NSA "leaker" Edward Snowden, Spy or patriot
fiction
edward w pritchard
In our tree:
Before there were the great States of Russia, China and the United States the great clans of early times lived airborne in gigantic trees. In small groups, related by various affinities each clan fought fiercely to protect their space and protect it's members large or small, young or old.
It was a precarious life clinging to a branch 100 feet above ground and organization and communication were necessary to maintain internal security while performing the ordinary activities of survival.
Posturing was preferred to all out war but sometimes heavy objects such as dead branches or large stones would be dropped on an enemy or raiding party.
Worse than a traitor to the clan was a spy, someone who co-operated with foreign interests. Still spying was often preferable to outright warfare.
end part 1
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Akron's favorite son, Lebron James part 2
Akron's favorite son, Lebron James part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
You've made the grade soaring Prince, except for the lingering 23 % of perpetual doubters you've proved once and for all that you are the Tops. Now lead sorry Akron out of it's long long funk.
There's so much to do. We hate to burden you but it's time for our Renaissance. Buy us all a new bike and we will ride with you into the future. We'll take the canal path. Ride to the Summit.
Where should we go. When do we start. What's it like out there. Are you happy with it all Dog?
fiction
edward w pritchard
You've made the grade soaring Prince, except for the lingering 23 % of perpetual doubters you've proved once and for all that you are the Tops. Now lead sorry Akron out of it's long long funk.
There's so much to do. We hate to burden you but it's time for our Renaissance. Buy us all a new bike and we will ride with you into the future. We'll take the canal path. Ride to the Summit.
Where should we go. When do we start. What's it like out there. Are you happy with it all Dog?
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
edit 2, /true blue odio colodie
edit 2,/true blue odio colodie
True Blue Odio Colodie
you taught the peasants how to pop corn
although you weren't really a noble.
You took my heart
which started harder than stone.
I shuffled the cards and raked in the pots
while we went hand in hand
and sat by your side as babies were born.
Forsaking others, friends, foes, prurient interests
and joined with you at the hip
shut out the dawn.
Acquired things, more than two houses full
and you took me with you as you flew,
soaring together into azure skies.
But your humours eradicated
and you were gone, something else emerged.
Life continues, true blue friends dislocate
and I use my stone cold heart to crack corn for souffles
and preach to unbelievers about life's cycles.
While I Try to grow wings myself,
from the hollow space behind my eyes
I write odes to your gentle voice, as
I remain forsaken, forlorn and forgotten.
Me, now? I am going to Mars. I'll build a small station
with plastic magnets and mine for mineral rich meteors out there
in space; honk when you float by, drifting toward eternity.
True Blue Odio Colodie
you taught the peasants how to pop corn
although you weren't really a noble.
You took my heart
which started harder than stone.
I shuffled the cards and raked in the pots
while we went hand in hand
and sat by your side as babies were born.
Forsaking others, friends, foes, prurient interests
and joined with you at the hip
shut out the dawn.
Acquired things, more than two houses full
and you took me with you as you flew,
soaring together into azure skies.
But your humours eradicated
and you were gone, something else emerged.
Life continues, true blue friends dislocate
and I use my stone cold heart to crack corn for souffles
and preach to unbelievers about life's cycles.
While I Try to grow wings myself,
from the hollow space behind my eyes
I write odes to your gentle voice, as
I remain forsaken, forlorn and forgotten.
Me, now? I am going to Mars. I'll build a small station
with plastic magnets and mine for mineral rich meteors out there
in space; honk when you float by, drifting toward eternity.
Jack the Ripper the early years/ draft 1/part 1
Jack the Ripper the early years/draft 1/part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
No fruit grows without a period of germination and Jack the Ripper did not emerge in White chapel in 1888 fully formed as histories most monstrous killer.
Jack the Ripper began his perversions in stages beginning in his high school years in London England.
Before he was a slasher and an eviscerator of prostitutes, Jack was
to be continued
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
No fruit grows without a period of germination and Jack the Ripper did not emerge in White chapel in 1888 fully formed as histories most monstrous killer.
