it's 2012 already part-6
fiction
edward w pritchard
I awoke this morning from terrible nightmares with an intense desire to talk to my old high school quarterback. I had an irrational urge to ask him what to do next.
Jeanette the girl I was with at the casino and I had that fight couples have when they know they have to go their separate ways. She South me East. We are at her condo in a fenced in community East of Nashville, having left the casino and we were doing yard work together for diversion when we had "the" fight. A disagreement on basic values about why to push on with life under the circumstances here in Armageddon. She is optimistic, thinks life is opportunity, and everyday is a blessing from God. Of course I had to tell her she hasn't walked through the storms yet and seen ninety per cent of the people she knew die. I told her I still believed in God. But, I was having trouble understanding him. While traveling back in Ohio, near the Ohio river I saw a bird high, high, high up over the river, lazily circling watching us humans fleeing the storms aloft which were coming in towards us, in earnest, early, about dawn, and would kill nine out of ten of us. The air was so thick to breathe that I collapsed but continued to watch the bird. It circled over me along with several thousand other birds and then landed about thirty feet from me and carefully began to tear at a child's cheek, a child who had collapsed, the cheek the choicest part of a human I understand. The sun was just coming up, from the East, across the mighty Ohio river so; I had a bird's eye view so to speak, as the bird chewed the child's prime flesh and non-nonchalantly turned it's head to the left, flinched it's shoulders and stared at me while chewing. The scene was perfectly illuminated in the intense rising sunlight. How could I not believe in God's divine design after that. God is so much like we are, thinking of everything and properly planning it all. We seem to live in a perfect simulation. I tried to explain that to Jeanette but she said I was being negative and existential and we had our obligatory knock down drag out fight and now both are happily sprucing up her yard, oblivious to each other. In an hour we both leave, toward our unknown and disconnected fates.
There's a new wrinkle to the storms. Some say the storms have changed to further cull the herd of surviving humans. Because of the alternate cold and warm winds, both wet and then dry, we now die in great numbers from pneumonia and pulmonary disorders. Those of us who were adapting to the initial bad air now have a further complication to endure. The cold comes in suddenly and saps the weakened will and makes it difficult to get up, to keep moving or have any hope for tomorrow. I have my Indian striped Pendleton style blanket back since Laura left and it's psychologically comforting to wrap up in it at night and it's a shield in the morning against the incoming cold. The cold seems driven to arrive at about 4:30AM the low point in our metabolic cycle; it's as if it were planned to bring humans ultimate suffering. Because of the cold and wet conditions about ninety nine percent of the original survivors now seem to succumb to the new normal and one's odds of surviving now have went from one in ten to one in one hundred.
Somehow I am still alive and I am trying desperately not to get involved with anyone or make any attachments. That is difficult because humans love to commiserate in their suffering and there are many fraternal organizations and affiliations on the trail based on common need. Several times I have been asked to join the counter-factual party; those who refuse to see reality as it is staring them in the face. Instead counter-factuals imagine life as they think it should be. I am a prime candidate but haven't joined to date.
I am heading East from Nashville. I have a plan. My old high school quarterback didn't come to me in my dreams to guide me but my subconscious came up with a map to get me to somewhere. I believe that at one time humans were down to 600 surviving members of our species. I have wrote about that before. [ see blog space ship ride Oct 04,2010]. Just before the extinction of the human species I feel more than know that we dispersed in many directions about 35,000 years ago, huddled on the Mediterranean coast and as a result grew to six billion inhabitants of the earth. Now, here in Armageddon in 2012 I feel the process is being reversed by an intelligent design. Be it caused by Gaia, God or Randomness, I know not, but I feel it is happening. I have decided to head East to the Georgia Sea Islands and then hopefully toward the Mediterranean. If I die at least I had somewhere to go. If irrational, my plan logistically is not that bad of an idea because too many people are heading dead South in America. We humans here will annihilate each other out of spite if we crowd too much together. That's even accounting for nature killing off ninety nine out of one hundred of us.
I used to be a boy scout and I have vowed since I split with Jeanette to shave and bathe everyday. I have water because unlike most I no longer worry about dysentery or poison water. Way back in Ohio when I first started wandering South one morning I decided to kill myself to escape the suffering. I drank water from any source; supposed to kill a pilgrim. I am still alive, having been doing so for one month now. Other than at the Westin casino, where I would only drink imported bottled water, I drank whatever available and am still alive. I have however been shaving and trying to watch how I look and smell. Not easy or too rewarding. We all have thinning hair as we walk caused by stress maybe or the winds and trauma to our systems; and our countenance is demonic looking. Most of us survivors have a perpetual scowl. Nothing unusual in that for me. I used to be a banker back in Ohio, about a million years ago.
Speaking of banking I had some fun this morning. We were going through a small town,[ i am with the counter-factuals for now] and we came to an abandoned Bank Branch. I had said I once worked at a Bank and several of my fellow travelers loaned me their magnum 457's and we blew the hell out of the front of the branch office, shooting for about twenty minutes. About twenty five pilgrims shot with me. Anyone who believes God is punishing America by sending the wind storms automatically eventually finds that they believe the Bankers caused God's wrath. More on that later when I talk about how survivors adapt their philosophy to why we are being made to suffer like this,[ in part 7]. Anyway I am well hydrated on dirty water and clean shaven on rusty razor blades and I am treading eastward with little intervention from Federal troops. I have a plan. I head to the Atlantic Ocean and then somehow to the Mediterranean coast to the home of my ancient-ancient ancestors.
Sunrise still comes every morning. Being outside one appreciates and notices the subtle changes sunrise brings. Looking far off toward the East looking at the light on the low clouds on the horizon, I seem to be able to see down into God's throat as he yawns in the face of our discomfort. Who knows what tomorrow holds for us one in one hundred survivors, but, still we march on.
end
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
it's 2012 already part 5
it's 2012 already part-5
fiction
edward w pritchard
civilization again- I visit a city
It's hard for me to criticize the State of Tennessee or more specifically the City of Nashville. Both have been exemplary in remaining hospitable to the influx of refugees from Northern States, mine of Ohio included. In the catastrophe to civil order following the bad air plaguing Northern States to date, and slowly drifting South across America; Tennessee is being kind and welcoming to us refugees.
Several States, Texas and Arizona leading the charge, have sealed their borders. More moderate States will let in their fellow Americans, providing they do not have health insurance, mandating coverage in their State under Federal law. Those States fear the collapse of economic union.
I took Laura to the airport in Nashville. After she safely was on a plane to Chile and her new life I witnessed what is probably the new normal for Southern cities. I shudder to contemplate what we have become.
A desperate man at the airport refused to be convinced that his airline frequent flying credits, painstakingly acquired over a dozen years, had become worthless in the last month. As he became violent, I watched part of an incident of him being initiated to the newest generation of DNA tasers. The technology usually reserved for our foreign enemies, often called terrorists, by our military is painful and long remembered. The invasive orally delivered technology is apparently now in use in US cities because of the threat of civil disobedience caused by the new normal of the bad air epidemic and the movement of peoples South it has usher in. I was unable to watch longer as he was overpowered by five security persons and the tentacled device was rolled toward him down the sloping airport concourse.
Nashville, Tennessee
Fall 2012
It took me a while to get out of the airport. The manager found out I had walked from Ohio and insisted on pumping me for information on the storms aloft, as he called them. He tried to wine and dine me but its too soon; upset stomach and myriad physical complaints from the bad air lingers.
I finally agreed to be his guest at the Westin Resort Casino Hotel for a few days in return for a brief written report for the airports use in planning for the storm which reaches here in earnest in ten days or so. Somehow Nashville, Tennessee has a brief retrieve from the winds.
Here is part of the report I wrote for the Airport manager: and then my impressions of the fin de eternity atmosphere here In Nashville, representing the transition of American civilization as it adapts to the changes caused by movement of vast amounts of people south and the death of nine out of ten American citizens caused by the miasma.
Impressions of a Disater
edward w pritchard-pilgrim
The air comes in slowly like a fog. It is deliberate, intelligent and in my opinion people are being herded South by it. It moves to within six inches of the ground and if a large animal, over thirty pounds, lingers in it all seem to die in a few days. Being inside a building or house is no protection. Fleeing is the only alternative, although nine out of ten humans seem to succumb. Physical strength or physical condition helps a little but survival is somewhat a matter of luck, it seems. I'll leave it to a physician to describe the cause of death but basically it's some form of suffocation. Treatment with a conventional asthma inhalers prolongs life if one stays ahead of the worse of the storms which travel relentlessly North to South. On the road we say the winds travel at seven miles per hour but I understand from talking to experts at the airport its never more than thirty miles a day, reason unknown.
I walked from Mansfield Ohio, to Nashville, Tennessee in a three week period. My vehicle died from the fog as did all others I witnessed. I saw many people trying to use animals to transport humans but all failed. I was carried a little in a litter by humans just North of Nashville as were several others I observed who had the funds to hire struggling bearers. Conditions on the road South were desperate and pathetic. People aren't buried, the sick aren't helped and there is little human kindness. Survivors choose one of two strategies: assume they are already dead and just walk or do anything to survive and head South and hope for a miracle.
There is little civil order in cities; pilgrims are advised to avoid cities, see notes on Nashville.
Sometimes for no apparent reason the storms jump, as if to give humans a chance catch up in their fleeing. This is where the idea of intelligence of the winds come in. However far the storms travel in a day, thirty miles per day is a lot to walk for a sick person.
I stayed with pack on my walk and we were never overtaken by the worse of the storm.
I have heard that worse of the storms, caused by sunspots some say, will tear dirt and life from the ground and leave the landscape as a primordial orange hell. That's the whispered description that's supposed to have happened in Canada. I saw nothing like that. To the best of my knowledge anyone from where I started from who didn't flee is now dead. God bless us all.
Nashville, Tennessee
Sin City meets Middle America
Nashville has a week to live and I hit the Wal Mart. I sold an asthma inhaler for $2000 Brazilian and so I am loaded for now. I had traded all the gold I had acquired on the trail to get Laura the little girl I befriended earlier on one of the last planes to South America; so its good to have money again. I rented a car, 1967 Olds Cutlass and I am cruising around Nashville. Most people have left, just tourists, nuts and old people, who decided not to run, are left.
I spent most of my time in Nashville gambling at the casino. I spent a few dollars for a companion and have been paying for her gambling and she is my friend for a few days. She used to be an English teacher in Kentucky and she wants badly to edit my stories I write, we will see on that later.
The federal government is governing in Nashville and other Southern cities I hear and they are making a mess of things. That's all I'll say except they are very high handed, cruel really and I will be glad to get out of here.
What's to say about a collapsing City? It' so historical that it's trite and if poignant, mundane to just a flinch and a head roll to the left. Part of the dwellers of Nashville go to the Wal Mart and work even though their city will end up like all the Northern ones they read about in the news paper covered by up to ten feet of dust and dirt in a week or two. Like Ur, or an Egyptian City or Asian City before them. We don't have city walls any more but who will maintain the city walls here in Nashville soon? Civilization dies and moves on. The young and hopeful, who can forget the death of nine out of ten of their friends and countrymen flee South in desperation and hope. The old go about their routines oblivious to doom and their extinction.
