let's see a great play together soon

let's see a great play together soon

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Over and over I am intrigued by the characters and dialogue Shakespeare has created in his plays.

I was watching Al Pacino as Shylock in " The Merchant of Venice" again on you tube. What a performance, what a play.

Perhaps we can see a great Shakespeare play soon. Perhaps a play with a tour de force performance by a great actor.

See Pacino as Shylock when you can. Here is what I wrote before:

I repost to honor Pacino's performance as Shylock.

four score ducats and a ring for a monkey

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

A sympathetic portrayal of Shylock the money lender in Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice is hard for a Director to pull off if he follows the script as presented by William Shakespeare. Shylock has been wronged, by Antonio, by his daughter Jessica and Venice itself has wronged Shylock for being a Jew. In his grief and madness at the loss of his daughter and damage to reputation Shylock seeks to enforce his contract with Antonio and extract his pound of flesh for the default of the money lent from Shylock to Antonio.

Al Pacino presents the  consummate Shylock to modern audiences in the 2004 " Merchant of Venice". Pacino's Shylock is a tour de force performance. 

Shakespeare depiction of Shylock confuses and embarrasses the modern audience. The "Merchant of Venice" is an easy play to over analyze and many critics do that with the character of Shylock. Like some other notable roles in Shakespeare the Character of Shylock comes alive on stage and in the script.

Shylock is talking to a fellow Jew and has just found out that his daughter who left Venice against his wishes with a large part of his fortune has been partying in Genoa and spent 80 ducats [ 8000 American dollars] in one night's revelry. To top off that Jessica has denounced her Jewish faith, stole a large part of her Father's hard earned money and wants to marry a Christian opportunist.

Shylock goes mad with rage when he hears that on top of spending 80 ducats in one night of partying
Jessica has traded her deceased Mother's ring for a monkey. What a fantastic piece of writing by William Shakespeare. Who that sees the play can forget 80 ducats and a ring for a monkey?

Portia and the three caskets, Portia dressed as a man and disguised as a Doctor and acting as a learned attorney, and Portia defeating Shylock in court ends with Shylock disgraced and forced to convert to Christianity. The morality play has ended with the comic villain Shylock getting his deserved justice. Portia's friends split Shylock's remaining fortune.

Shylock stumbling about boggy Venice after the end of the play runs through your head thereafter. What has Shylock done to deserve being spit on and what happened to him in court in Venice a city known for providing Justice for all? What will happen to Shylock if he leaves the protection of the Jewish ghetto?

Too bad for us that Shakespeare did not do a sequel to Shylock. What more might Shakespeare have done with the evolving character of Shylock; what might Al Pacino have done with the role.

See the masterpiece "Merchant of Venice" with Al Pacino as Shylock, it's intriguing.

let freedom ring

let freedom ring

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


What does the sound of ringing freedom across America sound like? Like from the song " from every Mountain side let freedom ring". [1]

Samuel F. Smith a Baptist minister wrote " America" known as " My country tis of thee" first performed in 1832 to celebrate God and Country.

What does the sound of freedom ringing across America then and now sound like and how does us being "free to choose" [2] create a sound that makes the "very rocks and Mountains" here in America sing out?

This author as usual starts with our past ancestors in blood or kind and that starts in America with the original sins against the native Americans. What was the sound produced by the disappearing native Americans since 1832? Listen carefully while you drive at 70 miles per hour South through Georgia or Florida this Winter for the sound of strong men in pain from the suffering of Native Americans in the nineteenth century following the Indian removal act of 1830 and the ensuing trail of tears of the five civilized tribes. It's too complicated to express in a sound bite here, what uncivilized treatment was imposed on Native Americans and the sounds their suffering made.[3] Suffering caused and implemented by our descendants but for us now to just " show up" and listen to past injustices will free our consciousness here and now and allow us to see more clearly insidious injustices in our own times here in America and across the world.

Current insidious sufferings and injustices here in America ?

Every day here in America now, as I write up to 11 million handicapped and disabled children across our Country must be cared for with special attention by persons in their household. Eleven million or more children in America are unable to proceed through their day without special help and attention by caregivers. Ever try to take care of someone with " special needs"? What is the sound made by an extremely tired and forlorn caregiver? What can we do? You who have so much in terms of freedom and opportunity?

" Show up". Force the strong in America to recognize the needs of the weak and prioritize resources and wealth accordingly. Be aware, it's simple justice and good household management. For American businesses it's good citizenship to help their friends and neighbors.

Yesterday New York bank Citicorp upset shareholders by setting  aside another 600 million dollars for additional unforeseen litigation expenses. We can't get our minds around 600 million dollars, but what could be done to help those in suffering here in America with six hundred million dollars? Department of Justice prosecutors and lawyers; when you impose penalties for corporate injustice remember your friends and neighbors in need across America. Give welfare to the poor and weak; not the rich. End of discussion.

Everyday bourgeoisie folks here in America " show up" raise your awareness to suffering and social injustice. Be "free to choose" the right attitude and consciousness. Hear the sound of freedom in America. End of discussion.
author
end

[1] "America", my country tis of thee", Samuel F. Smith

[2] " Free to Choose" attributed to Milton Freidman

[3] Kudu's to President Obama for having sympathy for the injustices toward native Americans. At least he among the President's "showed up".

here are two things I wrote before;

teaching handicapped students


fiction
edward w pritchard

Teaching handicapped students is too sad.

Jesus, Genetics, do you make tottering people how they are? Why is it so?

Jesus, Why are things like they are,
it's just not fair.


I want to reach out my hands and
pull the barb wire wrapped around and around the handicapped students
and break the sharp parts connected deep underground, from the distant past
an unwelcome gift,  from where and when?

Sometimes I want to fly up  high
and take shaking people somewhere else,
to get another chance.

Sometimes the barb wire cuts my hands and wrists and it hurts too bad.

Sometimes I try to fly high
but my wings get clipped and fall off
and wings are fried in boiling oil in scalding pain,
until I can't lift my hands or move my arms
.
Help me Jesus,
flex your hands
spread your arms,
show me what to do.

Jesus,
can you help,

Jesus,
can you do anything?
end

the sound of freedom:

Sounds on the wind

fiction
edward w pritchard

There in the village the Buddhists all kept chimes and bells near the back doors of their abodes. In addition to the prayer wheels, from the humblest abode to the most luxurious home gentle bells and chimes filled the morning air and the sound carried a long, long way in the thin crisp mountain air.