Jack the Ripper began his perversions in stages beginning in his high school years in London England.
Before he was a slasher and an eviscerator of prostitutes, Jack was
to be continued
end part 1
Monday, June 24, 2013
terrorists in america; the playbook to attacking america's new england coast near bayport./ part 1
terrorists in America; the playbook to attacking America's New England coast near Bayport./ part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
When his youthful idealism left him, Tu, the middle eastern terrorist employed deeply submerged in an American city as a typical poor working class person but reporting to a foreign government hostile to American interests began to manipulate the American military industrial complex to make himself some money.
After Tu became disenchanted with spy work, terrorism and America itself, too pitiable of his adopted Country to see America as an enemy; Tu began to file false reports with his superiors about how to infiltrate the Coast of New England for a terrorist invasion of America sometime in the near future.
Tu had recently found out that his salary as a middle eastern terrorist was secretly being paid by a large American company in the defense industry. After the initial shock of the implications of an American company financing terrorism in it's own Country to justify a military industrial complex passed Tu decided to join the farce and make money for himself in the process.
Using the imaginary town of Bayport as a central geographical place for terrorist activities, Bayport the fictional town of 50,000 from the Hardy Boys detective novels for teenage boys, where circa 1927 Frank and Joe Hardy lived with their tall athletic father, demur pretty Mother, and peppery Aunt Gertrude; for four years Tu the terrorist sent in false reports describing the intricacies of the coast line of New England as dreamed up by the original authors of the Hardy Boys series Franklin Dixon. Each report contained detailed information on how to invade America by sea somewhere near Bayport on the Barmet Bay. In time Tu found out that no one in the terrorist business read his reports but that the America defense industry used his reports in the Congressional budget hearings to appropriate billions of dollars of Government funds. Since Bayport was an imaginary place seven American States were able to appropriate government funds to defend their coastlines. Eventually Tu was exposed as a fraud as a true terrorist but the story ends happily for Tu now does consulting work for the US military industrial complex although he does hate his own hypocrisy at times.
Bayport lies on the coast of an imaginary American State and the coast line contains many caves, secret roads and mysterious places and ample foreign elements are available to perform nefarious activities against government radar installations and phantom freighters and is a critical hub of America's transportation network. The region of New England occupied by Bayport on the Barmet bay historically requires myriad government defense funds to remain a vital part of the American economy.
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
When his youthful idealism left him, Tu, the middle eastern terrorist employed deeply submerged in an American city as a typical poor working class person but reporting to a foreign government hostile to American interests began to manipulate the American military industrial complex to make himself some money.
After Tu became disenchanted with spy work, terrorism and America itself, too pitiable of his adopted Country to see America as an enemy; Tu began to file false reports with his superiors about how to infiltrate the Coast of New England for a terrorist invasion of America sometime in the near future.
Tu had recently found out that his salary as a middle eastern terrorist was secretly being paid by a large American company in the defense industry. After the initial shock of the implications of an American company financing terrorism in it's own Country to justify a military industrial complex passed Tu decided to join the farce and make money for himself in the process.
Using the imaginary town of Bayport as a central geographical place for terrorist activities, Bayport the fictional town of 50,000 from the Hardy Boys detective novels for teenage boys, where circa 1927 Frank and Joe Hardy lived with their tall athletic father, demur pretty Mother, and peppery Aunt Gertrude; for four years Tu the terrorist sent in false reports describing the intricacies of the coast line of New England as dreamed up by the original authors of the Hardy Boys series Franklin Dixon. Each report contained detailed information on how to invade America by sea somewhere near Bayport on the Barmet Bay. In time Tu found out that no one in the terrorist business read his reports but that the America defense industry used his reports in the Congressional budget hearings to appropriate billions of dollars of Government funds. Since Bayport was an imaginary place seven American States were able to appropriate government funds to defend their coastlines. Eventually Tu was exposed as a fraud as a true terrorist but the story ends happily for Tu now does consulting work for the US military industrial complex although he does hate his own hypocrisy at times.