Me, I still gamble and let the pretty girl I am with talk. It's nice to have someone to listen too. The Westin casino hotel here is very plush and exclusive and the staff are like the first class employees on the Titanic an hour after ice was impacted. Service is good but can be erratic. I go to the fine restaurants here and always only order, oatmeal, rolled and heavy for my upset stomach or dried biscuits Southern style or grits. Still it's nice to eat and be served on a silver platter.
Here at the Westin from my room high above Nashville on the Eighteenth floor at night I watch the stars and the fires. The fires are from fleeing people burning their houses before they leave, direction South. They are afraid their bankers will try to enforce their mortgages even though their houses are covered in dirt and dust ten feet high and now functionally obsolete. Maybe one hundred thousand houses are a blaze on any given night, not as many as a Northern city, because of the Federal troops or these Southerners seem more compliant than their Northern neighbors.
Tennessee has sealed their borders and Federal troops are not letting anyone in or out of Nashville without proof of upper class status, [ie] net worth above a certain level. Rioting in Nashville in all parts of the city this morning, so far the casino here is safe. Back to the real world soon. We can't stay at the casino forever.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
civilization again- I visit a city
It's hard for me to criticize the State of Tennessee or more specifically the City of Nashville. Both have been exemplary in remaining hospitable to the influx of refugees from Northern States, mine of Ohio included. In the catastrophe to civil order following the bad air plaguing Northern States to date, and slowly drifting South across America; Tennessee is being kind and welcoming to us refugees.
Several States, Texas and Arizona leading the charge, have sealed their borders. More moderate States will let in their fellow Americans, providing they do not have health insurance, mandating coverage in their State under Federal law. Those States fear the collapse of economic union.
I took Laura to the airport in Nashville. After she safely was on a plane to Chile and her new life I witnessed what is probably the new normal for Southern cities. I shudder to contemplate what we have become.
A desperate man at the airport refused to be convinced that his airline frequent flying credits, painstakingly acquired over a dozen years, had become worthless in the last month. As he became violent, I watched part of an incident of him being initiated to the newest generation of DNA tasers. The technology usually reserved for our foreign enemies, often called terrorists, by our military is painful and long remembered. The invasive orally delivered technology is apparently now in use in US cities because of the threat of civil disobedience caused by the new normal of the bad air epidemic and the movement of peoples South it has usher in. I was unable to watch longer as he was overpowered by five security persons and the tentacled device was rolled toward him down the sloping airport concourse.
Nashville, Tennessee
Fall 2012
It took me a while to get out of the airport. The manager found out I had walked from Ohio and insisted on pumping me for information on the storms aloft, as he called them. He tried to wine and dine me but its too soon; upset stomach and myriad physical complaints from the bad air lingers.
I finally agreed to be his guest at the Westin Resort Casino Hotel for a few days in return for a brief written report for the airports use in planning for the storm which reaches here in earnest in ten days or so. Somehow Nashville, Tennessee has a brief retrieve from the winds.
Here is part of the report I wrote for the Airport manager: and then my impressions of the fin de eternity atmosphere here In Nashville, representing the transition of American civilization as it adapts to the changes caused by movement of vast amounts of people south and the death of nine out of ten American citizens caused by the miasma.
Impressions of a Disater
edward w pritchard-pilgrim
The air comes in slowly like a fog. It is deliberate, intelligent and in my opinion people are being herded South by it. It moves to within six inches of the ground and if a large animal, over thirty pounds, lingers in it all seem to die in a few days. Being inside a building or house is no protection. Fleeing is the only alternative, although nine out of ten humans seem to succumb. Physical strength or physical condition helps a little but survival is somewhat a matter of luck, it seems. I'll leave it to a physician to describe the cause of death but basically it's some form of suffocation. Treatment with a conventional asthma inhalers prolongs life if one stays ahead of the worse of the storms which travel relentlessly North to South. On the road we say the winds travel at seven miles per hour but I understand from talking to experts at the airport its never more than thirty miles a day, reason unknown.
I walked from Mansfield Ohio, to Nashville, Tennessee in a three week period. My vehicle died from the fog as did all others I witnessed. I saw many people trying to use animals to transport humans but all failed. I was carried a little in a litter by humans just North of Nashville as were several others I observed who had the funds to hire struggling bearers. Conditions on the road South were desperate and pathetic. People aren't buried, the sick aren't helped and there is little human kindness. Survivors choose one of two strategies: assume they are already dead and just walk or do anything to survive and head South and hope for a miracle.
There is little civil order in cities; pilgrims are advised to avoid cities, see notes on Nashville.
Sometimes for no apparent reason the storms jump, as if to give humans a chance catch up in their fleeing. This is where the idea of intelligence of the winds come in. However far the storms travel in a day, thirty miles per day is a lot to walk for a sick person.
I stayed with pack on my walk and we were never overtaken by the worse of the storm.
I have heard that worse of the storms, caused by sunspots some say, will tear dirt and life from the ground and leave the landscape as a primordial orange hell. That's the whispered description that's supposed to have happened in Canada. I saw nothing like that. To the best of my knowledge anyone from where I started from who didn't flee is now dead. God bless us all.
Nashville, Tennessee
Sin City meets Middle America
Nashville has a week to live and I hit the Wal Mart. I sold an asthma inhaler for $2000 Brazilian and so I am loaded for now. I had traded all the gold I had acquired on the trail to get Laura the little girl I befriended earlier on one of the last planes to South America; so its good to have money again. I rented a car, 1967 Olds Cutlass and I am cruising around Nashville. Most people have left, just tourists, nuts and old people, who decided not to run, are left.
I spent most of my time in Nashville gambling at the casino. I spent a few dollars for a companion and have been paying for her gambling and she is my friend for a few days. She used to be an English teacher in Kentucky and she wants badly to edit my stories I write, we will see on that later.
The federal government is governing in Nashville and other Southern cities I hear and they are making a mess of things. That's all I'll say except they are very high handed, cruel really and I will be glad to get out of here.
What's to say about a collapsing City? It' so historical that it's trite and if poignant, mundane to just a flinch and a head roll to the left. Part of the dwellers of Nashville go to the Wal Mart and work even though their city will end up like all the Northern ones they read about in the news paper covered by up to ten feet of dust and dirt in a week or two. Like Ur, or an Egyptian City or Asian City before them. We don't have city walls any more but who will maintain the city walls here in Nashville soon? Civilization dies and moves on. The young and hopeful, who can forget the death of nine out of ten of their friends and countrymen flee South in desperation and hope. The old go about their routines oblivious to doom and their extinction.
Me, I still gamble and let the pretty girl I am with talk. It's nice to have someone to listen too. The Westin casino hotel here is very plush and exclusive and the staff are like the first class employees on the Titanic an hour after ice was impacted. Service is good but can be erratic. I go to the fine restaurants here and always only order, oatmeal, rolled and heavy for my upset stomach or dried biscuits Southern style or grits. Still it's nice to eat and be served on a silver platter.
Here at the Westin from my room high above Nashville on the Eighteenth floor at night I watch the stars and the fires. The fires are from fleeing people burning their houses before they leave, direction South. They are afraid their bankers will try to enforce their mortgages even though their houses are covered in dirt and dust ten feet high and now functionally obsolete. Maybe one hundred thousand houses are a blaze on any given night, not as many as a Northern city, because of the Federal troops or these Southerners seem more compliant than their Northern neighbors.
Tennessee has sealed their borders and Federal troops are not letting anyone in or out of Nashville without proof of upper class status, [ie] net worth above a certain level. Rioting in Nashville in all parts of the city this morning, so far the casino here is safe. Back to the real world soon. We can't stay at the casino forever.
end
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Halloween story
Halloween story
fiction
edward w pritchard
Workers in East Liverpool, Ohio digging a new gas line 200 feet North of the Ohio river have found evidence in a tell, of a lower level ancient civilization on the site of current East Liverpool. The layering of civilizations in mounds, called tells in Arabic, is not unusual. As one civilization passes the next often build on the same site, merely raising the street level so to speak. It's a common occurrence well know to archeologists.
What makes the East Liverpool discovery intriguing, and a little spooky to archeologists from Ohio State University, at Columbus, Ohio is that the lower city remains are not a previous East Liverpool. Nor were they Native American remains. The tell is confirmed as the remains of an early civilization of Ur formerly conclusively known to be in the Middle East, existing in about 2800BC, in ancient Sumeria. How did a layer of the ancient city of Ur end up in Ohio? Archeologists best guess, at least according to underclassmen archeology students from Ohio State is it must have something to do with the Ohio River and civilizations developing on the land between the Rivers.
More later on this as available
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Workers in East Liverpool, Ohio digging a new gas line 200 feet North of the Ohio river have found evidence in a tell, of a lower level ancient civilization on the site of current East Liverpool. The layering of civilizations in mounds, called tells in Arabic, is not unusual. As one civilization passes the next often build on the same site, merely raising the street level so to speak. It's a common occurrence well know to archeologists.
What makes the East Liverpool discovery intriguing, and a little spooky to archeologists from Ohio State University, at Columbus, Ohio is that the lower city remains are not a previous East Liverpool. Nor were they Native American remains. The tell is confirmed as the remains of an early civilization of Ur formerly conclusively known to be in the Middle East, existing in about 2800BC, in ancient Sumeria. How did a layer of the ancient city of Ur end up in Ohio? Archeologists best guess, at least according to underclassmen archeology students from Ohio State is it must have something to do with the Ohio River and civilizations developing on the land between the Rivers.
More later on this as available
end
preview- it's 2012 already-part 5
preview- it's 2012 already
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's hard for me to criticize the State of Tennessee or more specifically the City of Nashville. Both have been exemplary in remaining hospitable to the influx of refugees from Northern States, mine of Ohio included. In the catastrophe to civil order following the bad air plaguing Northern States to date, and slowly drifting South across America; Tennessee is being kind and welcoming to us refugees.
Several States, Texas and Arizona leading the charge, have sealed their borders. More moderate States will let in their fellow Americans, providing they do not have health insurance, mandating coverage in their State under Federal law. Those States fear the collapse of economic union.
I took Laura to the airport in Nashville. After she safely was on a plane to Chile and her new life I witnessed what is probably the new normal for Southern cities. I shudder to contemplate what we have become.
A desperate man at the airport refused to be convinced that his airline frequent flying credits, painstakingly acquired over a dozen years, had become worthless in the last month. As he became violent, I watched part of an incident of him being initiated to the newest generation of DNA tasers. The technology usually reserved for our foreign enemies, often called terrorists, by our military is painful and long remembered. The invasive orally delivered technology is apparently now in use in US cities because of the threat of civil disobedience caused by the new normal of the bad air epidemic and the movement of peoples South it has usher in. I was unable to watch longer as he was overpowered by five security persons and the tentacled device was rolled toward him down the sloping airport concourse.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's hard for me to criticize the State of Tennessee or more specifically the City of Nashville. Both have been exemplary in remaining hospitable to the influx of refugees from Northern States, mine of Ohio included. In the catastrophe to civil order following the bad air plaguing Northern States to date, and slowly drifting South across America; Tennessee is being kind and welcoming to us refugees.