As I lay dying my last thought was of the twinkle of those bells and chimes and where the sound goes after the chimes are heard no more and where the winds deposits the remnant of that gentle whispering.

what will remain concealed is what you do not wish to know/ part 2

what will remain concealed is what you do not wish to know/ part 2

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Arcane knowledge? What do the quality of a companies earnings have to do with real life?

Now that the Federal Reserve has stopped this QE3 alchemy ordinary people may soon find out that financial engineering by people unknown to them and far away can have a huge impact on their daily lives in the not too distant future.

Many companies in this nascent social media field have been pumping up the growth in the US economy which has been modest at best in spite of the intentions of the Federal Reserve to let the good times roll and roll. The quality of the companies earnings in the social media companies is suspect according to this author. These stocks will crash to earth with a thud one day and it will be a sad day for a while for the US economy when they do.

So what. What does it have to do with moi?

Here's what I wrote before on that:  [ let's put this under, Lord, lord, lord, let not good people suffer because of invisible forces far away ]

my plan is to do a little sight seeing here at home until the stock and bond markets settle down/ part 3

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

repost

Twitter is out of it's lock up period today meaning insiders can sell, sell , sell shares they got for next to nothing for being on the " inside" of things.

As goes these "new age" stocks so goes the anemic "real" jobless economy so it seems.

Here's what we wrote before:


All these mobile app and ghost in the machine companies like Facebook, Pandora, Groupon, Twitter and LinkedIn have got me nervous. Does anyone do any actual business anymore?

In the 1955 movie " We're No Angels"  Humphrey Bogart plays the convicted Accountant who helps the nice family he stays with while he hides out from the guards at Devil's island, where he is imprisoned for stock fraud. When asked why and how he cooks the books and the balance sheets for the companies he represents suave Humphrey Bogart dryly says " [there are] no factories just stockholders".

That's how these multi billion dollar market cap mobile app ghost in the machine new age companies seem to me, " no factories just stockholders". Not enough hard assets to justify the elevated stock prices and market capitalizations. The new social media companies attract large groups of ordinary followers into a sort of club and then the new generation of social media companies propose as their business model to refer their club members to other potential businesses such as dry cleaners, restaurants and to link job seekers with job providers. Membership and referral fees finance the entire endeavor.

Problem is the club members herded together into the clubs and social networks are having difficulty in starting their economic lives because jobs are scarce. For a hundred reasons real factory jobs no longer exist much in America. The club members are under employed and tapped out.

Does anybody do any real business in America anymore? Don't ask me, I post on a blog while I patiently wait for the imaginary advertising revenues to begin to role in when I attract an imaginary  network of followers.



and this:

forsaken jobs, give us invisible pallets

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


As more and more American manufacturing jobs are lost to China lost somewhere along with the workers themselves who once worked in manufacturing at American factories are the support staff jobs, assorted hard goods items, and the lost inventory of wood, paper and metal products that will not exist because of shrinking employment in American manufacturing.

We in the pallet industry are hard hit by this trend. Meanwhile as America loses factory and manufacturing jobs America imports more and more goods from China. China keeps exporting more and more items to America in part because of informal Chinese Government subsidies to Chinese business. The Chinese government routinely implements policies designed to keep the Yuan weak against the dollar.

Chinese Government subsidy of exports is against International trade agreements and hurts American workers.

As a partial resolution to the problem of lost American manufacturing jobs we representing the pallet industry request Congress to enact legislation requiring that for each shipload of goods exported from China to America one double stack of invisible pallets be required to be purchased by China to be used when the ship is unloaded in America. We in the pallet industry in America will sell the invisible pallets to China at a competitive rate.

Once the issue with the forsaken manufacturing jobs is resolved we also suggest that to solve the problem of missing shoppers at American malls and box stores caused by Internet sales of goods each American company selling primarily by Internet be required to purchase invisible pallets to hold delivered goods that are shipped by fed ex or like services from Internet sellers to American consumers.

We in the pallet industry trade association can provide specification on pricing and the environmental impact caused by manufacturing invisible pallets to Congress when requested through the appropriate departments of government.

Solving the problem of lost American manufacturing jobs to China and lost retail sales at malls and large box stores is easy. Forsaken American jobs, give us invisible pallets as a solution.

Catalogues with information and specifications on invisible pallets is available on the Pallet Association web site.
end

What will remain concealed is what you do not wish to know

What will remain concealed is what you do not wish to know

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

In your quest you travel far. Across hills and dales through sun and shade. However, what will remain concealed is what you do not wish to know. " Misunderstanding all you see" [1] walk on, walk on.

You haven't failed the test because you haven't sat for the Exam.

Travel through life in the half light. Change the subject, don't ask specific questions. Ignorance is bliss. Do not crash the illusions.

What will remain concealed is what you do not wish to know.

[1] Beatles " Strawberry Fields"

when it comes to having children better to get divorced later than to never marry

when it comes to having children better to get divorced later than to never marry

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Your first mind may be right concerning your partner but when it comes to having children better to get divorced later than to never marry.

Think of your child. They need the legitimacy of marriage at least for a while though they be too young to comprehend what's what.

Ancient institutions like marriage originate for good reasons. When it comes to having children better to get divorced than to never marry.
author

advice for President Obama

advice for President Obama

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

With all due respect President Obama I offer some advice. I am sick about this Boko Harem abducting women and I am tired of reported atrocities from Isis. I am sure you studied the history of ancient Rome at Harvard. Like a Roman emperor you carry a very big stick.

In Africa, near where Boko Harem lives set up a " protectorate"  zone to keep women safe. Use the US military to staff it and use USA money to buy information. Display and exhibit raw power. Put Mr. Harem in his place quickly. Return these women to freedom. Do the same thing in Northern Iraq. Ignore criticism. A protectorate zone is a base to engage humanitarian efforts from.

Wouldn't it be better to do brutal things quickly as a lesson to those who wish to be uncivil because they do not realize that the Sheriff is nearer than they think with a  "big stick".

a fool for a husband I could stand but a mean man never

a fool for a husband I could stand but a mean man never

fiction
Edward


My Father told me not to marry Albert Einstein. Father said that Albert was impractical, a foolish dreamer and someday I would be sorry we had married. Someday is now.