Bayport lies on the coast of an imaginary American State and the coast line contains many caves, secret roads and mysterious places and ample foreign elements are available to perform nefarious activities against government radar installations and phantom freighters and is a critical hub of America's transportation network. The region of New England occupied by Bayport on the Barmet bay historically requires myriad government defense funds to remain a vital part of the American economy.
end part 1
Sunday, June 23, 2013
families, every family is a little strange
families, every family is a little strange
republished, written before
three graves
fiction
edward w pritchard
The scraping woke me. I was in aunt Sheila's bed overlooking the fishponds and water garden and had been sleeping deeply. I was dreaming that my ex-husband Raymond had small white bugs crawling in his ears.
Awake I was anxious. Afraid, reason unknown. The bed was old and the blankets freshly musty and the smell reminded me of childhood. When you slept in aunt Sheila's bed you sank deep toward the floor and you were warm and you slept soundly.
I had went to bed wearing one of the old robes in the closet. The robe smelled faintly of brandy. Last night I had sat up very late with my son's new girlfriend getting to know her for she was going to marry him and my Grand daughter would live with her from now on in Aunt Sheila's house that my son had just inherited. As we talked I sipped at the brandy in the Alabama style, like aunt Sheila used to do when she talked to guests when I visited Mobile when I was a girl.
Someone was working in the gardens near the fish pond. The scraping continued.
The swinging doors from the bedroom were half open and the smell of the flowers and fish pond filled the small bedroom. My Grand daughter Geli was carefully measuring the three grave stones with a wood ruler and the Oriental woman, my new daughter in law was lifting the heavy blocks of stone aligning them so they would be in a straight line. I stood and watched them for a few minutes from the doorway to the garden. The dynamic between them was strained and my grand daughter six, followed her instructions like one would a teacher at grade school.
My son spoke from the West bedroom
"What are you two muffins doing out there?"
I returned to Aunt Sheila's old bed and slept till noon.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
terrorists in america/ edit 1/ repost ; the terrorist who lived in the project
the terrorist who lived in the project
fiction
edward w pritchard
[everyone hates Americans but most of us lead sad little lives]
The terrorist who lived in the project was planted there by his superiors under deep cover to learn the lay of the land in an American City for future vagaries. It was the ideal place to hide, for other than the local police, no-one took notice of the inhabitants of the projects in America.
Tu the terrorist was required to lead a typical American life, for the station of the assignment, and so he took on the persona and habits of a dweller in a project. He was required to get a job, and enter the world of the working poor. He also had a slew of bills and problems for to keep the role authentic, his boss required him to have the normal American worries and trepidations, caused by poverty and anxiety over that poverty.
Tu's job was not a good one and although very intelligent and high functioning he had difficulty with it. He was an assistant manager at the Dollar Store and worked over 55 hours per week for minimum wage and no benefits. To protect his deep cover, Tu's boss required him to keep health insurance, car insurance, keep his old car repaired and running and furnish his apartment as typical for a project dweller. Tu found himself renting furniture from the rent a center, buying a car from the buy here pay here, and financing various minimum insurance coverages. Despite his hard work Tu was unable to balance his budget and was in constant trouble with his supervisor in the terrorist group, who was unable to understand from afar why his employee Tu, who earned over $442 per week in America was unable to make ends meet. The supervisor came to believe that Tu had succumbed to the decadence of America and was not a good terrorist.
One day after a long day at work, Tu was sitting on a very small porch behind his apartment when the four year old neighbor girl, who Tu had come to like and look out for came over to show him the shoes her Mother had just bought her. Tu had to watch his affiliations in America for secrecy involving his job, but, he had allowed himself one small friendship; with the child next door, but not her Mother, a poor single Mother in America. The shoes the girl showed him were imported of course and were a knock off of an open heeled sandal commonly worn in Tu's home country. Tu knew the knockoff shoe to be very popular in America, from his work as an assistant manager at the dollar store. Properly admiring the shoes for his little friend, the innocent little girl matter of factly told Tu she liked the shoes but had settled for the blue pair rather than the girl's pink she wanted, because the pink were more expensive.