Several States, Texas and Arizona leading the charge, have sealed their borders. More moderate States will let in their fellow Americans, providing they do not have health insurance, mandating coverage in their State under Federal law. Those States fear the collapse of economic union.
I took Laura to the airport in Nashville. After she safely was on a plane to Chile and her new life I witnessed what is probably the new normal for Southern cities. I shudder to contemplate what we have become.
A desperate man at the airport refused to be convinced that his airline frequent flying credits, painstakingly acquired over a dozen years, had become worthless in the last month. As he became violent, I watched part of an incident of him being initiated to the newest generation of DNA tasers. The technology usually reserved for our foreign enemies, often called terrorists, by our military is painful and long remembered. The invasive orally delivered technology is apparently now in use in US cities because of the threat of civil disobedience caused by the new normal of the bad air epidemic and the movement of peoples South it has usher in. I was unable to watch longer as he was overpowered by five security persons and the tentacled device was rolled toward him down the sloping airport concourse.
end
Monday, October 25, 2010
Taylor Swift and Jane Asher -did a woman write the Beatles songs
Taylor Swift and Jane Asher -did a woman write the Beatles songs
fiction
edward w pritchard
this is a parody, a work of fiction, with no claim to truth, historical accuracy or integrity by the authors
Did Jane Asher write the Beatle's songs. As a woman was she unable to take the credit for the master works and may she have allowed the duo of Lennon and McCartney to bathe in the limelight of her genius. From 1963 to 1968 Jane Asher was romantically involved with Paul McCartney and several of the masterpieces he is credited with writing, through the typical Lennon McCartney arrangement, were wrote in the music room of her family house. It's just a short jump from that piece of information to assume inaccurately that Jane Asher wrote the bulk of the Beatles masterpieces between 1963 and 1969.
John Lennon lived with his Aunt in middle class circumstances in Liverpool. McCartney's father was a talented amateur musician. Neither Lennon or McCartney attended University and neither seem to have the background to write the music usually credited to them.
Asher's parents were a physician, and her Mother a music teacher. Both are members of the British aristocracy and passed their blue blood on to their daughter Jane. True they also passed it on to their son Peter Asher of Peter and Gordon sometimes erroneously credited with writing the Beatles songs. McCartney often gave cast off songs to Peter Asher which became hits worldwide for Peter and Gordon. Why?
Jane Asher is traditionally credited with being a Muse to McCartney and she is credited with inspiring many of the songs McCartney wrote and then magnanimously shared the credit with John Lennon.
It's probably false and foolish to assume the Beatle's didn't write their songs. Especially since many credible witnesses say they did.
If two lads from modest backgrounds in Liverpool in the 1960's without University education or British blue blood did in fact write their masterpieces; is it too much of a stretch to assume Shakespeare wrote his own plays, instead of Marlowe, or to assume that Chaucer really wrote the Canterbury tales.
Taylor Swift, a contemporary American songwriter blatantly writes songs about her lovers and ex lovers. A more traditional and demur Jane Asher didn't. Score up another one for British sensibilities. Jane Asher bakes cakes and shares with the world how to do so. Taylor Swift is the Savoy truffle de jour.
stay tuned for more such nonsense- Is Taylor Swift influenced by Jonathon Swift?
fiction
edward w pritchard
this is a parody, a work of fiction, with no claim to truth, historical accuracy or integrity by the authors
Did Jane Asher write the Beatle's songs. As a woman was she unable to take the credit for the master works and may she have allowed the duo of Lennon and McCartney to bathe in the limelight of her genius. From 1963 to 1968 Jane Asher was romantically involved with Paul McCartney and several of the masterpieces he is credited with writing, through the typical Lennon McCartney arrangement, were wrote in the music room of her family house. It's just a short jump from that piece of information to assume inaccurately that Jane Asher wrote the bulk of the Beatles masterpieces between 1963 and 1969.
John Lennon lived with his Aunt in middle class circumstances in Liverpool. McCartney's father was a talented amateur musician. Neither Lennon or McCartney attended University and neither seem to have the background to write the music usually credited to them.
Asher's parents were a physician, and her Mother a music teacher. Both are members of the British aristocracy and passed their blue blood on to their daughter Jane. True they also passed it on to their son Peter Asher of Peter and Gordon sometimes erroneously credited with writing the Beatles songs. McCartney often gave cast off songs to Peter Asher which became hits worldwide for Peter and Gordon. Why?
Jane Asher is traditionally credited with being a Muse to McCartney and she is credited with inspiring many of the songs McCartney wrote and then magnanimously shared the credit with John Lennon.
It's probably false and foolish to assume the Beatle's didn't write their songs. Especially since many credible witnesses say they did.
If two lads from modest backgrounds in Liverpool in the 1960's without University education or British blue blood did in fact write their masterpieces; is it too much of a stretch to assume Shakespeare wrote his own plays, instead of Marlowe, or to assume that Chaucer really wrote the Canterbury tales.
Taylor Swift, a contemporary American songwriter blatantly writes songs about her lovers and ex lovers. A more traditional and demur Jane Asher didn't. Score up another one for British sensibilities. Jane Asher bakes cakes and shares with the world how to do so. Taylor Swift is the Savoy truffle de jour.
stay tuned for more such nonsense- Is Taylor Swift influenced by Jonathon Swift?
another picture of dorella gray
another picture of dorella gray
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dad kept the house after the divorce with Mom and Mom's picture from their 25th anniversary always hung in the dinning room, even after the divorce, when I took the grand-kids over to see Dad on holidays. It's a good picture of Mom as a 45 year old woman and she looks distinguished and attractive in the picture.
Dad has been upsetting me by changing Mom's picture each year since that first Thanksgiving after the divorce. It's been fifteen years now and Mom is down to age thirty now in the picture of her that hangs in the old dinning room where we grew up. What's my Dad trying to say here?
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dad kept the house after the divorce with Mom and Mom's picture from their 25th anniversary always hung in the dinning room, even after the divorce, when I took the grand-kids over to see Dad on holidays. It's a good picture of Mom as a 45 year old woman and she looks distinguished and attractive in the picture.
Dad has been upsetting me by changing Mom's picture each year since that first Thanksgiving after the divorce. It's been fifteen years now and Mom is down to age thirty now in the picture of her that hangs in the old dinning room where we grew up. What's my Dad trying to say here?
end
Sunday, October 24, 2010
it's 2012 already-part 4
it's 2012 already-part 4
fiction
edward w pritchard
Normalcy establishes itself even in a mass movement of people trying to escape bad air. I have forgotten everything I ever cared about and I am instinctively driven to survive. Me, a bit of a philosopher anymore, have decided that I am driven by an ancient drive to keep alive the species that I am a small part. I have established a routine to deal with the bad air that drifts north to south at seven miles per hour twenty four hours per day.
No mechanized vehicles can survive the bad air which is viscous and clings to the throat and lungs and is coughed up by humans as blackish blue flem or urinated out as sharp crystal slivers in painful daily ordeals. Machines, and horses can not survive, only humans survive and in particular those of us with an immense capacity for suffering.
It's been about three weeks here in 2012 since the bad air started and most of those who planned for Armageddon based on astrological Mayan Calendars and those type of things died in the first few days. About one in ten people, at least that's the mortality where I am now about here in lower Kentucky and heading South, have experienced. The air will get us all eventually but I don't think about that, I just walk, stumble forward until I collapse. If I didn't have to eat and throw up the foul concoction that now is food, or drink and fight not to scream as I urinate it wouldn't be so bad.
A complication. A little girl of about eight is traveling alone. Those she cares about or started with are gone. She was staring intently into the fire I was sitting by and I started to get paternal or something with her because someone had stolen her glasses. Glasses aren't valuable because what's to see anymore. The landscape is nightmarish. I'll describe that later, I just ate.
The girl is thin, probably losing weight,like everyone else and studying her as she sat by the fire bravely staring forward my heart went out to her plight.Other than her thinning hair she looks like a normal, intelligent, curious little girl. Not afraid, just marching like the rest of us. I gave her some food and water and an asthma inhaler and a small Indian blanket that I have for warmth at night and we have been walking together.
I guess I have a wild look about me but she doesn't seem to mind. Most people have took to avoiding strangers and I guess I have become pretty strange and savage looking.
I got the little girl, who I call Laura, not her real name, her glasses back. I offered publicly to trade one of the twenty asthma inhalers I carry for a pair of child's glasses, if they had purple frames, after she told me her glasses were purple.
The next night at the fire a man approached and I took him aside and after I saw and confirmed the glasses were Laura's I took the glasses and beat the man to death with a tree branch. Morality has changed here in post 2012 and I am no longer a man of peace but now live by an eye for an eye.
Laura was happy to get the glasses back and my reputation for sudden violence continues to grow, which will help both Laura and I to travel without harm.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Normalcy establishes itself even in a mass movement of people trying to escape bad air. I have forgotten everything I ever cared about and I am instinctively driven to survive. Me, a bit of a philosopher anymore, have decided that I am driven by an ancient drive to keep alive the species that I am a small part. I have established a routine to deal with the bad air that drifts north to south at seven miles per hour twenty four hours per day.
No mechanized vehicles can survive the bad air which is viscous and clings to the throat and lungs and is coughed up by humans as blackish blue flem or urinated out as sharp crystal slivers in painful daily ordeals. Machines, and horses can not survive, only humans survive and in particular those of us with an immense capacity for suffering.
It's been about three weeks here in 2012 since the bad air started and most of those who planned for Armageddon based on astrological Mayan Calendars and those type of things died in the first few days. About one in ten people, at least that's the mortality where I am now about here in lower Kentucky and heading South, have experienced. The air will get us all eventually but I don't think about that, I just walk, stumble forward until I collapse. If I didn't have to eat and throw up the foul concoction that now is food, or drink and fight not to scream as I urinate it wouldn't be so bad.
A complication. A little girl of about eight is traveling alone. Those she cares about or started with are gone. She was staring intently into the fire I was sitting by and I started to get paternal or something with her because someone had stolen her glasses. Glasses aren't valuable because what's to see anymore. The landscape is nightmarish. I'll describe that later, I just ate.
The girl is thin, probably losing weight,like everyone else and studying her as she sat by the fire bravely staring forward my heart went out to her plight.Other than her thinning hair she looks like a normal, intelligent, curious little girl. Not afraid, just marching like the rest of us. I gave her some food and water and an asthma inhaler and a small Indian blanket that I have for warmth at night and we have been walking together.
I guess I have a wild look about me but she doesn't seem to mind. Most people have took to avoiding strangers and I guess I have become pretty strange and savage looking.
I got the little girl, who I call Laura, not her real name, her glasses back. I offered publicly to trade one of the twenty asthma inhalers I carry for a pair of child's glasses, if they had purple frames, after she told me her glasses were purple.
The next night at the fire a man approached and I took him aside and after I saw and confirmed the glasses were Laura's I took the glasses and beat the man to death with a tree branch. Morality has changed here in post 2012 and I am no longer a man of peace but now live by an eye for an eye.