I could stand being married to a fool, most women are you know but a mean man, never. Albert wants me to send our new baby daughter to live with someone else. Such crazy talk. What sort of man is he. Mother says ignore his talk, as soon as he finds proper employment things will improve. I am ashamed to tell Mother Albert thinks he is too good to work for the Patent office.

Albert is always sending letters to important people. Letters about time, going backwards and traveling at different speeds in various places. Father laughs at his foolishness. I cry alone at night while he writes and writes. He asks me to check his calculations on the math; we went to school together you know, that's how we met, so I see his work. Interesting but it has nothing to do with patents. I am afraid poor Albert will never get ahead in life. He dreams of divorcing me. Mother says that will pass. Things will improve between us after we adjust to the new baby and once Albert realizes he is just another working stiff and not some sort of genius.

I am afraid Albert will be fired at work. His boss doesn't like him. Here's what Mr. Pritchard the writer wrote about Albert before, He's right about Albert you know:

ALBERT EINSTEIN's Job Prospects

Fiction
edward w pritchard

It was 8:02 AM, when Einstein walked in through the door and there of course was the Boss with his notebook writing demerits for tardiness.

The Swiss patent office was run with efficiency and orderliness and Albert Einstein didn't fit in and was not performing up to his bosses expectations, and the Boss had recently recommended he be passed over for a promotion because he didn't handle machinery and technology in the office well.

Three times in the past year there had been meetings about Einstein's performance and he was sure he was about to be sacked. Sacked from a job that he desperately had needed after nearly two years unemployment, a job that was difficult for him to obtain, requiring influence from a friend's Father to land , but a job that was below his education level, although crucial at this time in his life for his Family's security. Einstein also knew he was getting a reputation around the office for having a glib attitude, having odd ideas and being difficult. In addition, the boss had suggested in previous written reprimands that Einstein had mild dyslexia which might be a cause of his dreaming and his refusals to accept his place in the world. The boss had said as much to Einstein, twice, saying your wishes are becoming reality, at least in your own mind, and criticizing him for thinking himself a special case, destined for greatness and therefore people owed him something and he [ Einstein] felt he was above the normal rules and regulations of life.

The Boss watched the disheveled Einstein sit at his desk and desperately search his desk-top for correspondence on the five proposals he had submitted to various major Universities through-out Europe. Delusions of Grandeur. Nothing to do with the Patent office, something to do with time travel, that was the consensus, some kind of crack pot ideas, that was the verdict around the office.

Einstein took a deep breath and sat down- Eight and one half hours to go- until he could get out of here for the day and get to his own work and research. Glancing at the boss, who was studying him Einstein thought, what's the significance about being two minutes late,- what if time could go slower while on his way to work and then faster once he was at his desk.

the devil arrives in the nursery

the devil arrives in the nursery

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Good people can't summon the Devil but he will enter the household never the less.

Enter the Roman Emperor. Did Nero burn the city or did he order it done? Either or; an Emperor or as called here and now a President mustn't stay too long in office or his thoughts will become filled with the Devil. First, overwhelmed with Power, mighty busyness,  and Praise, Praise, Praise The President begins to think he is a God. Snap, just like that the Devil is in the White House. For as a man thinks, and the President is just a Man after all so will he be; and to think one is a God is delusional and the Emperor will know it and so he becomes instead of a goodly manifestation, he becomes  the Evil One. Sometimes The President now a God, but an evil one, the Devil, becomes unusual. If given the chance, time, and circumstance, the seat of power is visited by the Devil. Walking about the corridors of the Castle, day and day, infecting heirs, sabotaging the military guard and putting the most insidious ideas in everybody manifests the Devil. Who will be the President's heir and shouldn't the new King rule for life?

Unusual presents appear in the nursery because the Devil often arrives through there first even in the most modest of homes. An innocent blanket, or modest pajamas for her but where did they come from? The Emperor didn't buy them. The queen has changed so, everyone notices, but no one will say. She seems so different suddenly. Her sentences aren't finished and there is something sinister about her. She plots secret thoughts and reads forgotten letters.

Children have moods sent across millennia from somewhere foreign. Children can be so evil, not most children certainly but a Nero,or Caligula or Tiberius at Capri. Across the generations that spark of the Devil survives. Scoff if thou will. During sickness, them weak and gasping for breath, comes the Devil to some. Summoned long ago by others, your relatives perhaps he lurks in the basement. Send a strong man to run the Devil down and smash him through the bricks. Through the concrete wall and back into  the cold damp Earth from wince he came.

No one should face the Devil near one's death. The mind isn't clear to debate properly and vision clouds the brain. Clutch thou Bible manifestly and rest it near to fight the Devil. Good people can't summon the Devil but he will enter the household never the less. Through a shudder you know he is here.

Evident, lurking, sits the Devil in the household. Scream out the third floor window, lurks the Devil in the House.

always a fool, clever, kind or hopeful always the inept fool

always a fool, clever, kind or hopeful always the inept fool

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Where does the fool look to find the way? Send the world your co- ordinates, update your online status; selfie gone wrong. You are here.

Always a fool, clever, kind or hopeful the inept fool; pathetically stumbling about limping and slumping against the tide of the times. So what? We never know the time or season. Put on a coat when cold and a hat when sad. Continue-

Alone, initially scrape a plateful of the families sustenance. Or start a nest from the overflow.

To school, never to know where is the classroom or what time is the test.

To the workforce. Wink, pretend the loans will be repaid and the enterprise will thrive. Keep your mouth shut, dine at the country club and drink with the board of directors. For now, for now.

A friend, a friend, be modest, kind, modulate lust, count with ten fingers the time of the month, rejoice in birth, a fool a fool, never ask questions, no understanding; forever superficial. Stay too long, care too much.

Walk fool. Stumble about limping and slumping against the tide of the times. Stand stage right, your lines are finished. Walk and walk. Upstage, upstage.

Always the fool, "misunderstanding all you see" [1]. Elect your representative, send campaign donations until they fall from esteem with a thud. A fool, a fool, everybody is the fool. Right, left, green or investor in coal. Change your politics, new styles are sold each season at the JC Penny's.

Send the world your co- ordinates, update your online status; selfie gone wrong. You are here.

Always a fool, clever, kind or hopeful always the inept fool.

