going back the way I had come. If I ever get back to Boise I’ve got a couple of things I want to talk to Ed about.
The pilot of the plane also knew who I was and told me to strap in for a short (turned out to be almost an hour and a half) flight.
He said “Why don’t you take the left seat? I need to catch some shuteye. Yeah, I know you’re a pilot.”
Well he was right but what he didn’t know is that I haven’t flown in the last 20 years. I explained that to him and he said “Just like riding a bike”, handed me a map and pointed to the island we were going to and told me to wake him when we got there; the landing would be a little tricky. I was thinking this would be a good time to go back to the condo and pretend to be sick. Actually I wouldn’t have to pretend. But, something kept me in the plane, I suspect Ed or ‘you know who’.
The pilots’ name was Jack, or so he said. The plane was a very nice Cessna SkyHawk at one time; like maybe 35 years ago, but now there was a lot of duct tape repairs. The side windows had turned translucent orange and the left side slider was held on with a big piece of tape. There had once been a radio in the console but now only a gaping hole with a few wires hanging out. This was truly crazy! I reached for the door to get out just as Jack reached across and started the engine, jammed the throttle to the wall and said “Let’s make like a bird”. Which is just what my father used to say when I went flying with him. Nostalgic!
But no time for that, we were headed down the runway and Jack still had his hand on the throttle, so I guessed I’d better start thinking about “making like a bird” or we would soon be “making like a submarine“. Lift-off was uneventful (the best kind). We were still in a piece of junk but it was a flying piece of junk.
He said “Why don’t you take the left seat? I need to catch some shuteye. Yeah, I know you’re a pilot.”
Well he was right but what he didn’t know is that I haven’t flown in the last 20 years. I explained that to him and he said “Just like riding a bike”, handed me a map and pointed to the island we were going to and told me to wake him when we got there; the landing would be a little tricky. I was thinking this would be a good time to go back to the condo and pretend to be sick. Actually I wouldn’t have to pretend. But, something kept me in the plane, I suspect Ed or ‘you know who’.
The pilots’ name was Jack, or so he said. The plane was a very nice Cessna SkyHawk at one time; like maybe 35 years ago, but now there was a lot of duct tape repairs. The side windows had turned translucent orange and the left side slider was held on with a big piece of tape. There had once been a radio in the console but now only a gaping hole with a few wires hanging out. This was truly crazy! I reached for the door to get out just as Jack reached across and started the engine, jammed the throttle to the wall and said “Let’s make like a bird”. Which is just what my father used to say when I went flying with him. Nostalgic!
But no time for that, we were headed down the runway and Jack still had his hand on the throttle, so I guessed I’d better start thinking about “making like a bird” or we would soon be “making like a submarine“. Lift-off was uneventful (the best kind). We were still in a piece of junk but it was a flying piece of junk.
The sun was just setting in back of us and I swear I saw a green flash in the reflection on the front windscreen - or it could have been light hitting the algae growing there; one or the other. Jack tapped the compass, either to get my attention or to see if it was working, and told me that that was my heading. I looked straight ahead, noticing that the sky was starting to turn dark and that there was not a cloud to be seen - except for the big one right where we were going. No radio, in an airplane that was in no condition to fly with a pilot that hasn’t flown in 20 years and we were heading into the middle of the “Bermuda Triangle”. I wondered what Murphy would say about that?
Jack rolled toward the right window and pulled his cap over his eyes. As he rolled, I saw him put something in his right pocket. He probably didn’t think I saw it, but I did and I knew what it was. Seems Jack wasn’t quite as cavalier as he wanted me to believe. He knew exactly where we were flying and would know immediately if I moved off course: He had an aviation GPS.