Laura was happy to get the glasses back and my reputation for sudden violence continues to grow, which will help both Laura and I to travel without harm.
first mind meeting-part 2
first mind meeting-part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
My wife died of cancer and has been gone about eight months. I have got a lot of good advice about keeping busy and finding new interests but Sunday nights I get very lonely. Things weren't perfect between me and my wife but there is a hole in my soul with her gone. I feel like a man reading a fine novel but skipping every other page without her in my life.
Three weeks ago I began to use her pension, which I get the first of every month, to buy cell phone companion so I can talk with her. To keep our relationship fresh I only call Sunday nights about a quarter to nine like I used to do when we first met. We talk for about a half an hour and then I talk again to her the next week. I look forward to our call all week. Ninety five per cent of the customers of cell phone companion use the service for sex talk, with a fantasy woman that they change now and then or sometimes add a blond or a redhead to so they can talk to two women at once if that is their thing or just their whim, that lonely Saturday night.
Using a few recordings of my wife's voice, her bio, and everything I have ever wrote about her in my writings the cell phone companion computers have artificially created a program that is more her than she was. I would never dishonor her memory by talking to a redhead at the same time or anything like that, and I am nearly sixty after all; but I have had the program modified a little. I have chosen the first mind feature so that when my now deceased wife talks to me and answers my questions and argues with me a little it is as she was when we had known each other for three or four years. It's easier and more pleasant for me that way and I don't think she would mind if she knew.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
My wife died of cancer and has been gone about eight months. I have got a lot of good advice about keeping busy and finding new interests but Sunday nights I get very lonely. Things weren't perfect between me and my wife but there is a hole in my soul with her gone. I feel like a man reading a fine novel but skipping every other page without her in my life.
Three weeks ago I began to use her pension, which I get the first of every month, to buy cell phone companion so I can talk with her. To keep our relationship fresh I only call Sunday nights about a quarter to nine like I used to do when we first met. We talk for about a half an hour and then I talk again to her the next week. I look forward to our call all week. Ninety five per cent of the customers of cell phone companion use the service for sex talk, with a fantasy woman that they change now and then or sometimes add a blond or a redhead to so they can talk to two women at once if that is their thing or just their whim, that lonely Saturday night.
Using a few recordings of my wife's voice, her bio, and everything I have ever wrote about her in my writings the cell phone companion computers have artificially created a program that is more her than she was. I would never dishonor her memory by talking to a redhead at the same time or anything like that, and I am nearly sixty after all; but I have had the program modified a little. I have chosen the first mind feature so that when my now deceased wife talks to me and answers my questions and argues with me a little it is as she was when we had known each other for three or four years. It's easier and more pleasant for me that way and I don't think she would mind if she knew.
end
Thursday, October 21, 2010
it's 2012 already part-3
it's 2012 already part-3
fiction
edward w pritchard
Many disaster movies in our time spend a few obligatory frames trying to describe what it's like to flee from your home in a large natural disaster. Be it meteor, volcano or earthquake, in the movies there is always somewhere to go to find sanctuary.
What if your decision to move was not rational but instinctual and ancient. Suddenly you have to move out of your house now. You don't know why but bad air is coming and to breathe it is to die. Don't think. Just keep moving, step after step. Success in your tribulations is time's duration. You are divinely granted a few more breaths; but you must suffer and you must not plan or aspire. You only are driven to move.
Here's something I wrote before about the start of the journey.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
the movement of vast amounts of people
the movement of vast amounts of people
fiction
edward w pritchard
The noxious vapors drifted slowly, north to South at no more than seven miles per hour but to not keep moving meant death to human and most larger animals. Steadily day after day I stumbled forward. My strength was long gone and my will shattered but blindly I stumbled, on and on going to where I don't know or care anymore but driven to move and escape the burning of the lungs and confusion that stopping caused; even if one stopped only for a moment in a desperate attempt to regroup or plan a new exit strategy.
The vapors continued to drift South and although alone I stayed with the pack and patiently continued forward.
Posted by edward pritchard at 7:29 AM
Labels: onward
What would you carry as you left your house in this scenario? If you were an astute business man before- maybe asthma medicine- for everyone's burning lungs- it might become the new currency. Cognac, VSOP to prop up sagging morale and to keep the memory of civilization alive for a few more weeks-while the flask endured. And a watch, keep track of the time, for this ordeal has to eventually, mercifully end soon.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Many disaster movies in our time spend a few obligatory frames trying to describe what it's like to flee from your home in a large natural disaster. Be it meteor, volcano or earthquake, in the movies there is always somewhere to go to find sanctuary.
What if your decision to move was not rational but instinctual and ancient. Suddenly you have to move out of your house now. You don't know why but bad air is coming and to breathe it is to die. Don't think. Just keep moving, step after step. Success in your tribulations is time's duration. You are divinely granted a few more breaths; but you must suffer and you must not plan or aspire. You only are driven to move.
Here's something I wrote before about the start of the journey.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
the movement of vast amounts of people
the movement of vast amounts of people
fiction
edward w pritchard
The noxious vapors drifted slowly, north to South at no more than seven miles per hour but to not keep moving meant death to human and most larger animals. Steadily day after day I stumbled forward. My strength was long gone and my will shattered but blindly I stumbled, on and on going to where I don't know or care anymore but driven to move and escape the burning of the lungs and confusion that stopping caused; even if one stopped only for a moment in a desperate attempt to regroup or plan a new exit strategy.
The vapors continued to drift South and although alone I stayed with the pack and patiently continued forward.
Posted by edward pritchard at 7:29 AM
Labels: onward
What would you carry as you left your house in this scenario? If you were an astute business man before- maybe asthma medicine- for everyone's burning lungs- it might become the new currency. Cognac, VSOP to prop up sagging morale and to keep the memory of civilization alive for a few more weeks-while the flask endured. And a watch, keep track of the time, for this ordeal has to eventually, mercifully end soon.
end
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
in the end
in the end
fiction
edward w pritchard
In the end, grandpa used to go back behind the house and stare and stare up at the mountains. They are just mountains, beautiful true, but we couldn't ever figure what he was looking at.
After grandpa passed on sometimes I go back behind the house and think of him while I stare at the blue sky and distant white snow capped mountains East of the house. The wind seems to blow from the Mountains toward where we live. The Mountains seem formidable and far off as I stare at them, especially around dawn or dusk. The sun is magnificent also.
fiction
edward w pritchard
In the end, grandpa used to go back behind the house and stare and stare up at the mountains. They are just mountains, beautiful true, but we couldn't ever figure what he was looking at.
After grandpa passed on sometimes I go back behind the house and think of him while I stare at the blue sky and distant white snow capped mountains East of the house. The wind seems to blow from the Mountains toward where we live. The Mountains seem formidable and far off as I stare at them, especially around dawn or dusk. The sun is magnificent also.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Journey with me-part 2
Journey with me-part 2
see part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
Journey with me back across the ages to when we lived in the Lake village. On the water, near the shore on platforms of elevated poles in a small community.
Fishing started early and the work went on long. Some in small boats, some from the edge of the elevated village. Small boys spent the day gathering bait on shore. Small girls cleaned fish with their Mother's. Men just fished.
It was hot in the boats. Fishing was unpredictable but we fished every day rain or shine.
Sometimes you got tired of eating the same old fish from the Lake. If you got hungry enough elsewhere, when traveling to gather sharp rocks for cutting tools you fantasied about the steamed and fried fish and your mouth would water thinking about fish and crayfish stew.
Fishing is how we fed ourselves back in time when we lived at the lake village on platforms on elevated poles on shallow Lakes.
see part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
Journey with me back across the ages to when we lived in the Lake village. On the water, near the shore on platforms of elevated poles in a small community.
Fishing started early and the work went on long. Some in small boats, some from the edge of the elevated village. Small boys spent the day gathering bait on shore. Small girls cleaned fish with their Mother's. Men just fished.
It was hot in the boats. Fishing was unpredictable but we fished every day rain or shine.
Sometimes you got tired of eating the same old fish from the Lake. If you got hungry enough elsewhere, when traveling to gather sharp rocks for cutting tools you fantasied about the steamed and fried fish and your mouth would water thinking about fish and crayfish stew.
Fishing is how we fed ourselves back in time when we lived at the lake village on platforms on elevated poles on shallow Lakes.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
it's 2012 already-part 2
it's 2012 already-part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
If the social order is catastrophically interrupted in America in 2012 can civilization continue? If for reasons unknown, at this time, and if we were suddenly forced to leave our homes and our cities could civilization survive?
Chaos and insecurity would accompany a catastrophic shock to the social order. Fear of the future would occur next as we retreated inward and switched from planning for the tomorrow's aspirations to becoming enmeshed in the struggle for daily survival. Economic conditions can change overnight following a universal jolt to the social order. Could America lose the privilege of having a surplus of food and sustenance suddenly in 2012? Would competition for food cause us to turn violent if scarcity becomes a reality to us who are accustomed to plenty?
For thousands of years civilization has meant cities. Cities typically have disappeared suddenly from earthquake, volcano, tornado, large waves if by the sea, and war. Biological epidemic and sudden climate change are also potential destroyers of cities. Could civilization as we know it survive a climate change of twenty degrees on average? Can famine still destroy civilization?
Ancient Roman civilization followed the pattern of begin, flourish, and eventually disappear. The cities eventually came back, but not quite as Roman civilization. Following the destruction of Western Roman civilization circa 476 an attempt was made to revive the old Roman world by the Eastern Emperor Justinian. Despite his military and political efforts the attempt failed and in 541 a plague, probably bubonic, killed up to 100 million people. Much later in 1348 in Western Europe bubonic plague again destroyed tens of millions of people and destroyed the economic system of feudalism. Somehow civilization survived and eventually many of the same cities that had endured both plagues flourished.
It took British historian, Edward Gibbon, in the Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire, six lengthy volumes to describe and analyze the reason for the decline and fall of Roman civilization. However among the traditional explanations are the ennui and disillusionment of the citizens of Rome. The exhaustion of the optimism of the citizens of Rome was a factor in the fall of Roman civilization.
American civilization has meant will and optimism about the future, a sense of destiny, and creative energy to meet all challenges. Since at least 1783 Americans have had a sense of permanency and a determined will to grow our cities and promote civilization and culture on the continent.
Despite any catastrophic changes brought about in 2012 by unknown disruptions to civilization human intelligence would continue. But would we have the will to look forward if we all suddenly left our houses and cities with only what we could carry?
Gibbons, the historian, philosophizing on the fall of Rome, in volume 31, Rise and Fall ... " There exists in human nature a strong propensity to depreciate the advantages, and magnify the evils of the present times." Sitting here in 2010 is catastrophe in 2012 a product of our ennui and our disillusionment?
Every year is a new adventure. Drink a little wine tomorrow, enjoy your favorite things and buy a present for your Granddaughter. Unknown potential causes lurk ahead. Whether driven by the divine hand, benign nature or statistical probability we have little ability to control our destiny. Every year is also more potential suffering for us humans.
Will you be able to pass civilization on to your children and grandchildren? If you were rushing from your home suddenly in 2012, carrying a few treasures of your existence, how would you view the future and how would you remember your past?
fiction
edward w pritchard
If the social order is catastrophically interrupted in America in 2012 can civilization continue? If for reasons unknown, at this time, and if we were suddenly forced to leave our homes and our cities could civilization survive?