[1] Beatles " Strawberry Fields" see also Beatles " A Fool on the Hill"

Part 2 What's it all about:

camp fire in the day time

fiction
edward w Pritchard

I built a camp fire in the day time and I raked up the horse manure around the barn under a blue clear sky on a Monday morning. Finally I was adjusting to being old and having some heart problems. Raking around the barn is heavy work, the manure mixes with the stones and the soil is thick from being chopped up by horses hooves after wet cold weather. While you rake you use a wheel barrow to carry away the piles and find and fill in holes about the ranch.

Traffic dies down on the road in front of the house about 9am. For a while the horses follow you around but then they go about their business and you are alone with your thoughts.

I was thinking if I ever have a special friend again I will always take her side right or wrong and keep her close. The sky is bright but the air is cold. When you work you wear yellow leather gloves that originally were bought to be stylish but now serve well to help tend to the horse's needs. My daughter doesn't approve of leather, it's her ranch, but is she glad when the horses are properly cared for. I miss her too, she is far away.

Later is time for some lunch. That's something to look forward to. Sometimes I drive into to town and buy a cheap book at the goodwill and the two dollar noodles at the Chinese place. When I come back I stir up the camp fire and admire the work I did about the barn. Usually I walk around and check all the fences. I saw on google-yahoo that you can get the time and sunrise and sunset for seven million precise locations now days. It's nice sometimes to have a camp fire in the day time.

friction from the class system in America

friction from the class system in America

edward w pritchard


There is a hierarchy in America based on wealth. No better place to look for the ramifications of the invisible timeless war between rich and poor in America than in Mayberry, North Carolina where the characters were effected day to day in their choice of career, marriage and social position by how much money their Daddy had or the amount of money they owned and parked in the local bank.

Delectable Thelma Lou worked at some sort of office, had a tidy house and had weekends free for picnics, movies with friends or cooking for church charities.[1] In the end however, she refused to marry poor deputy sheriff Barney Fife. Was it because of wealth or was it Fife's cold feet in committing to marriage with a woman with secret family roots going back to slave holding times. Fife dreamed of owning a fine Home with Thelma with a private study for him with no women allowed within and a proper kitchen for her but in the end the union never occurred; a Marxist interpretation would look for a class distinction because of money causing the disruption.

Of course Andy Taylor humble Sheriff wanted wealthy Miss Peggy [McMillan] but was intimidated by her Daddy's immense wealth and the unknown beaus who rode with her in her fancy automobile, bought with her Father's immense wealth. Sheriff Taylor settled for a school teacher for a second wife.

Miss Peggy's wealth haunted choir director John McMasters as well:


John Mc Masters, the secret life of a choir director in Mayberry North Carolina

fiction
edward w pritchard

A work of parody. No copy right infringement is intended of characters created by Mr. Andrew Griffith.

It's difficult to be stuck in a small town in the middle of North Carolina. It's not even on the ocean. First working as a desk clerk at a very small hotel and then as the choir director. As choir director we always do traditional things and for excitement we let a farmer/moonshiner or a gas station mechanic sing solo.

The reason I started the choir director job was to meet girls. Not that there are many here to meet. The local Sheriff gets all the desirable girls here anyway. The Sheriff, what can I say about a guy who shoots rats at the dump for fun. Still he sings well and plays the guitar.

My perversion started at the try outs for the founders day pageant. I became fixated on women wearing a bonnet, you know the kind of hat proper women wore in the late 1700's. I had each woman here in town who auditioned for the best part in the pageant as the leading female citizen of our town just before the battle of Mayberry read in character by wearing an early pioneer style dress and a bonnet. It's the bonnet that has come to possess my thoughts.

Clara E. widow should have got the part for she has the most acting talent and she plays piano. I didn't pick Clara for the lead, begging off that I needed her at piano and she bought that. Miss Bee was just ordinary at tryouts so I selected her to be in charge of cooking pies and cakes.

I picked the nurse Miss Peggy as the female lead. She sings well but I picked Peggy for how she looked in that bonnet. I think about her all the time now, years later even after she left town. I didn't get anywhere with Peggy. Miss Peggy dated that Sheriff I mentioned earlier who got all the women here. Sometimes I fantasize about Miss Peggy coming by and cooking me dinner and us eating by candle light. After we would sit on the porch and sing together.

That was a long time ago. I live in a much bigger City now. I moved to Morgan town WVA for a while but now I am in Mt. Pilot, just twelve miles from Mayberry, but it seems worlds apart. Looking back now all that happened in Mayberry seems less than real to me at times.
end

a Marxist interpretation of  television history by poor but aspiring author ed pritchard

[1] coming soon by author pritchard " religious divide in Mayberry, North Carolina, the role of the 30 years war in seventeenth century Germany on urban development in the American post civil war South."also coming soon by same author "Buddhism's eight fold path, right occupation and job choice in Mayberry, North Carolina."
 

Suburban cowboy; life without horses

Suburban cowboy; life without horses

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

It was significant to feed horses it gave a purpose to my solitary life. I no longer live on the suburban ranch; there's no more long days of fixing fences or repairing the barn or raking and leveling the barnyard. Working around the ranch made me very tired. After rising with the sun, having a campfire in the daytime, heading to the tractor supply for necessities and working to exhaustion with work gloves on my tired hands performing honest work I didn't have time to worry or fret about the state of the world or the long demise of American civilization.

After a long day taking care of horses at the suburban ranch I often treated myself to my favorite meal Chinese chicken with cashews. It's not standard cowboy fare but in my cowboy boots and blue denim shirt I didn't care. Later I would sit by the fire and drink some Mexican beer as I broke small sticks up and fed them to the flames. At such times tired but still hungry I planned tomorrows lunch at taco bell and let the fire warm my weary bones.

When I took care of horses at the suburban ranch I didn't need to read stories by Melville or Tolstoy about the search for significance. Day to day labor and life's little pleasures kept me contented.