After that day Tu requested a transfer to another County to do deep cover work. The real reason for the transfer request; the blue shoes the little girl had were $1.99 at the dollar store, nearby where he worked, and the pink shoes, for girls, were more-$2.49.
Tu told his supervisor only that he could no longer work in America. The supervisor assumed Tu was feeling guilty for succumbing to the American decadent lifestyle and the supervisor assumed that Tu was feeling chagrined for being unable to live on $442 dollars per week.
Americans are hated throughout the world for a variety of reasons. Half of Americans live impoverished lives and should be pitied not scorned.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
[everyone hates Americans but most of us lead sad little lives]
The terrorist who lived in the project was planted there by his superiors under deep cover to learn the lay of the land in an American City for future vagaries. It was the ideal place to hide, for other than the local police, no-one took notice of the inhabitants of the projects in America.
Tu the terrorist was required to lead a typical American life, for the station of the assignment, and so he took on the persona and habits of a dweller in a project. He was required to get a job, and enter the world of the working poor. He also had a slew of bills and problems for to keep the role authentic, his boss required him to have the normal American worries and trepidations, caused by poverty and anxiety over that poverty.
Tu's job was not a good one and although very intelligent and high functioning he had difficulty with it. He was an assistant manager at the Dollar Store and worked over 55 hours per week for minimum wage and no benefits. To protect his deep cover, Tu's boss required him to keep health insurance, car insurance, keep his old car repaired and running and furnish his apartment as typical for a project dweller. Tu found himself renting furniture from the rent a center, buying a car from the buy here pay here, and financing various minimum insurance coverages. Despite his hard work Tu was unable to balance his budget and was in constant trouble with his supervisor in the terrorist group, who was unable to understand from afar why his employee Tu, who earned over $442 per week in America was unable to make ends meet. The supervisor came to believe that Tu had succumbed to the decadence of America and was not a good terrorist.
One day after a long day at work, Tu was sitting on a very small porch behind his apartment when the four year old neighbor girl, who Tu had come to like and look out for came over to show him the shoes her Mother had just bought her. Tu had to watch his affiliations in America for secrecy involving his job, but, he had allowed himself one small friendship; with the child next door, but not her Mother, a poor single Mother in America. The shoes the girl showed him were imported of course and were a knock off of an open heeled sandal commonly worn in Tu's home country. Tu knew the knockoff shoe to be very popular in America, from his work as an assistant manager at the dollar store. Properly admiring the shoes for his little friend, the innocent little girl matter of factly told Tu she liked the shoes but had settled for the blue pair rather than the girl's pink she wanted, because the pink were more expensive.
After that day Tu requested a transfer to another County to do deep cover work. The real reason for the transfer request; the blue shoes the little girl had were $1.99 at the dollar store, nearby where he worked, and the pink shoes, for girls, were more-$2.49.
Tu told his supervisor only that he could no longer work in America. The supervisor assumed Tu was feeling guilty for succumbing to the American decadent lifestyle and the supervisor assumed that Tu was feeling chagrined for being unable to live on $442 dollars per week.
Americans are hated throughout the world for a variety of reasons. Half of Americans live impoverished lives and should be pitied not scorned.
end
Thursday, June 13, 2013
aged actor, still on stage after his lines are done/ edit 2
the world as a stage
fiction
edward w pritchard
The world as a stage and I stumble about without a script.
My part long since over I can't find a way through the curtains.
Once at 10AM I played the young gentleman to be,
Standing center stage for a moment I put my arm around the waist of a proper bride.
Then fashions changed, tastes came and went and time crept forward.
Now it's 10PM and I watch myself still on stage repeating my 10AM gentleman to be lines
Thousands of small dramas occur simultaneously about me by other players as the audience takes five, waiting for order to return to the theatre.