Chaos and insecurity would accompany a catastrophic shock to the social order. Fear of the future would occur next as we retreated inward and switched from planning for the tomorrow's aspirations to becoming enmeshed in the struggle for daily survival. Economic conditions can change overnight following a universal jolt to the social order. Could America lose the privilege of having a surplus of food and sustenance suddenly in 2012? Would competition for food cause us to turn violent if scarcity becomes a reality to us who are accustomed to plenty?
For thousands of years civilization has meant cities. Cities typically have disappeared suddenly from earthquake, volcano, tornado, large waves if by the sea, and war. Biological epidemic and sudden climate change are also potential destroyers of cities. Could civilization as we know it survive a climate change of twenty degrees on average? Can famine still destroy civilization?
Ancient Roman civilization followed the pattern of begin, flourish, and eventually disappear. The cities eventually came back, but not quite as Roman civilization. Following the destruction of Western Roman civilization circa 476 an attempt was made to revive the old Roman world by the Eastern Emperor Justinian. Despite his military and political efforts the attempt failed and in 541 a plague, probably bubonic, killed up to 100 million people. Much later in 1348 in Western Europe bubonic plague again destroyed tens of millions of people and destroyed the economic system of feudalism. Somehow civilization survived and eventually many of the same cities that had endured both plagues flourished.
It took British historian, Edward Gibbon, in the Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire, six lengthy volumes to describe and analyze the reason for the decline and fall of Roman civilization. However among the traditional explanations are the ennui and disillusionment of the citizens of Rome. The exhaustion of the optimism of the citizens of Rome was a factor in the fall of Roman civilization.
American civilization has meant will and optimism about the future, a sense of destiny, and creative energy to meet all challenges. Since at least 1783 Americans have had a sense of permanency and a determined will to grow our cities and promote civilization and culture on the continent.
Despite any catastrophic changes brought about in 2012 by unknown disruptions to civilization human intelligence would continue. But would we have the will to look forward if we all suddenly left our houses and cities with only what we could carry?
Gibbons, the historian, philosophizing on the fall of Rome, in volume 31, Rise and Fall ... " There exists in human nature a strong propensity to depreciate the advantages, and magnify the evils of the present times." Sitting here in 2010 is catastrophe in 2012 a product of our ennui and our disillusionment?
Every year is a new adventure. Drink a little wine tomorrow, enjoy your favorite things and buy a present for your Granddaughter. Unknown potential causes lurk ahead. Whether driven by the divine hand, benign nature or statistical probability we have little ability to control our destiny. Every year is also more potential suffering for us humans.
Will you be able to pass civilization on to your children and grandchildren? If you were rushing from your home suddenly in 2012, carrying a few treasures of your existence, how would you view the future and how would you remember your past?
its 2012 already-part 1
its 2012 already-part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
What would you carry out of your house if you could only carry one thing?
Your sick child? No a warm coat, good pair of shoes, and gloves and a hat don't count. That's a given.
What about your prescription? Or, if you are so inclined your best bottle of Napoleon brandy. Some fishing hooks and line for survival? A flashlight? Gold and silver?
What would you carry out of your house if you had to leave suddenly and would not be returning. Sadly many of us would grab their gun for protection out there. It's going to be scary. You will have to take care of yourself. Try to take care of those you love while you can.
How about your bible or the Koran. It might come in handy in 2012.
fiction
edward w pritchard
What would you carry out of your house if you could only carry one thing?
Your sick child? No a warm coat, good pair of shoes, and gloves and a hat don't count. That's a given.
What about your prescription? Or, if you are so inclined your best bottle of Napoleon brandy. Some fishing hooks and line for survival? A flashlight? Gold and silver?
What would you carry out of your house if you had to leave suddenly and would not be returning. Sadly many of us would grab their gun for protection out there. It's going to be scary. You will have to take care of yourself. Try to take care of those you love while you can.
How about your bible or the Koran. It might come in handy in 2012.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
In the company of the areas women
In the company of the areas women
fiction
edward w pritchard
Ailred had an unusual command. Because of the shortage of soldiers, or men for that matter, in the area of York in England in the year 910 he was temporarily in command of a company of 150 women. The women had been temporarily recruited to fill in for the men who had went to the seaside to fight the Vikings who were rampaging again in England after a break of twenty five years. The raiding activity of the Vikings was dictated by economic conditions and weather conditions in their homeland of Denmark, Norway and Sweden. When they came to England, the Viking men raped, pillaged and destroyed without mercy in England and then returned to their homeland to again function as good Father's and citizens.
Ailred's command were in charge of escorting 50 captured Viking soldiers to York. The captured soldiers were marching with their hands securely bound behind their backs. As they walked an old woman in a village had yelled curses at the marching Vikings for molesting her, years ago, when she was a young girl. Without warning Ailred's command of 150 women fell on the Viking prisoners and hacked at them with knives and small swords for twenty minutes or so in a frenzy of retaliation. Ailred a hardened soldiers of many years, turned his back, unable to bear the site of his troops at work. Later what was left of the butchered Viking prisoners was buried in a small mass grave.
After the massacre, Ailred's female troops were relieved of duty and the women peacefully returned to their lives and their families to function as good citizens.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Ailred had an unusual command. Because of the shortage of soldiers, or men for that matter, in the area of York in England in the year 910 he was temporarily in command of a company of 150 women. The women had been temporarily recruited to fill in for the men who had went to the seaside to fight the Vikings who were rampaging again in England after a break of twenty five years. The raiding activity of the Vikings was dictated by economic conditions and weather conditions in their homeland of Denmark, Norway and Sweden. When they came to England, the Viking men raped, pillaged and destroyed without mercy in England and then returned to their homeland to again function as good Father's and citizens.
Ailred's command were in charge of escorting 50 captured Viking soldiers to York. The captured soldiers were marching with their hands securely bound behind their backs. As they walked an old woman in a village had yelled curses at the marching Vikings for molesting her, years ago, when she was a young girl. Without warning Ailred's command of 150 women fell on the Viking prisoners and hacked at them with knives and small swords for twenty minutes or so in a frenzy of retaliation. Ailred a hardened soldiers of many years, turned his back, unable to bear the site of his troops at work. Later what was left of the butchered Viking prisoners was buried in a small mass grave.
After the massacre, Ailred's female troops were relieved of duty and the women peacefully returned to their lives and their families to function as good citizens.
end
the eternal feminine
the eternal feminine
fiction
edward w pritchard
Logic where for art thou. My heart jumps and my passions dictate my decision making. A wafting flame of a distantly remembered feminine nature stalks my reasoning.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Logic where for art thou. My heart jumps and my passions dictate my decision making. A wafting flame of a distantly remembered feminine nature stalks my reasoning.
end
God answers prayers
God answers prayers
fiction
edward w pritchard
Forgive me lord for I have sinned. I have also been a bad cook.
Lord, answering- You have only hurt yourself, it's Ok. In time our sins correct themselves.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Forgive me lord for I have sinned. I have also been a bad cook.
Lord, answering- You have only hurt yourself, it's Ok. In time our sins correct themselves.
Friday, October 15, 2010
The Judge Speaks
The Judge Speaks
fiction
edward w pritchard
On the contrary Mr. Owens I do understand the situation. Your client shot and killed someone because they put on their blinker while driving going about their daily business. Because they had the misfortune to be in front of your client an innocent person is dead. And yes, I understand your client has been under a lot of stress. But I can't overlook the fact that your client said that he had wanted to do the same thing before at least a thousand times to strangers he didn't know. We will discuss sentencing later. This case confuses me.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
On the contrary Mr. Owens I do understand the situation. Your client shot and killed someone because they put on their blinker while driving going about their daily business. Because they had the misfortune to be in front of your client an innocent person is dead. And yes, I understand your client has been under a lot of stress. But I can't overlook the fact that your client said that he had wanted to do the same thing before at least a thousand times to strangers he didn't know. We will discuss sentencing later. This case confuses me.
end
fly on the wall
fly on the wall
fiction
edward w pritchard
The barn siding lining the rear sitting room at the back of Brewster's house was soft and could absorb a blow.
Brewster would have dinner after work in the small kitchen and then spend twenty minutes or so and read the evening paper. Relaxed a little after the stress of the day he would pick up one of his baseball bats and retreat to the rear sitting room.
Brewster would take the bat and for thirty to forty five minutes for exercise and a cardio workout smash the flys that had accumulated during the day on the barn siding of the rear sitting room.
After he was finished with his workout Brewster would watch a little TV before bed.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
The barn siding lining the rear sitting room at the back of Brewster's house was soft and could absorb a blow.
Brewster would have dinner after work in the small kitchen and then spend twenty minutes or so and read the evening paper. Relaxed a little after the stress of the day he would pick up one of his baseball bats and retreat to the rear sitting room.
Brewster would take the bat and for thirty to forty five minutes for exercise and a cardio workout smash the flys that had accumulated during the day on the barn siding of the rear sitting room.
After he was finished with his workout Brewster would watch a little TV before bed.
end
Osiris and Isis
Osiris and Isis
fiction
edward w pritchard
Osiris was out of work again and fighting with his Brother because of the time off. Isis was worried. She didn't want to traipse all over town again picking up pieces of Osiris' heart and the rest of himself after he fought with his Brother.
Isis went down to the Wal Mart and took a greeters job. She was sick and tired of pulling things together for Osiris. From now on she would worry about her future happiness later. Everyone else would have to worry about their future happiness themselves also. Isis was tired of bearing the responsibility of making everyone happy someday. Isis was tired of picking up the pieces of Osiris' life.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Osiris was out of work again and fighting with his Brother because of the time off. Isis was worried. She didn't want to traipse all over town again picking up pieces of Osiris' heart and the rest of himself after he fought with his Brother.
Isis went down to the Wal Mart and took a greeters job. She was sick and tired of pulling things together for Osiris. From now on she would worry about her future happiness later. Everyone else would have to worry about their future happiness themselves also. Isis was tired of bearing the responsibility of making everyone happy someday. Isis was tired of picking up the pieces of Osiris' life.
end
a myth
a myth
fiction
edward w pritchard
The myth of the unicorn was propagated originally as a savior to humanity. The unicorn was always solitary, good, but fierce. The unicorn was beautiful and aloof. There are of course no unicorns, its a myth.
Flying horses that's another matter. There are flying horses. Flying horses cannot be seen by humans. However, some people may occasionally hear a flying horse. Since flying horses come only rarely and the sound they make is soft, like the twinkling of celestial bells one must listen carefully and long to catch the tingle of their wings in motion.
Listening for flying horses disrupts normal human interaction and flying horses have little commercial value anymore. No longer can flying horses lead humans to the dwelling place of the gods who sometimes ride or associate with flying horses. People who listen for flying horses are usually considered a little odd, for they become anxious that they will miss the sound of the flying horses when they come and the listeners acquire a nervous nature. Nature compensates for the anxiety cursed to the flying horse listeners by making them fierce, beautiful and aloof, solitary but good and sometimes saviors to humanity.