Me and the horses thrived day to day at the suburban ranch without ennui or fear and I let the world take care of itself as I went about my days. Unexpected weather, early darkness and trips into town added zest to my life when I spent time taking care of horses there at the suburban ranch. It was a significant lifestyle.
end

Searching for lost Time
a cowboy's lament

Sorrow flows,
plunging downhill
making a silent roar
voiding the songs of the world.
Sorrows pool into a stagnant stinking green pond
disappearing in the late afternoon of life.
Far off, West
the Sun disappears.
Drink beer and listen to Country blues music
and count our regrets and lament lost time.
Morning soon, feel the Sun heralding another day.
end

Feel the train, hear the train, miss the train

Powerful and intimately close thunders by the train
Moan-full the whistle warns drivers to stop their lives for an instant as the train roars off to somewhere else
shaking the ground the train flashes off with a thud
dazed by the noise the drivers dream of cowboys, Indians, buffalo, campfires and railroad trips into the past

an armored truck with auction supplies within

an armored truck with auction supplies within

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


An armored truck with auction supplies within had just dented the side of my car turning too sharply at a stop sign and we were exchanging information for the insurance while waiting for the police when their dread enemies from the auction business the O'dooley's noticed them and began to bomb the armored vehicles with fist sized rocks. More than nine rocks thudded into the armored truck as we rushed through the exchange of insurance paperwork although not one heavy missile stuck my vehicle. The O'dooley's were about a quarter mile up the hill from us and expertly did they heave the large rocks at their foes Ma and Pa Finnegan.

The Finnegan's raced off down the hill in their vehicle as a military style van belonging to the O'dooley clan pulled up along my stalled vehicle there at the bottom of the hill next to the stop sign. Dead did I expect to be from the O'dooley's.  Mikey O'dooley fixed my stalled engine while pretty sweet Paula dabbed at my bruised eye with a damp cloth. The Finnegan's were worried about me, figuring Ma and Pa Finnegan had rammed by vehicle hoping to pirate some items to sell at auction later this morning.
In gratitude I gave the seven folks in the military style green Van of the Finnegan clan some tools and doo dads I had in the trunk of my car after one of the Finnegan boys used an old crow bar to pull out the dent on side of my car to make her drivable.

About a year later I saw the O'dooley's and Ma and Pa Finnegan at Saturday auction bidding against each other for some furniture and bric a brac and although they went at each other like out of town lawyers in a small town court both the Finnegan's and O'dooley"s were professional that day as they bid and parried to get the best price on goods for later resale.

I don't see the Finnegan's or O'dooley's anymore but I miss the part I played in their running feud.

Look; my enemies have gotten very tall and fair of face

Look; my enemies have gotten very tall and fair of face

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


It sticks in my ears when a guest or CEO on CNBC answers an obvious question first by starting with the ubiquitous " LOOK" as in General Custer telling the troops at his last stand " LOOK, they are just Indians".

Lots and lots of experts do it on the business channel and to me it's a sign that they are well fed, well paid by the stockholders, or as we call them on wall street bag holders, and quite snug with their station in the world. The poster child for a CEO to me who always started one of his flippant answers with " LOOK " was Vikram Pandit CEO of Citicorp back in 2008 in the housing crisis who was so nonchalant as shareholder value disappeared by the bushel as he told the troops " LOOK, how much can a few bad housing loans really matter".

The other day I was watching you tube and I saw a video of Eric Hoffer the longshoreman philosopher who was one of my heroes back in 1970 or so start a sentence in answer to newsman Eric Severide with" LOOK, as in look if a piece of writing contains one good original idea it doesn't matter how long it is." Sometimes people write volumes and volumes and don't say anything worth
remembering.

I try to write what I think is an original idea. As in Sitting Bull who lead the charge against Custer might have said " LOOK, my friends and enemies have all became the same, in fact in my old age my enemies have gotten very tall and fair of face".

Broken days, Hobson's choices, Ebola or Alzheimer's disease

Broken days, Hobson's choices, Ebola or Alzheimer's disease

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Long before the European's came to America an elderly Native American warrior had a difficult choice to make. For if he had lived long enough by luck and skill in battle he faced the ordeal of loss of the soul or as we would call it Alzheimer's disease. Cared for by elderly strangers who he had once known but now completely forgotten, along with everyone else, he slowly withered away back into a childlike listless existence. Like Blanche Dubois [1] the elderly Native American must with alacrity rely of the kindness of strangers, formerly known to him as friend's and relatives, now completely forgotten and foreign to him. Alzheimer's is no way for an elderly warrior to die.

Since the elderly warrior had no more battles to fight and wouldn't by honor take his own life perhaps he would choose to sit with and entertain the very sick children when one of the periodic visits of the plague would clear local villages of surplus inhabitants.

Study on the matter. Who will take care and entertain very sick children victim's of the Ebola in our society in this time and place during a periodic visitation of the Ebola? Who better than a brave but broken warrior dreaming of someday of a joyous relocation to the happy hunting grounds across the horizons and before broken days of reaching out with bent alacrity for a cold hand of the kindness of strangers.

[1] Blanche Dubois is a character from Tennessee William's " Street Car named Desire", Perhaps inspired by Tennessee' s beloved sister Rose who was institutionalized with mental illness. Author once saw the role played brilliantly in London by Jessica Lange.

a roll call of the States; which American State will report the next case of Ebola/ part 4

a roll call of the States; which American state will report the next case of Ebola/ part 5

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

How will local businesses here in Akron, Ohio respond to the threat of Ebola?

Will it be by scrubbing with bleach like the Public schools?

No winning businesses will respond to Ebola with an eye toward opportunity, public service and then profit.

Training, planning and simulation first. Like in banking, where I worked before, hours and hours of talking and preparing about terrorist attacks after 9/11 and then, this is the funny part, the insidious enemy we prepared to fight against was ourselves; our loan committees and directors approving too many weak real estate loans with bogus ratios and stupid assumptions. We found out in the 2008 housing crisis we were the problem.

Communication, teamwork and vision, respond to opportunity as it presents itself - how will local businesses in the Akron area respond to the threat of Ebola? Vaccination, prevention, distraction or cure; opportunity, public service and then profits. Hint, all biotech's who have any sort of concoctions must be valued as being the lucky gal with the Cure during the initial hysteria.  

a roll call of the States; which American State will report the next case of Ebola/ part 3

A roll call of the states; which American states will report the next case of Ebola/ part 3

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

What were the chances? Ebola alert central in America is right here in Akron, Ohio where I live.

I suppose I could to take the news like Governor Rick Perry of Texas did and in a public interview on National television react like a mean little boy and say" I wish [ the Ebola] had [struck] somewhere else." When he was asked how he felt about  Dallas and the great State of Texas being visited by an Ebola victim, that was his response.