I let him pretend to sleep and kept my focus on the heading. Off our right wing the moon was coming up; bright in the clear night. Off to my left, dark sky with millions of stars and to our front a dark cloud on the horizon. I glanced into the back seat and noticed a tarp over something. I reached back and peaked under the tarp. It was hiding what seemed to be several small bails of hay, only it wasn’t hay. Ganja, square grouper, weed - Jack was making a delivery. How did I get myself into this!? Two weeks ago I was just an unknown guitar maker; now I was flying a drug plane in the Bahamas. I’ve never had more than a speeding ticket in my entire life and now I was looking at years in a foreign prison or worse. Could things get any worse? I didn’t think so. I needed to get out of this plane, but that option wasn’t available just now.
As we approached what I thought might be our destination, the weather took a turn for the worse. We encountered winds and rain. I could see some lights through the mist - must be our island. Jack rolled back to his left, looked out the windscreen and said “I got it”. I gave him the controls. He told me he needed to meet some people and they didn’t know I was coming. For my safety I should lean forward in the seat and hide my head when we landed. He would taxi to the end of the runway and I would get out as he made the 180 to go back to his “friends”. I was to take the path at the end of the runway and stay low so no one could see me.
“When do we fly out?” I asked. Jack told me that he would be leaving in about ten minutes but I wasn’t going with him. He told me to take the path to my meeting and from there on I was on my own. Ed!!!, I was so hoping I’d get back to have a serious talk with him. My options were down to one; sneak down the trail. I couldn’t go back and meet Jack’s friends.
We bounced onto a dirt strip with me leaning forward below the window. Jack stopped the plane and started making the turn to taxi back as I opened my door and rolled onto the ground. I crouched as I ran to the trees on the side of the runway. There was a path right where Jack said it would be and I
started moving down it. It was dark, very dark and the rain was still coming down. The wind had eased a bit but was still strong enough to water my eyes. The path was easy to stay on because the jungle around it was thick - move off the path much and the vegetation pushed you back on; there was no place else to go.
I continued on the path for another ten minutes or so and then saw a light ahead. As I drew closer I could see it was a fire, a pretty big fire and there was at least one other person there. As I approached the fire the very tall person standing in front of it turned around; It was her. It could be no one else. I couldn’t get a look at her face, she was just a silhouette in front of the fire. She held out her hand and said, “You have something for me.” Not a question. A statement.
I said,” Yes. I’m M….”
She said “I know who you are. Give it to me”. I fumbled in my pack and pulled out the package. I handed it to her. She took the package and I think she smiled, at least I could see white where her teeth should be.
She said, “Thank you for bringing this to me. Now I will give you what you want but I very much doubt that you will ever thank me for it. “ She handed me a small clay cup and told me to drink the contents.
I said, “I’m really not thirsty, thanks.”
She said’ “Drink!” and I did.
I let him pretend to sleep and kept my focus on the heading. Off our right wing the moon was coming up; bright in the clear night. Off to my left, dark sky with millions of stars and to our front a dark cloud on the horizon. I glanced into the back seat and noticed a tarp over something. I reached back and peaked under the tarp. It was hiding what seemed to be several small bails of hay, only it wasn’t hay. Ganja, square grouper, weed - Jack was making a delivery. How did I get myself into this!? Two weeks ago I was just an unknown guitar maker; now I was flying a drug plane in the Bahamas. I’ve never had more than a speeding ticket in my entire life and now I was looking at years in a foreign prison or worse. Could things get any worse? I didn’t think so. I needed to get out of this plane, but that option wasn’t available just now.
As we approached what I thought might be our destination, the weather took a turn for the worse. We encountered winds and rain. I could see some lights through the mist - must be our island. Jack rolled back to his left, looked out the windscreen and said “I got it”. I gave him the controls. He told me he needed to meet some people and they didn’t know I was coming. For my safety I should lean forward in the seat and hide my head when we landed. He would taxi to the end of the runway and I would get out as he made the 180 to go back to his “friends”. I was to take the path at the end of the runway and stay low so no one could see me.
“When do we fly out?” I asked. Jack told me that he would be leaving in about ten minutes but I wasn’t going with him. He told me to take the path to my meeting and from there on I was on my own. Ed!!!, I was so hoping I’d get back to have a serious talk with him. My options were down to one; sneak down the trail. I couldn’t go back and meet Jack’s friends.