Soar upward my horses, your wings rustle guides us toward the gods abode.
end
[last paragraph- first four words- thanks to Nicolai Gogol]
fiction
edward w pritchard
The myth of the unicorn was propagated originally as a savior to humanity. The unicorn was always solitary, good, but fierce. The unicorn was beautiful and aloof. There are of course no unicorns, its a myth.
Flying horses that's another matter. There are flying horses. Flying horses cannot be seen by humans. However, some people may occasionally hear a flying horse. Since flying horses come only rarely and the sound they make is soft, like the twinkling of celestial bells one must listen carefully and long to catch the tingle of their wings in motion.
Listening for flying horses disrupts normal human interaction and flying horses have little commercial value anymore. No longer can flying horses lead humans to the dwelling place of the gods who sometimes ride or associate with flying horses. People who listen for flying horses are usually considered a little odd, for they become anxious that they will miss the sound of the flying horses when they come and the listeners acquire a nervous nature. Nature compensates for the anxiety cursed to the flying horse listeners by making them fierce, beautiful and aloof, solitary but good and sometimes saviors to humanity.
Soar upward my horses, your wings rustle guides us toward the gods abode.
end
[last paragraph- first four words- thanks to Nicolai Gogol]
those new york bankers again
those new york bankers again
fiction
edward w pritchard
Ever notice how when humans start thinking they are God, they soon take a long fall? Like Lucifer in John Milton. Even after their fall they are so incredulous. Without remorse, after their fall they use management by objective to plan their next caper.
We are partly to blame for their arrogance for we must have someone who we think knows what the heck is going on. With the economy, and with the unseen forces and invisible whirlwinds that fan our fears. Hence the New York Banker is raised to heights no man can navigate. He falls with a thud.
It's not surprising but it's so predictable. Sometimes my skepticism chokes myself. Why am I unable to join them. I guess deep down I find existence of God's good; here and now. They don't, maybe, and without God and his morale dictates, anything, no matter the depravity is possible.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Ever notice how when humans start thinking they are God, they soon take a long fall? Like Lucifer in John Milton. Even after their fall they are so incredulous. Without remorse, after their fall they use management by objective to plan their next caper.
We are partly to blame for their arrogance for we must have someone who we think knows what the heck is going on. With the economy, and with the unseen forces and invisible whirlwinds that fan our fears. Hence the New York Banker is raised to heights no man can navigate. He falls with a thud.
It's not surprising but it's so predictable. Sometimes my skepticism chokes myself. Why am I unable to join them. I guess deep down I find existence of God's good; here and now. They don't, maybe, and without God and his morale dictates, anything, no matter the depravity is possible.
crunchy Salt Port lilly
Crunchy Salt Port Lilly
fiction
edward w pritchard
You know your poor when you can't even afford popcorn. My Father's family came from Great Britain originally but despite the great intelligence of some of them they ended up poor down there in the small but beautiful mountains of West Virginia. One of their favorite foods was Crunchy Salt Port Lilly and it was the remainder of corn after all the useful parts had been used for other food manufacture for people and animals.
My dad's family had a lot of people in it. Ten people or so in the immediate family. They never all gathered together at the same time when I was a boy so I couldn't ever keep them straight and I was never sure if they existed at all. I only heard one sentence factoids of something extraordinary they had once done such as cut a candy bar in ten pieces so everyone could get a treat at Christmas. Another thing they used to do was gently tussle over who could eat the most crunchy Salt Port Lilly. It came in large 100 pound bags like oats for a horse might come in and in a couple of days for snacks my Father's family could eat a whole bag of those tasty morsels of Crunchy Salt Port Lilly.
Of course when I was a boy I didn't appreciate things and didn't like the dry hulky, husky taste of the dry hulls and remainder of corn and my Dad used to chastise me that I better learn to enjoy what I had. I always wanted a whole candy bar for myself. Having never grew up in the Great depression I never learned to value the simple things sent by god to the poor folks like Crunchy Salt Port Lilly.
Too bad because now I need to learn to be content with what I have. I have been outwitted by too many people who take and grab in a business deal like they had three rotating hands. Its a skill they learn in business school I think.
Anyway this weekend I think I am going to stop down West Virginia way and try to find a sack of that good ole Crunchy Salt Port Lilly. I think if I am careful a small bag will last me a long time for snacks and things.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
You know your poor when you can't even afford popcorn. My Father's family came from Great Britain originally but despite the great intelligence of some of them they ended up poor down there in the small but beautiful mountains of West Virginia. One of their favorite foods was Crunchy Salt Port Lilly and it was the remainder of corn after all the useful parts had been used for other food manufacture for people and animals.
My dad's family had a lot of people in it. Ten people or so in the immediate family. They never all gathered together at the same time when I was a boy so I couldn't ever keep them straight and I was never sure if they existed at all. I only heard one sentence factoids of something extraordinary they had once done such as cut a candy bar in ten pieces so everyone could get a treat at Christmas. Another thing they used to do was gently tussle over who could eat the most crunchy Salt Port Lilly. It came in large 100 pound bags like oats for a horse might come in and in a couple of days for snacks my Father's family could eat a whole bag of those tasty morsels of Crunchy Salt Port Lilly.
Of course when I was a boy I didn't appreciate things and didn't like the dry hulky, husky taste of the dry hulls and remainder of corn and my Dad used to chastise me that I better learn to enjoy what I had. I always wanted a whole candy bar for myself. Having never grew up in the Great depression I never learned to value the simple things sent by god to the poor folks like Crunchy Salt Port Lilly.
Too bad because now I need to learn to be content with what I have. I have been outwitted by too many people who take and grab in a business deal like they had three rotating hands. Its a skill they learn in business school I think.
Anyway this weekend I think I am going to stop down West Virginia way and try to find a sack of that good ole Crunchy Salt Port Lilly. I think if I am careful a small bag will last me a long time for snacks and things.
end
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Legalism in Michigan
Legalism in Michigan
fiction
edward w pritchard
The Federal Judge in the district in Michigan hearing the case was an Asian American, of Chinese ancestry and values.
The Bankers realized the precedent setting importance of the case and the New York Banks spared no expense on the defense. Besides the largest New York Bank, national banks all-offered assistance-and money. Lobbyists from Columbus Ohio to Hawaii stirred up the pot to promote the banking interests.
One lone defense counsel in Michigan had caused the mess. He pleaded that the largest New York bank had not been prudent in creating and caring for the documentation on his clients mortgage. He asked that all of that large Banks mortgage's filed in Michigan in the last twenty years be declared null and void.
The Judge was listening and considering carefully. As the day of decision on the matter came the Bankers were nervous and they began to fight among themselves over who was to blame and as individuals began to prepare their exit strategy.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
The Federal Judge in the district in Michigan hearing the case was an Asian American, of Chinese ancestry and values.
The Bankers realized the precedent setting importance of the case and the New York Banks spared no expense on the defense. Besides the largest New York Bank, national banks all-offered assistance-and money. Lobbyists from Columbus Ohio to Hawaii stirred up the pot to promote the banking interests.
One lone defense counsel in Michigan had caused the mess. He pleaded that the largest New York bank had not been prudent in creating and caring for the documentation on his clients mortgage. He asked that all of that large Banks mortgage's filed in Michigan in the last twenty years be declared null and void.
The Judge was listening and considering carefully. As the day of decision on the matter came the Bankers were nervous and they began to fight among themselves over who was to blame and as individuals began to prepare their exit strategy.
end
the last good year
the last good year
fiction
edward w pritchard
Vienna March 1938
Tall and straight, wide shouldered young soldiers with blue eyes stared confidently Eastward. They rode on motorcycles with side seats, in Dusenberg touring cars, or marched with high steps into Vienna, Austria in the Anschluss, on March 13, 1938.
The radio announcer was one of us. Speaking like a sad older brother he told us it was useless to resist the Nazi soldiers marching triumphantly into Vienna. The radio announcer said that no matter how many times we had promised to speak out or stick together, this time it was different because the Nazi's were different. It was useless for us to resist. We had a long history in Austria of dealing with conquerors. Why then did we cry that day? To cover our tears our radio station, ours for a few more days, played our music; Schubert's Unfinished Symphony. Sad and poignant.
We stayed in our homes as the Nazi troops entered Vienna. We shut the doors and the windows. True not everyone of us were inside that day. Some were on the roads cheering the Nazi's in an outburst of Germanic patriotism. The Western press in Britain, France and America said we all cheered. Later no Austrians cheered, Vienna a jewel of Western civilization died a little that day in 1938. The death of Vienna however had started earlier, at our peak, the top of our ascendancy in 1899. It took a while for us to hit bottom there in 1938 when the Nazi's came in, but we drifted lower and lower from 1899 and that day in 1938, that our music, Schubert's Unfinished Symphony played was the bottom of our fall from grace as one of the leaders of Western culture and civilization.
America- 1999
Our fears refused to stay submerged. First was the furor over Y2K, the transition to the millennium. Then an open wound, 09-11-2001. Lastly financial terror, a housing crisis in 2008, and rampant Wall Street scandals and moral-less banker behavior over and over. Something was wrong with our culture and our country. Our homes were being invaded, not by a foreign enemy but by ourselves and our fears.
In America our covetous nature, our acquisitiveness and our greed had propelled us to the top of the world since 1899. Now we stayed in our homes and retreated inward. We were invaded but we couldn't determine by whom.
Some of us Americans, those on reservations knew about invasions, what it was like to be conquered by superior forces. To lose their ascendancy and have their way of life disappear. But the American Indians had no health insurance and were busy carrying water and couldn't say; their last good year was 1599, before we came from Europe. The memory of conquerors was more recent with those Americans.
Over the next ten years after 1999, more and more Americans retreated inward and worried about just their own survival or obsessed about retirement. Optimism was deflating. We stayed in our homes and closed the doors and windows. Our last good year was past and history was moving on. We weren't conquered just slipping backward. Something had changed in America after 1999 but we couldn't articulate it. It was someone Else's turn to have the good years.
Turn on our old radio station one more time before it's all gone. Turn on to our old music and listen to our old songs. Think one more time of our shared values.
Let the young endlessly and mundanely text each other of their hourly movements, minute by minute. Next hours meal plans and last hours tribulations. Let us listen to the old marching songs and remember the last good year while we can.
History marches on. Our time as lead actor on the stage is gone, blowing in the wind somewhere. Pick some wild flowers- for flower power, go to San Fransisco once more in an old Volkswagen bus- for the movement of the people, then let's turn our blurry eyes skyward one more time and listen to the beat of the old music one more time. Where lurks our unfinished symphony?
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Vienna March 1938
Tall and straight, wide shouldered young soldiers with blue eyes stared confidently Eastward. They rode on motorcycles with side seats, in Dusenberg touring cars, or marched with high steps into Vienna, Austria in the Anschluss, on March 13, 1938.
The radio announcer was one of us. Speaking like a sad older brother he told us it was useless to resist the Nazi soldiers marching triumphantly into Vienna. The radio announcer said that no matter how many times we had promised to speak out or stick together, this time it was different because the Nazi's were different. It was useless for us to resist. We had a long history in Austria of dealing with conquerors. Why then did we cry that day? To cover our tears our radio station, ours for a few more days, played our music; Schubert's Unfinished Symphony. Sad and poignant.