Me, I am responding to my risk of contacting Ebola first drug to America from Africa through Dallas and then by plane from a nurse to Cleveland Airport ---by reacting more in curiosity than fear--- by trying to strain my memory to reconstruct WHERE I WAS LAST WEEKEND when the nurse was moving about Akron, Ohio.

I know for a fact I wasn't at Cleveland stadium watching the Cleveland Indians in a playoff game. For those who don't follow major league baseball the Cleveland Indians didn't make it to the playoffs this year, no clutch hitting but great pitching, only so so coaching. I also know I wasn't at a bridal shop looking at wedding dresses with my arm around an eager young bride to be.

Actually I don't think I can recreate exactly where I was last Saturday and Sunday when the nurse from Texas was in Akron. When I saw her picture in the paper though she looked real familiar. Like I had seen her before. I hope she is OK now and not suffering too much.

What are the chances that everyone within the Akron area could recreate exactly where they were last weekend and who they contacted? Who could remember for sure?

Well, maybe I was even in contact with someone from the Public health service in the Akron area. If I was I would tell them it's going to be very difficult to recreate where every potential Ebola contact in the Akron area let alone the larger Cleveland area, the gateway to the world from hereabouts exactly was last weekend and who all they were in proximate contact with.

Should I be unfortunate and contact the Ebola I will keep in contact by blog as long as I can; I am not one for calling much anymore as there is no one much to talk to. I don't know many people anymore and don't get around all that much these days.  
   

a roll call of the states; which American State will report the next case of Ebola? part 2

a roll call of the States; which American State will report the next case of Ebola? part 2

fiction
edward w pritchard

Cleveland, Ohio airport and Akron where I live have twenty one days to find out if people near here have been exposed to the Ebola. A nurse from Dallas brought the Ebola here. She had never been to Africa. That how Ebola spreads, by airplane in America.

Not everyone exposed to the Ebola will die. Just some. I have decided to ask Jesus for help for those of us here in Akron, help for us from the Ebola. I will compose a prayer to Jesus but in my own style the prayer is below, a story I wrote before. A sincere call to Jesus for help

I suspect Akron and Cleveland are in trouble because of Ebola because the celebrities have left town already. To the clean air of the pastoral countryside. Our local celebrities can afford to leave the area to run from the Ebola but many of us are stuck here in our village unable to leave for financial reasons and to stay near relatives.

Help us Jesus  from the Ebola:

the eternal feminine/ part 2

the eternal feminine/ part 2

fiction
edward w Pritchard

I hear that voice again.

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.

I had a nightmare that I was doing double life sentence alone.

It don't mean a thing what I wrote, I'm confessing that I did it, went and missed that little voice again.

It's hard to fight back, I'll go with the flow just for now and see where the wind does take me.
end

who in America will fall prey to Ebola/ part 4

who in America will fall prey to Ebola/ part 4

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Those days past it always seemed a pretty girl child first to fall to Ebola virus.

We took the girl out to the well near the Johnson farm and lowered the girl on ropes down the dried well and even though she was quite sick with the Ebola by then she laughed a bit thinking it was some kind of a game.

Her Mother laid out by that well for days and days as the girl died talking to the girl at first telling her stories and things but after a few days the Mother was so hoarse she couldn't barely talk and she sang softly and it was a little creepy. We had to drag the Mother away because she was threatening to jump down the well at the end as the girl started the coughing; we took Mother to the other side of the village and tie her to a tree. The Mother had other children and if she was gone who would care for them?

For a day or two Monkeys would come out to that well and drop fruit to that baby girl, I saw them monkeys when I went to shoot arrows at the Monkeys to drive them away so they didn't spread the Ebola. When I walked up on the monkeys before I shot they looked so bewildered at me that anyone would put a child down a well and not go near it. After the Monkeys left and the baby seemed dead we used our feet and hands to push dirt down the well until it covered the bottom well and then filled it with tree branches. Next Spring that Mother planted a bush out near that abandoned well.

That was a long time ago the stuff with the well. Now when anybody dies of the Ebola we put them in a large plastic bag the government gave us and a garbage truck comes along and picks it up and hauls it away. Early in the mornings when the trucks come to get bodies I put my hands over my ears because the drivers always crush and grind up new additions to their load and I can't stand to hear the squishing or think of visual images of things crushing and grinding together as the noise of the drivers compacting their load goes on interminably.
end

thumbing through the back pages

thumbing through the back pages

fiction
edward w pritchard

Backward drives the Devil, fast very fast, as he intimately leans towards you and conversationally reviews the scenes and props of your back pages driving you back in time across your vanished life.

What a salesman that Devil is; he knows it all and he spins your story positively with flair and panache as he swings you a brief tale of your forgotten days of yore. 

Down and through crowded alleys of your back pages the Devil skillfully backs the powerful vehicle back across your forgiven life. With a running commentary Brother Lucifer chats and chatters as he offers you a cold beer and regales you with your mundane story. The Devil never runs down a child on a bike driving too fast backwards and he never scratches his speeding car as he and you careens along.  

Backward races the Devil thumbing through the back pages of your forgotten life.

who in America will fall prey to Ebola /part 3

who in America will fall prey to Ebola / part 3

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


There is a sense that one must be away from the others, out in the cold, isolated, beyond communication, beyond reach, and out of mind to keep safe from the Ebola virus. It's a heavy price for safety; everyone shuns all Kith and kin, Father a Mother and cousins all of kind.

For long periods of time it's suspect to eat animal meats and one crouches by a stream letting fish swim by freely and clutches instead foul sea weeds for nourishment. One must journey far from patches of humans to find clear untarnished water to temporarily purify the soul during an Ebola epidemic.

 Sleeping  in a cave of the clan is verboten in time of rabid Ebola. One must sleep lightly with suspicion of the approach of others, never on one's back and without the warmth of animal skins if one's is to survive periodic flair up's of the Ebola; it's the unwritten rules of the times of Ebola passed from father to son to insure a few survivors of the species from the dread enemy Ebola and it requires isolation and alienation from all others if someone is to survive to tell about the Ebola plague's sinister visitations.

There's no one to confide in and no one to reassure one's self during Ebola crisis's. Soon it will get very cold and dark early and the Ebola virus will wane.