I walk about upstage, upstage with the other finished actors,
circling, circling , waiting for my next cue.
I'll take one last look back at the young gentleman and his timeless bride, before the director clears me from the stage.
fiction
edward w pritchard
The world as a stage and I stumble about without a script.
My part long since over I can't find a way through the curtains.
Once at 10AM I played the young gentleman to be,
Standing center stage for a moment I put my arm around the waist of a proper bride.
Then fashions changed, tastes came and went and time crept forward.
Now it's 10PM and I watch myself still on stage repeating my 10AM gentleman to be lines
Thousands of small dramas occur simultaneously about me by other players as the audience takes five, waiting for order to return to the theatre.
I walk about upstage, upstage with the other finished actors,
circling, circling , waiting for my next cue.
I'll take one last look back at the young gentleman and his timeless bride, before the director clears me from the stage.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
past, present and futrue
past, present and future
fiction
edward w Pritchard
past
John Lennon, I wanted you to be me
fiction
edward w pritchard
John Lennon I wanted you to be me.
Where the swagger, where the pomp,
where the crowds of adoring fans,
where the newspaper men stirring up controversies,
where swooning girls, where that special one.
Where Mark David Chapman to end the travesty.
Where swaying candles to mourn you gone.
John Lennon you left me too soon.
John, I'll never make it alone.
John, life is so long,
it continues.
I peer forward.
John, light a candle in the dark for me,
lead me John, integrate my tired soul.
present
lamentation number 8
Lord, with an envious heart I look on the success of others.
Yet I know that all suffer the same end,
and most suffer in silence day to day.
For years I have relied on fate
which due to my proclivities is indifferent.
Lift my eyes to the Mountains
and guide my actions through instruction
revealed nightly in my troubling dreams.
I harm no one,
but accomplish little.
A waste of precious days.
Flash your light into
my weary eyes.
Reach to my outstretched hand.
Also reprinted:
fiction
edward w Pritchard
past
John Lennon, I wanted you to be me
fiction
edward w pritchard
John Lennon I wanted you to be me.
Where the swagger, where the pomp,
where the crowds of adoring fans,
where the newspaper men stirring up controversies,
where swooning girls, where that special one.
Where Mark David Chapman to end the travesty.
Where swaying candles to mourn you gone.
John Lennon you left me too soon.
John, I'll never make it alone.
John, life is so long,
it continues.
I peer forward.
John, light a candle in the dark for me,
lead me John, integrate my tired soul.
present
lamentation number 8
Lord, with an envious heart I look on the success of others.
Yet I know that all suffer the same end,
and most suffer in silence day to day.
For years I have relied on fate
which due to my proclivities is indifferent.
Lift my eyes to the Mountains
and guide my actions through instruction
revealed nightly in my troubling dreams.
I harm no one,
but accomplish little.
A waste of precious days.
Flash your light into
my weary eyes.
Reach to my outstretched hand.
Also reprinted:
lamentation number 6
fiction
edward w pritchard
I am cast in a pit but I wait patiently for the return of your favor Lord. Hear my quiet prayer and take note of my suffering. Night is long and darkness interminable, raise your hand Lord and guide me into the light of your grace. Humbly I endure the punishment for my sins. Send winds and light rain to cleanse my soul and heal my spirit. Birds sing and gardens grow when the Lord is pleased. Drinking water is sweet and food flavorful when the Lord smiles upon his prodigal sons.
future
i never built a building
fiction
edward w pritchard
I never built a building,
I never surveyed a new State,
I never constructed a house,
I never tried a case,
I never grew a business.
I'm glad someone built three art museums,
the Uffizi, the Prado and the Met.
I am glad someone painted paintings,
Leonardo, Van Gogh and Vermeer.
I am glad that someone built a house to keep off the rain and snow.
I am glad that soldiers stand in the ready to deter attack.
Mostly I just think, and ask questions and challenge God's motives.