We stayed in our homes as the Nazi troops entered Vienna. We shut the doors and the windows. True not everyone of us were inside that day. Some were on the roads cheering the Nazi's in an outburst of Germanic patriotism. The Western press in Britain, France and America said we all cheered. Later no Austrians cheered, Vienna a jewel of Western civilization died a little that day in 1938. The death of Vienna however had started earlier, at our peak, the top of our ascendancy in 1899. It took a while for us to hit bottom there in 1938 when the Nazi's came in, but we drifted lower and lower from 1899 and that day in 1938, that our music, Schubert's Unfinished Symphony played was the bottom of our fall from grace as one of the leaders of Western culture and civilization.
America- 1999
Our fears refused to stay submerged. First was the furor over Y2K, the transition to the millennium. Then an open wound, 09-11-2001. Lastly financial terror, a housing crisis in 2008, and rampant Wall Street scandals and moral-less banker behavior over and over. Something was wrong with our culture and our country. Our homes were being invaded, not by a foreign enemy but by ourselves and our fears.
In America our covetous nature, our acquisitiveness and our greed had propelled us to the top of the world since 1899. Now we stayed in our homes and retreated inward. We were invaded but we couldn't determine by whom.
Some of us Americans, those on reservations knew about invasions, what it was like to be conquered by superior forces. To lose their ascendancy and have their way of life disappear. But the American Indians had no health insurance and were busy carrying water and couldn't say; their last good year was 1599, before we came from Europe. The memory of conquerors was more recent with those Americans.
Over the next ten years after 1999, more and more Americans retreated inward and worried about just their own survival or obsessed about retirement. Optimism was deflating. We stayed in our homes and closed the doors and windows. Our last good year was past and history was moving on. We weren't conquered just slipping backward. Something had changed in America after 1999 but we couldn't articulate it. It was someone Else's turn to have the good years.
Turn on our old radio station one more time before it's all gone. Turn on to our old music and listen to our old songs. Think one more time of our shared values.
Let the young endlessly and mundanely text each other of their hourly movements, minute by minute. Next hours meal plans and last hours tribulations. Let us listen to the old marching songs and remember the last good year while we can.
History marches on. Our time as lead actor on the stage is gone, blowing in the wind somewhere. Pick some wild flowers- for flower power, go to San Fransisco once more in an old Volkswagen bus- for the movement of the people, then let's turn our blurry eyes skyward one more time and listen to the beat of the old music one more time. Where lurks our unfinished symphony?
end
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Dear Grandma:
Dear Grandma:
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dear Grandma:
page two
I don't see myself ever having children since the divorce. Nick and I were waiting till I finished graduate school. Now, I don't see myself remarrying or having children. It makes me sad to think about it, regrets and all.
Something interesting. I went down to see cousin Ramses last July two weeks after the final divorce hearing. I always had such a crush on him. First in the ROTC uniform and then as a lieutenant going overseas. I think Ramses was the most handsome man I ever saw. At least that's what I thought when I was twelve. Nick was always jealous of Ramses, now I am glad.
Ramses lives in a small trailer park in Newell, West Virginia on the Ohio river. He's put on a lot of weight and is eccentric since he got back. He made me comfortable and went out of his way to comfort me. He only has a 10 by 10 trailer but I got the couch and he slept on the floor.
Ramses gets up very early. He doesn't sleep well. He goes down to the Ohio River at dawn and sits in an old blue lazy boy chair, the kind with the movable wood handle on the side, and writes and logs the movement of the early morning planets. He does the same thing at dusk.
He told me while I made him some fried walleye one of his white neighbors brought over that he had to chart and log the morning stars because of what he did over there in Pakistan when he was a pilot and squad leader. Apparently he did some thing that he feels he should atone for. He saw a psychologist for a while at the VA hospital in Canton, Ohio but quit driving up last winter because of the ice on the roads.
Ramses said he was part on a unit that along with the flying, pulled dirty tricks on the indigent Muslim supporters of our enemies there. One morning he orchestrated a flight of five jets in formation and with the intense bright exhaust from behind their jets they wrote anti-Muslim symbols in the early morning sky. Ramses won't tell me any further what he did wrong but he feels he was responsible and it happened during Ramadan at dawn, a sacred time to Muslims. He says God took offense and that's why he has to do the penance with the charting of the morning and evening planets.
No, Grandma I don't plan on never dating again. Let's give it some time. I will come and see you in a few weeks. By the way, Ramses doesn't cash his Veteran's monthly checks. They sit on the coffee table in his trailer. You should get Mom to drive you down to see Ramses.
Love,
Katey
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dear Grandma:
page two
I don't see myself ever having children since the divorce. Nick and I were waiting till I finished graduate school. Now, I don't see myself remarrying or having children. It makes me sad to think about it, regrets and all.
Something interesting. I went down to see cousin Ramses last July two weeks after the final divorce hearing. I always had such a crush on him. First in the ROTC uniform and then as a lieutenant going overseas. I think Ramses was the most handsome man I ever saw. At least that's what I thought when I was twelve. Nick was always jealous of Ramses, now I am glad.
Ramses lives in a small trailer park in Newell, West Virginia on the Ohio river. He's put on a lot of weight and is eccentric since he got back. He made me comfortable and went out of his way to comfort me. He only has a 10 by 10 trailer but I got the couch and he slept on the floor.
Ramses gets up very early. He doesn't sleep well. He goes down to the Ohio River at dawn and sits in an old blue lazy boy chair, the kind with the movable wood handle on the side, and writes and logs the movement of the early morning planets. He does the same thing at dusk.
He told me while I made him some fried walleye one of his white neighbors brought over that he had to chart and log the morning stars because of what he did over there in Pakistan when he was a pilot and squad leader. Apparently he did some thing that he feels he should atone for. He saw a psychologist for a while at the VA hospital in Canton, Ohio but quit driving up last winter because of the ice on the roads.
Ramses said he was part on a unit that along with the flying, pulled dirty tricks on the indigent Muslim supporters of our enemies there. One morning he orchestrated a flight of five jets in formation and with the intense bright exhaust from behind their jets they wrote anti-Muslim symbols in the early morning sky. Ramses won't tell me any further what he did wrong but he feels he was responsible and it happened during Ramadan at dawn, a sacred time to Muslims. He says God took offense and that's why he has to do the penance with the charting of the morning and evening planets.
No, Grandma I don't plan on never dating again. Let's give it some time. I will come and see you in a few weeks. By the way, Ramses doesn't cash his Veteran's monthly checks. They sit on the coffee table in his trailer. You should get Mom to drive you down to see Ramses.
Love,
Katey
a wife misses her dead husband
a wife misses her dead husband
fiction
edward w pritchard
Gone they are. My wings that you fixed thirty five years ago. They were strong while we soared together, always. It seems like a few hours since you fixed these wings; and now they broke; you gone just these few days, it seems like forever. I remember, I remember, you told me, you told me, we would always be together again, for eternity, wings strong then, you gone just these few days now, I remember, but it seems like you gone now forever already. I'll try, I try and wait.
Another thing, don't get mad. You told me watch the money, always. I try. But I so lonely. I call your name, always, always. I bought a cell tower out there in the desert. It's not that high, but the blinking light is bright, intensely white, so you can see it and know where to come back to me at later. It blinks every second, like I call your name now, every second. If I can't call your name every second, I try; look for the bright intense blinking white light out there where we used to go in the desert. I meet you there, I try and wait. When I don't know, it seems like forever already, since you left, listen and watch for me. I call your name.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Gone they are. My wings that you fixed thirty five years ago. They were strong while we soared together, always. It seems like a few hours since you fixed these wings; and now they broke; you gone just these few days, it seems like forever. I remember, I remember, you told me, you told me, we would always be together again, for eternity, wings strong then, you gone just these few days now, I remember, but it seems like you gone now forever already. I'll try, I try and wait.
Another thing, don't get mad. You told me watch the money, always. I try. But I so lonely. I call your name, always, always. I bought a cell tower out there in the desert. It's not that high, but the blinking light is bright, intensely white, so you can see it and know where to come back to me at later. It blinks every second, like I call your name now, every second. If I can't call your name every second, I try; look for the bright intense blinking white light out there where we used to go in the desert. I meet you there, I try and wait. When I don't know, it seems like forever already, since you left, listen and watch for me. I call your name.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
the good Black Father
the good Black Father
fiction
edward w pritchard
Jovan was from Washington, DC and he moved to the small provincial Ohio City after his brother died. When he got to high school in Ohio he became a sexual predator. He treated the women badly and using his charm and wit he beguiled them and pursued
his targets without mercy or without morality.
Janette's Dad explicitly told her not to respond to a player. Since Janette couldn't tell who was a player: she followed her Dad's orders by not interacting at school with any boy she didn't know.
That's how Jovan came to be sitting across the diner table from Janette's Father Mr. Johnson and praising Mrs. Johnson's carrot cake. Mr. Johnson was very intense and intimidating and the effect was heightened by the fact that he seldom talked. Today however, he had a lot of questions of Janette's young man; determined to garner his intentions.
Nineteen years later Jovan sat across the dinner table from his wife Janette and stared intently at his daughter Odette's young boyfriend. He asked a lot of questions, trying to garner the young man's intentions toward his only daughter.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Jovan was from Washington, DC and he moved to the small provincial Ohio City after his brother died. When he got to high school in Ohio he became a sexual predator. He treated the women badly and using his charm and wit he beguiled them and pursued
his targets without mercy or without morality.
Janette's Dad explicitly told her not to respond to a player. Since Janette couldn't tell who was a player: she followed her Dad's orders by not interacting at school with any boy she didn't know.
That's how Jovan came to be sitting across the diner table from Janette's Father Mr. Johnson and praising Mrs. Johnson's carrot cake. Mr. Johnson was very intense and intimidating and the effect was heightened by the fact that he seldom talked. Today however, he had a lot of questions of Janette's young man; determined to garner his intentions.
Nineteen years later Jovan sat across the dinner table from his wife Janette and stared intently at his daughter Odette's young boyfriend. He asked a lot of questions, trying to garner the young man's intentions toward his only daughter.
end
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
the beauty of Linda
the beauty of Linda
fiction
edward w pritchard
The beauty of Linda seemed to grow each year and now at age 18 she was nearly irresistible. Linda perfectly fit our cultures expectation of beauty.
Each night Linda had the same reoccurring dream. If during the day Linda saw an old woman, that night as Linda dreamed the same old woman would be sitting or standing talking to someone and Linda would be watching and half listening from afar; as a sort of Omnipotent observer. Each night, in her dreams, Linda would eventually see the second person, who the same old woman Linda had seen in reality today, was now talking to in her dreams. The second woman, a pleasant looking 75 year old woman, was of course always Linda, although the first woman changed nightly, depending on who Linda had seen earlier in the day.
fiction
edward w pritchard
The beauty of Linda seemed to grow each year and now at age 18 she was nearly irresistible. Linda perfectly fit our cultures expectation of beauty.
Each night Linda had the same reoccurring dream. If during the day Linda saw an old woman, that night as Linda dreamed the same old woman would be sitting or standing talking to someone and Linda would be watching and half listening from afar; as a sort of Omnipotent observer. Each night, in her dreams, Linda would eventually see the second person, who the same old woman Linda had seen in reality today, was now talking to in her dreams. The second woman, a pleasant looking 75 year old woman, was of course always Linda, although the first woman changed nightly, depending on who Linda had seen earlier in the day.
