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Monday, April 23, 2018

the terrors and ravings of the first garbage man in deep space

the terrors and ravings of the first garbage man in deep space

fiction
edward w pritchard

Please oh  please God of my fathers return me safety to earth. Humbly I pray for your mercy and protection.

I am the first garbage man in space. Away millions of miles from the unity that is the Gaia of all life on earth I tremble in fear that I will be the first organic life from earth died away from the protection and sacredness of Mother earth.

Me a simple man who toils for science. Using complex technology that I don't understand I toil at seeking life remains such as a few cells of a bird, dinosaur or amoeba that was once blasted from the face of the earth by the rebound of an ancient  meteor concussion using a sophisticated technology that amounts to a broom and dust pan to scope up promising space debris. Never have I or my scientific equipment found evidence of life outside of earth's orbits. Though earth has existed for billions of years and moves through space across billions of miles never has life left earth's circle of life.

Please merciful God return me to my home. Let me die in the place I was born. Let me fertilize future life forms. Let me rest in eternal tranquilly.

amen

Thursday, April 19, 2018

his tepid mistress

his tepid mistress

fiction
edward w pritchard

As naive ancient thinkers
contemplating size of Earth to Sun to eternity
imagined a point in a point, earth to sun to cosmos
insignificant I now in your regard tepid mistress
me now a point in a point of esteem and affection
in silent blackness of expanding cold dark matter
pulled across eons of eternity circling your wobbling forgotten orbit

Saturday, March 31, 2018

There's nothing like raking out hot tar to clear a man's mind

There's nothing like raking out hot tar to clear a man's mind

fiction
edward w pritchard

There's nothing like raking out hot tar to clear a man's mind. Sometimes as I work at my job of raking out drying tar at the parking lot of a new Mall or local business I use the time to order my thoughts and philosophies. I balance my local problems in my little life with those with nations, civilizations and cultures past in time and space.

There's a gentle odor of progress and reality to slowly drying tar. Inevitably, the tar will dry and a new concept is born. A parking lot for cars, pedestrians and children racing on bikes has been created from the essence of the tar I work with and my efforts of raking steadily and methodically have created a work of art. Concrete evidence of order and stability in the world.

The job is done. The tar slowly dries. Something new has been created.

Thursday, March 29, 2018

Hear the firm strike of the hammer feel the nail enter the wrist

Hear the firm strike of the hammer feel the nail enter the wrist

fiction
edward w pritchard

We are supposed to not just revel in the rapture of the ascension three days hence but to quietly meditate on the pain and suffering of Christ on the cross. It was few long hours.

Of the unknown number of fellow crucified victims only Jesus Christ in name and reputation is remembered to history and has dozens of intricately worked master paintings displayed throughout the art museums of the world for us to remember and reflect on. Grunewald, Rembrandt, and Rogier der Weyden all left us masterpieces of art displaying Jesus' suffering on the cross and ascension.

Hear the firm strike of the hammer and feel the nail enter at the wrist. Experience the thirst, Grasp the betrayal. For a moment reflect on the ordeal of the cross.

it's all so pre-programmed

it's all so pre-programmed

fiction
edward w pritchard

Squirming in our seat so to speak after a long life the five act play of life that we are engulfed in becomes obviously so pre-programmed that we out of boredom at times wait and watch with authentic interest for one of the actors to move suddenly backward across the stage in large circles speaking his part in rewind backward gibberish at triple speed as the other veteran actors that fill the stage cover cleverly and professionally their fellow thespians temporary meltdown.

Who the master programmer and how the intricacies of design that put this all together? The play of life goes on and on approaching finis the final curtain call.

These intricacies of design are beyond comprehension to me. I remember I started as a child so long ago and now I doodle about the stage dusting furniture and props fighting the urge to peer across house lights at the audience.

a large crash and a mumbled voice is heard stage right


Thursday, March 22, 2018

current southwestern art; set it gently in the garbage

current southwestern art; set it gently in the garbage

fiction
edward w pritchard

At the church charity store I frequent for life's necessities sometimes in the a quarter for a twenty year old used magazine rack there will be a magazine or two hawking southwestern art by modern painters.

 The prices are atrocious and the subject matter of the pictures silly and insulting to the ancient Americans living in ancient New Mexico in times past.

First off if one wants good native American art and subject matter in Ohio there's the Butler Museum of Art in Youngstown which has an excellent collection of native American and "cowboy art" by masters such as Remington.

The prices for modern authentic southwestern native american art sold in galleries now across the Country are high. Most of the pictures lack the edge and vim that the old nineteenth century American West was about. Instead attempts by modern artists to recapture the spirit of the old Southwest have a Courier and Ives or Norman Rockwell patina that has lost it's glimmer.

Drive to the Butler museum in Youngstown and climb the steps to the second floor and look at a few of the pictures of old southwest Indians families as their  villages in New Mexico were vanishing back in 1880 or 1890. There is a haunting sadness in the faces in the authentic pictures of the old native American women and children that the artists of times past have captured that is missing from southwest art produced today.

Perhaps I am being overly critical. When was the last time you saw a modern painting that could compare with the works of the Italian masters of the 14th to 16th century?  Note to my sons; take the old man to the Butler museum soon he's rambling again. Perhaps his life like his writing needs a good edit.

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

attendance at the ancient Roman coliseum was free right

attendance at the ancient roman coliseum was free right

fiction
edward w pritchard

Attendance at the ancient Roman coliseum was free right. How many ancient grown concerned Roman working adults must have nagged their aging widowed parent to get out of the stuffy apartment and spend the day watching the atrocities at the ancient roman coliseum?

Note to young readers; there was no internet back in the first to fourth  century AD. So Mom or Dad would have to wait to till they were in their seats at the ancient coliseum of Rome to find out what specific acts would be playing today. Although there was a general routine order to the Man vs. Man gladiator beheading, throw Christians to the lions and death by fire routines part of the fun and suspense would be to not know in advance what one would observe.

Now that this somewhat voyeuristic subject has been breached by this modern author displaying a typical lack of discretion he asks was this ancient practice good wholesome fun and maybe a catharsis in the ancient Greek watching a tragic play with chorus sense or was something sinister and perverse at work?

Moral relativism? The sophisticated and common sense way to go or needing a rethink? When in Rome do as the ?