Someday I'll be gone,
I hope somebody looks after the paintings
fiction
edward w pritchard
I am cast in a pit but I wait patiently for the return of your favor Lord. Hear my quiet prayer and take note of my suffering. Night is long and darkness interminable, raise your hand Lord and guide me into the light of your grace. Humbly I endure the punishment for my sins. Send winds and light rain to cleanse my soul and heal my spirit. Birds sing and gardens grow when the Lord is pleased. Drinking water is sweet and food flavorful when the Lord smiles upon his prodigal sons.
future
i never built a building
fiction
edward w pritchard
I never built a building,
I never surveyed a new State,
I never constructed a house,
I never tried a case,
I never grew a business.
I'm glad someone built three art museums,
the Uffizi, the Prado and the Met.
I am glad someone painted paintings,
Leonardo, Van Gogh and Vermeer.
I am glad that someone built a house to keep off the rain and snow.
I am glad that soldiers stand in the ready to deter attack.
Mostly I just think, and ask questions and challenge God's motives.
Someday I'll be gone,
I hope somebody looks after the paintings
bring the horses to Germany/ part one
bring the horses to Germany/ part one
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
I couldn't tolerate the way we were treating the Polish civilians but being a member of the Nazi party I couldn't let my officers know.
I gathered the eleven other soldiers who refused to commit war crimes here in the Warsaw ghetto and without admitting my true feelings of sympathy for the rest of the group I arranged for us to drive a valuable herd of Lipizzaner horses back to Germany.
No trains were available to transport the horses, all of the trains were full of human cargo going to the concentration camps here and there.
I was able to get an Argentine advisor who was once a gaucho to help us with the horse drive and we have been marching the fine Lipizzaner horses now back through the lines we quickly crossed using the new blitzkrieg technique that I and others recently helped perfect as the modern way to wage war.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
I couldn't tolerate the way we were treating the Polish civilians but being a member of the Nazi party I couldn't let my officers know.
I gathered the eleven other soldiers who refused to commit war crimes here in the Warsaw ghetto and without admitting my true feelings of sympathy for the rest of the group I arranged for us to drive a valuable herd of Lipizzaner horses back to Germany.
No trains were available to transport the horses, all of the trains were full of human cargo going to the concentration camps here and there.
I was able to get an Argentine advisor who was once a gaucho to help us with the horse drive and we have been marching the fine Lipizzaner horses now back through the lines we quickly crossed using the new blitzkrieg technique that I and others recently helped perfect as the modern way to wage war.
hello from hospital /repost sending dead flowers
Sunday, September 4, 2011
sending dead flowers
sending dead flowers
fiction
edward w pritchard
Sending dead flowers to someone if you are mad at them is counter intuitive. If they are of a certain ilk they will appreciate the notoriety your devious attempt to discredit them causes; you will unwittingly bring them positive publicity more than public scorn. Best to send dead flowers to someone in such circumstances at their funeral, when they can't comment on your action.
Such was the case and Rosie had sent flowers to Tyrone and I was admiring the card and dead flowers near the coffin as a dead Tyrone looked on. Rosie had sent the withered dead Tyrone withered dead flowers, the funeral director had not vetoed her action, the flowers were on public display and a buzz was occurring at the calling hours because of Rosie's defiant last act toward Tyrone; her motivation unknown to me. Naturally as I looked over at the dead Tyrone I swear he had a decided pompous smirk on his pasty white face laying there in public display near the dead flowers from Rosie.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Sending dead flowers to someone if you are mad at them is counter intuitive. If they are of a certain ilk they will appreciate the notoriety your devious attempt to discredit them causes; you will unwittingly bring them positive publicity more than public scorn. Best to send dead flowers to someone in such circumstances at their funeral, when they can't comment on your action.