We bounced onto a dirt strip with me leaning forward below the window. Jack stopped the plane and started making the turn to taxi back as I opened my door and rolled onto the ground. I crouched as I ran to the trees on the side of the runway. There was a path right where Jack said it would be and I
started moving down it. It was dark, very dark and the rain was still coming down. The wind had eased a bit but was still strong enough to water my eyes. The path was easy to stay on because the jungle around it was thick - move off the path much and the vegetation pushed you back on; there was no place else to go.
I continued on the path for another ten minutes or so and then saw a light ahead. As I drew closer I could see it was a fire, a pretty big fire and there was at least one other person there. As I approached the fire the very tall person standing in front of it turned around; It was her. It could be no one else. I couldn’t get a look at her face, she was just a silhouette in front of the fire. She held out her hand and said, “You have something for me.” Not a question. A statement.
I said,” Yes. I’m M….”
She said “I know who you are. Give it to me”. I fumbled in my pack and pulled out the package. I handed it to her. She took the package and I think she smiled, at least I could see white where her teeth should be.
She said, “Thank you for bringing this to me. Now I will give you what you want but I very much doubt that you will ever thank me for it. “ She handed me a small clay cup and told me to drink the contents.
I said, “I’m really not thirsty, thanks.”
She said’ “Drink!” and I did.
From here on things got a little blurry and mixed up. Certainly there was something in the drink she gave me and I wasn’t doing well with it. The wind was still blowing and the rain still coming down, but the fire wasn’t staying in one place; it seemed to be circling me. I saw the materials I had brought scattered on the ground and I remember thinking that they were getting wet and that I should do something, but I couldn’t do anything - it was very much like a bad dream. I’m sure I saw a chicken hanging from a tree, a small woolen doll with pins sticking out of it and some scary little animals I could not identify. I could hear her chanting and singing and suddenly there was a bright light and the sound of thunder. The mother-of-pearl blanks I had brought spun up into the air and "The Woman that can do what needs to be done" reached her hands out to them. They flew to her hands and sparks like from a welder came streaming from her fingers and hit the shell pieces. Then …….. Nothing!
There was no wind, no rain and the fire had moved back to its’ original position. I felt a little better. I picked up my pack and put it on my back. Then she gave me specific instructions:
Take the path to the boat landing. Hurry, the boat leaves when the sun’s bottom clears the ocean. You are under my protection until then. But after that……………
There was no wind, no rain and the fire had moved back to its’ original position. I felt a little better. I picked up my pack and put it on my back. Then she gave me specific instructions:
Take the path to the boat landing. Hurry, the boat leaves when the sun’s bottom clears the ocean. You are under my protection until then. But after that……………
I ran down the path and as you already know I leaped for the boat as it was pulling away from the dock.
…………………………….................... I woke up in my bed at the Bimini Sands Thursday morning. I could smell coffee and hear Stephanie and Dave playing another game of Farkle. Another tournament in progress I guessed. Then it hit me: It had all been a dream! It hadn’t happened; I was safe here in my bed. My wife came in and asked how I felt and if I was going to sleep all day. I told her I was feeling great and ready to do some fun vacation stuff. And I was feeling great right up to the time I decided to open my pack and prove to myself that everything that happened last night was a dream. But it wasn’t; the mother-of-pearl blanks I brought were all cut into symbols! Symbols I did not understand.
When I got home I made the guitar for Sam and I placed the symbols on the fret board and peg head as I was instructed to in another dream(?). It seems I did get my wish and "The Woman who can do what needs to be done" was right about me not thanking her for it. The guitar is cursed and any owner other than Sam will find out what that curse entails. I strongly suggest that you don’t want to find out.
Conclusion: This is a good time to clarify some of the details of this story.
First : If you are having a hard time believing this happened, I don’t blame you: I’m having a hard time with it as well.
Second: You might think the ending was a little rushed. I just got tired of writing.