Prop yourself on one crooked elbow and sleep fitfully a few minutes at a time alone in the wind and dark. Listen for approaching footsteps and huddle in the dank shivering cold without a comforting animus skin blanket safe from the touch others.

Stir your tracks circuitously to shun humans and Ebola.

There is a sense that one must shun and avoid others if one is to survive to tell of the times of trouble in the periodic Ebola outbreaks. The world is not hostile just very precarious during the frequent Ebola arising's stalking us from the ancient home of our distant forgotten ancestors. Be suspicious of the approach of Kith and Kin at Ebola times and pay the heavy price of solitude, anonymity and stealth from clan when the invisible pink Ebola virus is active and stalking about the territory.

so much news each day, it's unusual to be surprised

so much news each day it's unusual to be surprised

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

There is so much news each day that it is unusual for us to be surprised. We have a feeling that we have done all this before.

Here's what I wrote before [ I think it was before]:

the usual lamentations

fiction
edward w pritchard

It's time to get started. Startled from sleep, pursued by dreams. Moan the usual lamentations and plan life's distractions from memory and suffering.

It feels distantly familiar as if I have done it before.

There is news? Tell me.

a roll call of the States; which American State will report the next Ebola victim?

a roll call of the States; which American State will report the next Ebola victim?

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

An element of hysteria is building in America over the Ebola outbreak. Unfortunately the underlying fear is real; 5,000 soldiers sent to Africa, right where the danger is, soldiers who will eventually return home, hopefully healthy, or properly vaccinated, or having been given the proper dose of a cure. Airplanes in America jet everywhere, thousands of flights and rushing passengers with their own agenda's sharing cooped up accommodations on hundreds and hundreds of flights daily.

America has a highly functional health delivery system but Americans are very individualistic and few Americans would put them selves in voluntary quarantine unless forced by the civil authority if they weren't sick. Which American State will report the next Ebola Victim? We are all at risk but the statistical probabilities of us catching Ebola are unknown now due to lack of knowledge and the American tendency to be overconfident that we can control nature and our environment.

Don't grieve the dead, grieve for ourselves.

Here is what I wrote before;

why do we mourn the dead when we are the ones who suffer?

fiction
edward w pritchard

Why do we mourn the dead when we are the ones who suffer?

Late at night a mournful train whistle blows far off in the night. The moaning continues insufferably. Then the sound is gone, removed soon forgotten. Forever silenced casting no net into the future. Significance nil.

So it is with those who pass on. A tumultuous sea of suffering and no one to share it with, no one who understands. Alone we sing into a sea of sorrow.

Please Lord explain so I understand. I am on fire with expectation. Moaning insufferably soon forgotten.

Bagdad is about to fall again and Americans try to stop the chaos with targeted bombing

Bagdad is about to fall again and Americans try to stop the chaos with targeted bombing

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

The more America tries to help the more they hate us. What do our leaders know that we don't? Or, or is there a secret agenda, an invisible party in the Middle East with a say in the matter. Who could they be?

Bagdad is about to fall again and Americans try to stop the chaos with targeted bombing. Here we go again.

Here's what I wrote before: I'll keep reposting this until we quit fighting and spending billions of dollars helping to destabilize Iraq and being in the middle of another civil war far from home.

Monday, November 14, 2011[ notice I originally wrote this 3 years ago.

Iraq and America; archaeologist of the future/repost

archeologist of the future/anti war Iraq

fiction
edward w pritchard

Future, far forward
digging, digging in forgotten sands;
searching for personal glory
but treasure too.

Archaeologists digging in what was once Iraq
hoping to find another Ur
but in the North, where the Kurds live.

Digging, digging in forgotten sands
a find!

Tons and tons of weapons,
left by Americans they will surmise.

What kind of warlike people created such terrifying armaments?

who in America will fall prey to Ebola/ part 2

who in America will fall prey to Ebola/ part 2

fiction
edward w pritchard


There is a delusion of safety prevalent in Americans un-tuned to actualities and and a careful sober consideration of statistical probabilities.

Stay in the great house, the one with all the oaks in front, and wait.

Avoid the inner cities of Detroit and St Louis. It's OK to watch a telecast baseball or football game from there. 

Native American tribes like the Comanches are subdued, it's OK but expensive to go to their casino's from time to time.

Don't open your retirement account statement at the end of October, October can be a bad year for stocks,

It's prudent to avoid the Malls for fear of Ebola and terrorists. It's not necessary to stock up on casks of buried fresh water or secret packs of healthy but distasteful freeze dried foods. Surrond yourself with invisible fleets of battle ships on the oceans of the world and flying fort-tresses cruising the skies everywhere at the speed of sound.

Don't sit next to handsome marines at Starbucks talking to their girlfriend about daily life in Africa where he just served. Don't share the sugar bowl either.

A gun at home is OK but keep it away from the children. A gun or an overhead drone isn't much protection from Ebola though.

Fear God as prudent and ask for sactuary from a hostile world; there is a delusion of safety prevalent in Americans un-tuned to actualities and and a careful sober consideration of statistical probabilities.        

you learn more about human nature from a good porno film than a dopey lengthy British novel

you learn more about human nature from a good porno film than a dopey lengthy British novel

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


 Ever try to read a Victorian British novel? Like " Mill on Floss" or something like that? They are full of keen psychological insights to be sure but who can read even one chapter? So many confusing characters with forgetful names.

George Elliot who wrote "Mill on Floss" was a woman who wrote pretending to be a man to be taken seriously in her art. It's just her work is so boring at least to me who can't watch a full episode of wheel of fortune or even Jeopardy.

Forgive me Preacher but give me a good porno for psychological insights. It's not hard to tell at a glance the motivation of the characters of a porno film and one can gleam a lot of psychological understanding of human nature from a few minutes watching porno films, especially the old black and white movie super eight reel stuff.

George Elliot for intellectuals and Candy Samples for those easily bored. You learn more about human nature from a good porno film than a dopey lengthy British novel every time.

Running down the street joyously carrying a mattress on one's head

Running down the street joyously carrying a mattress on one's head

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


I haven't yet ran down the street joyously carrying a mattress on my head but I did work as a furniture mover for a moving and storage company once to earn money for those I loved at the time. It was heavy and difficult work and not everybody could do it. It took a lot of fortitude and vitality.