Such was the case and Rosie had sent flowers to Tyrone and I was admiring the card and dead flowers near the coffin as a dead Tyrone looked on. Rosie had sent the withered dead Tyrone withered dead flowers, the funeral director had not vetoed her action, the flowers were on public display and a buzz was occurring at the calling hours because of Rosie's defiant last act toward Tyrone; her motivation unknown to me. Naturally as I looked over at the dead Tyrone I swear he had a decided pompous smirk on his pasty white face laying there in public display near the dead flowers from Rosie.
end
Saturday, June 8, 2013
only a homey counts as a friend
only a homey counts as a friend
fiction
edward w pritchard
Go through your card file, review you emails, peruse your phone logs. Are they acquaintances or are they homeys.
A homey knows you through and through, faults and all and has your back. You can always count on homey. No maintenance or supervision necessary.
Famous homeys: Julius Caesar and Mark Anthony, Romeo and Benvolio, Batman and Robin. Female Homey's? How about Thelma and Louise.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Go through your card file, review you emails, peruse your phone logs. Are they acquaintances or are they homeys.
A homey knows you through and through, faults and all and has your back. You can always count on homey. No maintenance or supervision necessary.
Famous homeys: Julius Caesar and Mark Anthony, Romeo and Benvolio, Batman and Robin. Female Homey's? How about Thelma and Louise.
end
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Life in space/part 1
Life in space/part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
editor's note
Bold and adventurous attempts to see the future and tell how things might be deserve to be applauded. None more bold or often wrong than minor writer ed pritchard. Here look how Pritchard sees Mars from a vantage before anyone went there. [ harry bailey editor]
start
life in space/[part 1]
When you first get to Mars it's not what you thought it would be like. Later after your illusions about yourself and life have dried into the red dusty rock of the Martian surface you blame the writers, the writers who you read as a child and who speculated from the security of earth on what Mars and space travel would be like. The writers who got things so wrong about Mars. It's really not about Mars at all, but it's about life trying desperately to thrive; even if for a while in the hostile environment of space and anywhere away from the sanctuary of Earth.
I came out to Mars on the rumble run, from the Moon to Mars nonstop. Me and my eighteen year old bride Daria. Just the two of us on a seven month extended honeymoon; us and an eleven man crew and 75 security cadets headed for a three year tour of Jupiter. All eighty six of them and me too couldn't keep our eyes or thoughts off Daria after the first two weeks away from earth.. A Woman in space is a rarity and a pretty woman is very unusual.
Mars first impression:
The first thing I saw on disembarking on Mars was the Mercator rats. On the tail, for defense and protection they have a large bulb of flesh. Through evolution or something the bulb is flashed at anything behind the rat and shows as a distinctly human face. The faces are supposed to look like celebrities from earth, or at least that's what general opinion is. It's unsettling and a good inhuman way to start to accommodate one to the unfamiliar Martian environment.
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
editor's note
Bold and adventurous attempts to see the future and tell how things might be deserve to be applauded. None more bold or often wrong than minor writer ed pritchard. Here look how Pritchard sees Mars from a vantage before anyone went there. [ harry bailey editor]
start
life in space/[part 1]
When you first get to Mars it's not what you thought it would be like. Later after your illusions about yourself and life have dried into the red dusty rock of the Martian surface you blame the writers, the writers who you read as a child and who speculated from the security of earth on what Mars and space travel would be like. The writers who got things so wrong about Mars. It's really not about Mars at all, but it's about life trying desperately to thrive; even if for a while in the hostile environment of space and anywhere away from the sanctuary of Earth.
I came out to Mars on the rumble run, from the Moon to Mars nonstop. Me and my eighteen year old bride Daria. Just the two of us on a seven month extended honeymoon; us and an eleven man crew and 75 security cadets headed for a three year tour of Jupiter. All eighty six of them and me too couldn't keep our eyes or thoughts off Daria after the first two weeks away from earth.. A Woman in space is a rarity and a pretty woman is very unusual.