Third: Percy Duncombes grave. As I stood there reading the dates of his birth and death over and over, I knew I was missing something. Those dates meant something to me. But my thoughts were broken by my contact yelling “Hey you” and a dog barking on the other side of the cemetery. Now I have had more time to think about it. Percy died on March 24, 1961. It turns out that my friend Dave, who was staying at the condo with us, was born on March 24, 1961. Quite a coincidence.
Fourth: The symbols. I assumed they were reminders of my adventure. They weren’t. I had a dream during construction of this guitar. It was one of those very real dreams that when you wake up you are sure that it wasn’t a dream. "The Woman that can do what needs to be done" told me a different story about the symbols. The symbols are like a treasure map, only what you find at the end is not a treasure. I now know what they mean and where they lead. The only thing I will tell you about them is that you don’t what to know what they mean or where they lead. It’s very, very bad. But if you don’t believe me, you can buy the guitar from Sam. One of the symbols, the skull, did not come from "The Woman that can do what needs to be done", I cut that one because I thought the Voodoo guitar should have a skull and ‘you know who’ hadn’t provided one.
Fifth: You are probably wondering why my wife didn't miss me when she came back to the condo after dinner and the concert. I asked her about that and she told me I was in bed snoring. So maybe it was a dream? If so, where did the symbols come from?
Sixth: This writing has been copyrighted; I can’t imagine why. - mdg
…………………………….................... I woke up in my bed at the Bimini Sands Thursday morning. I could smell coffee and hear Stephanie and Dave playing another game of Farkle. Another tournament in progress I guessed. Then it hit me: It had all been a dream! It hadn’t happened; I was safe here in my bed. My wife came in and asked how I felt and if I was going to sleep all day. I told her I was feeling great and ready to do some fun vacation stuff. And I was feeling great right up to the time I decided to open my pack and prove to myself that everything that happened last night was a dream. But it wasn’t; the mother-of-pearl blanks I brought were all cut into symbols! Symbols I did not understand.
When I got home I made the guitar for Sam and I placed the symbols on the fret board and peg head as I was instructed to in another dream(?). It seems I did get my wish and "The Woman who can do what needs to be done" was right about me not thanking her for it. The guitar is cursed and any owner other than Sam will find out what that curse entails. I strongly suggest that you don’t want to find out.
Conclusion: This is a good time to clarify some of the details of this story.
First : If you are having a hard time believing this happened, I don’t blame you: I’m having a hard time with it as well.
Second: You might think the ending was a little rushed. I just got tired of writing.
Third: Percy Duncombes grave. As I stood there reading the dates of his birth and death over and over, I knew I was missing something. Those dates meant something to me. But my thoughts were broken by my contact yelling “Hey you” and a dog barking on the other side of the cemetery. Now I have had more time to think about it. Percy died on March 24, 1961. It turns out that my friend Dave, who was staying at the condo with us, was born on March 24, 1961. Quite a coincidence.
Fourth: The symbols. I assumed they were reminders of my adventure. They weren’t. I had a dream during construction of this guitar. It was one of those very real dreams that when you wake up you are sure that it wasn’t a dream. "The Woman that can do what needs to be done" told me a different story about the symbols. The symbols are like a treasure map, only what you find at the end is not a treasure. I now know what they mean and where they lead. The only thing I will tell you about them is that you don’t what to know what they mean or where they lead. It’s very, very bad. But if you don’t believe me, you can buy the guitar from Sam. One of the symbols, the skull, did not come from "The Woman that can do what needs to be done", I cut that one because I thought the Voodoo guitar should have a skull and ‘you know who’ hadn’t provided one.
Fifth: You are probably wondering why my wife didn't miss me when she came back to the condo after dinner and the concert. I asked her about that and she told me I was in bed snoring. So maybe it was a dream? If so, where did the symbols come from?
Sixth: This writing has been copyrighted; I can’t imagine why. - mdg
Pictures of the VooDoo Guitar
If you see this guitar, don't under any circumstances try to purchase it. You have been warned!!