Tidwell the mediocre writer
Tidwell the mediocre writer
fiction
edward w pritchard
Hidden in the writings of Tidwell Owen was his legacy to posterity. Hidden in over two thousand mediocre poems, published for as little as five dollars each; was Tidwell's threat to cause a catastrophic event sometimes in the next 4 years of his death on July 07, 2011.
Tidwell had died of natural causes and Mr. Penson, an agent with the FBI in Cleveland Ohio had received the ransom note. The ransom note was delivered by Fed Ex, addressed to agent Penson and there was a scholarly tome to the message; but the message was the most terrifying...
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
Hidden in the writings of Tidwell Owen was his legacy to posterity. Hidden in over two thousand mediocre poems, published for as little as five dollars each; was Tidwell's threat to cause a catastrophic event sometimes in the next 4 years of his death on July 07, 2011.
Tidwell had died of natural causes and Mr. Penson, an agent with the FBI in Cleveland Ohio had received the ransom note. The ransom note was delivered by Fed Ex, addressed to agent Penson and there was a scholarly tome to the message; but the message was the most terrifying...
end part 1
the man who only put it in writing-part 2
the man who only put it in writing-part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
see part 1 available when envisioned
So even though both men, Voltaire and Rousseau were extremely different in approach and sensibilities both arrived at the same conclusion concerning personal communication. They decided to communicate with the world, and this included friends and family, primarily in writing. For myriad reasons some economic of course and some concerning simple expediency, editing and storage of ones thoughts became paramount.
Two Frenchman, both connected with the seminal event in Modern World History, the French Revolution, and two men of different age who didn't care for each other, downplayed interpersonal voice lead communication and instead both choose the written record as the way to go. Forerunners of texting or just ahead of their times in general. It's one way to go, their methods that is.
end part 2
see part 1 soon
fiction
edward w pritchard
see part 1 available when envisioned
So even though both men, Voltaire and Rousseau were extremely different in approach and sensibilities both arrived at the same conclusion concerning personal communication. They decided to communicate with the world, and this included friends and family, primarily in writing. For myriad reasons some economic of course and some concerning simple expediency, editing and storage of ones thoughts became paramount.
Two Frenchman, both connected with the seminal event in Modern World History, the French Revolution, and two men of different age who didn't care for each other, downplayed interpersonal voice lead communication and instead both choose the written record as the way to go. Forerunners of texting or just ahead of their times in general. It's one way to go, their methods that is.
end part 2
see part 1 soon
money is nice but
money is nice but
fiction
edward w pritchard
Money is nice to have but the more of it that there is squirreled away between you and the events of your life the less spontaneity there is in your existence. Still it would be nice to have have a cushion between us and the gales of fortune.
As we attempt to blanket ourselves and our love ones from the risks of life we elaborately plan and insure to no avail. Like water flowing through an old hose under pressure the forces of nature prevail and there is a leak revealed. We cannot secure our existence or those we love.
Luck is good to have. Money is a comfort and real shield. Life is without meaning or purpose it seems; it just unfolds and neither luck nor money can ultimately protect us from misfortune which statistically occurs randomly but catastrophically at times.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Money is nice to have but the more of it that there is squirreled away between you and the events of your life the less spontaneity there is in your existence. Still it would be nice to have have a cushion between us and the gales of fortune.
As we attempt to blanket ourselves and our love ones from the risks of life we elaborately plan and insure to no avail. Like water flowing through an old hose under pressure the forces of nature prevail and there is a leak revealed. We cannot secure our existence or those we love.
Luck is good to have. Money is a comfort and real shield. Life is without meaning or purpose it seems; it just unfolds and neither luck nor money can ultimately protect us from misfortune which statistically occurs randomly but catastrophically at times.
Monday, October 4, 2010
space ship ride
space ship ride
fiction
edward w pritchard
Subject eventually cracked up because he claimed there was no direction in space and he wanted to go west not east.
He kept writing in the space logs that he remembered when there were only six hundred humans left. That would be 35,000 BC according to him.
The directive, according to him, agreed by all was that all humans, the last six hundred survivors of the race must travel east for so many miles and then north or south, but after going North or South at their discretion, they must travel west. That was the directive and all the remaining six hundred original humans had agreed to it. To ensure proper dispersion of the remaining humans.
Subject was an American traveling in Space for the rest of his life. He trained and agreed to the lonely journey, for Science, for the benefit of his Country. Now he has abandoned his principals and cost our countries space program a lot of time and money. He claimed he was having dreams about his ancestors and the original directive.
Subject can not be reasoned with. He claims he must determine if direction exists in Space so he can reorient himself and fulfill the original directive.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Subject eventually cracked up because he claimed there was no direction in space and he wanted to go west not east.
He kept writing in the space logs that he remembered when there were only six hundred humans left. That would be 35,000 BC according to him.
The directive, according to him, agreed by all was that all humans, the last six hundred survivors of the race must travel east for so many miles and then north or south, but after going North or South at their discretion, they must travel west. That was the directive and all the remaining six hundred original humans had agreed to it. To ensure proper dispersion of the remaining humans.
Subject was an American traveling in Space for the rest of his life. He trained and agreed to the lonely journey, for Science, for the benefit of his Country. Now he has abandoned his principals and cost our countries space program a lot of time and money. He claimed he was having dreams about his ancestors and the original directive.
Subject can not be reasoned with. He claims he must determine if direction exists in Space so he can reorient himself and fulfill the original directive.
end
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Journey with me
Journey with me
fiction
edward w pritchard
Journey with me back across the ages to when we lived in the Lake village. On the water, near the shore on platforms of elevated poles in a small community. One entrance to the abodes was disconnected at night for safety and guarded by one or two teenage boys, chosen on a rotating basis.
It was breezy on the lake and cozy. You were near your family and at night you watched the stars and tried to remember the movements of the moon and planets for they seemed significant. When you slept you slept deeply and secure and you had many dreams. Sometimes in the morning you would talk about your dreams. Around the fires, as the fish cooked and the bird eggs sizzled someone might interpret your dreams and you might listen carefully or you might laugh with others for dreams were not the only things you talked about sitting with those you cared about in the early morning breeze along the Lake.
Sunrise came everyday and you watched the sun rise up into the sky. At night, a mild wind made small waves around the village. If you were on guard duty around the entrance ramp you sat by a small fire and talked till midnight and then slept lightly, unafraid, but vigilant for the village's safety depended on you.
Sometimes you went to shore and journeyed by land to gather valuable rocks to use for cutting tools or to look for fresh crabs and clams for special meals. When you brought them back pretty girls would serve you steamed fresh seafood cooked by skilled chefs.
If you were old you helped with the children. If you were sick you ate lichens and mosses that grew in marshes full of healing minerals. When you died they pushed you toward the middle of the sacred small lake nearby on a burning raft and everyone drank fermented beer and watched the sky for shooting stars that would take you to the next life.
When you were born again later you didn't remember that previous life but it is distantly familiar to you. You can almost remember your partners eyes and soft skin or holding your Father's hand when he died. Sometimes you look up at a sunset or see the moon reflected in a drop of water and unexpectedly hear the voices of the ancient language you and friends used to whisper in when you watched for shooting stars at the sacred burial lake.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Journey with me back across the ages to when we lived in the Lake village. On the water, near the shore on platforms of elevated poles in a small community. One entrance to the abodes was disconnected at night for safety and guarded by one or two teenage boys, chosen on a rotating basis.
It was breezy on the lake and cozy. You were near your family and at night you watched the stars and tried to remember the movements of the moon and planets for they seemed significant. When you slept you slept deeply and secure and you had many dreams. Sometimes in the morning you would talk about your dreams. Around the fires, as the fish cooked and the bird eggs sizzled someone might interpret your dreams and you might listen carefully or you might laugh with others for dreams were not the only things you talked about sitting with those you cared about in the early morning breeze along the Lake.
Sunrise came everyday and you watched the sun rise up into the sky. At night, a mild wind made small waves around the village. If you were on guard duty around the entrance ramp you sat by a small fire and talked till midnight and then slept lightly, unafraid, but vigilant for the village's safety depended on you.
Sometimes you went to shore and journeyed by land to gather valuable rocks to use for cutting tools or to look for fresh crabs and clams for special meals. When you brought them back pretty girls would serve you steamed fresh seafood cooked by skilled chefs.
If you were old you helped with the children. If you were sick you ate lichens and mosses that grew in marshes full of healing minerals. When you died they pushed you toward the middle of the sacred small lake nearby on a burning raft and everyone drank fermented beer and watched the sky for shooting stars that would take you to the next life.
When you were born again later you didn't remember that previous life but it is distantly familiar to you. You can almost remember your partners eyes and soft skin or holding your Father's hand when he died. Sometimes you look up at a sunset or see the moon reflected in a drop of water and unexpectedly hear the voices of the ancient language you and friends used to whisper in when you watched for shooting stars at the sacred burial lake.
end
Friday, October 1, 2010
want ad-part 1
want ad-part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
career board
Energetic loner capable of working for sustained periods without supervision. Be a Barnacle.
Barnacles are the last individuals. You will be in charge of an entire NCCVB underwater facility off the coast of New Jersey, a 200 million dollar facility.
At NCCVB we promote from within and due to recent promotions we have a rare opening.
Job description
manage and watch 25,000 or more urns in an underwater facility, previously called graveyards or mortuaries. Urns contain the deceased and require infrequent but necessary maintenance. Barnacles are "old salts". You will an spend 18 month shift sealed in our state of the art facility. [You will be the only person there]. After the shift 1 month paid vacation off site is given. Each future shift of twenty four months results in one extra month vacation per shift served.
requirements
MBA business or computer science, previous background in negotiation highly desirable, bi-lingual in Spanish a plus, must have recent employment in undersea work
Background, credit score screening and proper attitude toward corporate America
This is a temporary assignment, no benefits, must provide own sustenence during shift
compensation
draw- 9.00 per hour times eight hours per day guaranteed
fiction
edward w pritchard
career board
Energetic loner capable of working for sustained periods without supervision. Be a Barnacle.
Barnacles are the last individuals. You will be in charge of an entire NCCVB underwater facility off the coast of New Jersey, a 200 million dollar facility.
At NCCVB we promote from within and due to recent promotions we have a rare opening.
Job description
manage and watch 25,000 or more urns in an underwater facility, previously called graveyards or mortuaries. Urns contain the deceased and require infrequent but necessary maintenance. Barnacles are "old salts". You will an spend 18 month shift sealed in our state of the art facility. [You will be the only person there]. After the shift 1 month paid vacation off site is given. Each future shift of twenty four months results in one extra month vacation per shift served.
requirements
MBA business or computer science, previous background in negotiation highly desirable, bi-lingual in Spanish a plus, must have recent employment in undersea work
Background, credit score screening and proper attitude toward corporate America
This is a temporary assignment, no benefits, must provide own sustenence during shift
compensation
draw- 9.00 per hour times eight hours per day guaranteed
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