Mars first impression:
The first thing I saw on disembarking on Mars was the Mercator rats. On the tail, for defense and protection they have a large bulb of flesh. Through evolution or something the bulb is flashed at anything behind the rat and shows as a distinctly human face. The faces are supposed to look like celebrities from earth, or at least that's what general opinion is. It's unsettling and a good inhuman way to start to accommodate one to the unfamiliar Martian environment.
end part 1
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
voyeur/previous post
Saturday, November 5, 2011
first dance number at the beauty college reunion/draft 1
first dance number at the beauty college reunion/draft 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
They are not called chairs but stations. It is an honor to call us who work or once worked at the stations girls, for no matter how far one of us who once was a beautician at the beauty college goes in life, our hearts are always partly here. Here being Mrs. Donna Washingon's School of Beauty in Richmond, Va.
At the first night get acquainted meeting of current beauticians in training, alumni, and instructors something spontaneous occurred. A beautiful outpouring of harmonious camaraderie.
Everyone was giving free styling and makeovers to the young high school seniors from the nearby local schools. Mostly pretty girls, the students from secondary, and most of the students in training attending Mrs. Donna's [Washington] school of beauty were dolled up for the ceremony, for they get their first designation tomorrow night; and the alumni were beautiful as only an older woman can be who was once a doll themselves.
I was bringing in the cake for Mrs. Washington for tomorrow night's ceremony and I couldn't stop my eyes from feasting on the beauty in the room. I had come in in the middle of things and every woman present at all of the stations was singing and dancing. Each singing to their imaginary to be lovers, even those who had already found him and had to settle for him as he was. But the school girls and some of the beauticians in training didn't know that yet and there was an electricity of subdued sexuality filling the mirrored, low ceilinged, bright white beauty college floor.
Beauty is the lust of the eye and I couldn't not watch. Swaying and strutting, but feminine and modest all at once. Everywhere. I looked and peeked, back, forth, up and down; nearly tripping over the cake, devil's food delight. Occasionally someone took notice of me but mostly the dancers were somewhere else. To supplement the sound system many many of the older women sang and gestured as they moved.
No matter how far a girl from Mrs. Donna's goes in life, Lawyer, Doctor or Real Estate Broker; she will always be bewitching and enticing to the afictionado's of beauty thanks to the teachings she started out with at Mrs. Donna's School of Beauty of 14 Harris Street, Richmond, Virginia.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
They are not called chairs but stations. It is an honor to call us who work or once worked at the stations girls, for no matter how far one of us who once was a beautician at the beauty college goes in life, our hearts are always partly here. Here being Mrs. Donna Washingon's School of Beauty in Richmond, Va.
At the first night get acquainted meeting of current beauticians in training, alumni, and instructors something spontaneous occurred. A beautiful outpouring of harmonious camaraderie.
Everyone was giving free styling and makeovers to the young high school seniors from the nearby local schools. Mostly pretty girls, the students from secondary, and most of the students in training attending Mrs. Donna's [Washington] school of beauty were dolled up for the ceremony, for they get their first designation tomorrow night; and the alumni were beautiful as only an older woman can be who was once a doll themselves.
I was bringing in the cake for Mrs. Washington for tomorrow night's ceremony and I couldn't stop my eyes from feasting on the beauty in the room. I had come in in the middle of things and every woman present at all of the stations was singing and dancing. Each singing to their imaginary to be lovers, even those who had already found him and had to settle for him as he was. But the school girls and some of the beauticians in training didn't know that yet and there was an electricity of subdued sexuality filling the mirrored, low ceilinged, bright white beauty college floor.
Beauty is the lust of the eye and I couldn't not watch. Swaying and strutting, but feminine and modest all at once. Everywhere. I looked and peeked, back, forth, up and down; nearly tripping over the cake, devil's food delight. Occasionally someone took notice of me but mostly the dancers were somewhere else. To supplement the sound system many many of the older women sang and gestured as they moved.
No matter how far a girl from Mrs. Donna's goes in life, Lawyer, Doctor or Real Estate Broker; she will always be bewitching and enticing to the afictionado's of beauty thanks to the teachings she started out with at Mrs. Donna's School of Beauty of 14 Harris Street, Richmond, Virginia.
end
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