Working on a moving truck is hot, heavy and difficult. But I remember being dropped off each morning at 6:55 AM if we were lucky enough to have a moving job that day. We worked straight through lunch at my moving company job because my boss didn't take breaks in the day but he did sometimes buy me a beer on the way home. I only had one beer because I wanted to get home and I never messed with the waitress' but now and then one would want to talk to me there at the table. After a long days work I still had time and energy for fun and games in the evening but I didn't run carrying  a mattress on my head but I did have a mattress at home I remember.

I remember going home each Friday with my pay, we got paid in cash and it seemed like a million dollars at the time to share my earnings with my close family. Although I was tired we always went out and had burger King special, whopper, fries and a coke, no one was vegetarian then, and then bought some household furnishings to go with the mattress. Even though I had worked all week at the moving company carrying furniture I carried the newly acquired new furnishings up the stairs to the apartment without stopping to take a breath on the steep stairs; I was quite vibrant in those days. Sometimes I played poker on Saturday nights and brought a little more money home to the household, it seemed like another million dollars in those days but I didn't mess around with the " ladies" who came to the various poker crowds at all those Saturday night poker games not even if they followed me to my car asking for a ride home more than once.

It's funny what you remember looking back forty or fifty years and what some people choose to remember and how someone can change and not remember how things were once and even try to recant their previous feelings. It's funny and all but it still doesn't make me now want to run down the street joyously running carrying a mattress on my head.

I guess running down the street joyously with a mattress on one's head is a metaphor for something like an item from a Breughel painting, like the Breughel painting " the triumph of death" you know, the one in Madrid Spain at the Prado where I went once and stayed in a hotel that once was home to a King of Spain. I remember they had a real comfortable mattress on the bed at that hotel. When you slept in it you were warm and comfortable and the whole world seemed as it should be safe and secure with no need to run down the streets with a mattress on your head or anything like that.

Only sometimes do I remember old times like being in Madrid, Spain or working as a furniture mover, or the " ladies" at the Saturday night Poker games in all the nefarious places I use to go when I was young or how I was such a straight arrow in those days; keeping my promises and being contented with what I had. My own mattress so to speak, that's what Breughel might interpret  the metaphor of someone running down a street joyously with a mattress on their head as I suppose.

I won't post an image from google images of the Breughel picture " the triumph of death" though, you had to be there at that hotel in Spain or at the Prado to understand what the metaphor of someone running down the street joyously with a mattress on their head really means. You can't learn it by just getting old or anything like that.

It's funny what you remember looking back forty or fifty years and what some people choose to remember and how someone can change and not remember how things were once and even try to recant their previous feelings. It's funny and all but it still doesn't make me now want to run down the street joyously running carrying a mattress on my head. It's like my final lamentation, lamentation of understanding or something like that; I wish Breughel was here to paint something for me about my most recent deciphering of some of things that were said to me that confused and confounded me a long time ago. That's life I guess, but it's just sort of sad really, not profound, or epic or anything just confusing. Oh, that it were different and all that.

end

Lamentation 11

fiction
edward w pritchard

Who tore down the great nations of history has cast his gaze on me. I fall and suffer, slowly dropping into nameless obscurity. Forgotten as I live, soon to be unknown forever into creeping perpetuity to the descendants of the sons of Men. Broken by the challenges of random fortune at the end of my existence I stumble alone deafly waiting for my last cue from him who created cosmic order and significance.

Hear my pleas! Where do I go?  There are so many persons scurrying fro and yon as I sink into whirling ectropy.

What do I say and write?

who in America is marked by fate to fall prey to Ebola?

who in America is marked by fate to fall prey to Ebola

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Sleep well my sweet, all is just fine, there's nothing to worry about everything is under control.


Five thousand American soldiers are sent to Africa to help fight Ebola and some bad guys as well. Will one soldier come down with Ebola and infect you?

They say that everyone has an infinite insurable interest in his own life. Would a soldier circumvent quarantine requirements in fear and panic to bring Ebola home to an American town near you?

Here's what I wrote before about Giorgione, one of my favorite artists who died prematurely of plague.

don't fear the reaper:

plagues cause fear, suffering and anguish/ part 5

fiction
edward w pritchard

Would Giorgione have been the greatest artist of all time if he hadn't died of plague in 1510 at the age of 33?

Giorgione painted the first Landscape painting in Western Art. He also painted the first genre paintings.  Giorgione's paintings are arresting to the viewer; there is a unique greatness to his few surviving  works.

What if Giorgione had another thirty years of productive work to produce new styles of painting for the modern viewer to inspect. Would Giorgione be a candidate for the title of the greatest painter of all time if he hadn't been unceremoniously carted off to a mass grave in a wobbly wooden wagon by the citizens of Sienna Italy one day in 1510.
end

plague causes fear, suffering etc, part 1

Imagine losing half of the people you know to a plague. It has happened before in 548 and 1347. How long would it take us as survivors of plagues to adjust to the suffering. Imagine multiplying your current suffering and anguish by 100 times. Such is the plight of plague victims and survivors.

Watched the movie Contagion recently. It stirred up a few racial memories of past lives.

we wrote before:

wildflowers

fiction
edward w pritchard

Wildflowers come in and out of fashion. In the 1960's we were flower children and beautiful girls picked flowers and twirled around dervish style in a joyous manner. Joyous girls picking colorful flowers is a distant racial memory of us all as a species.

Throughout human history during wars, after a large brutal battle, local townspeople bury the dead of both armies. As survivors of wars worked at the job of burying, civilians would gently drop flowers into the open graves. Dropping flowers on mass graves is a racial memory that we all carry deep in our subconscious.

Our ancient ancestors would have been intimately acquainted with wild flowers. They would walk through red and violet flowers while hunting or gathering and sleep on or near them at night. Perhaps they collected sweet smelling flowers to freshen their camps. The sweet smell of deep red flowers would be a respite to our ancestors. Close your eyes and smell the colorful sweet sweet fragrance of flowers carefully being dropped into shallow grave pits.

However, despite the terror of wars, nothing would be as horrific to humans as a species as the periodic massive outbreak of plagues. You as a rare survivor would watch those you love wither away in agony. You would remember the suffering of your family and friends the rest of your life.

Ring around the Rosie pocket full of posies. During the Black Death, the great plague of 1348, well to do Europeans lined their pockets with flowers. Wild flowers served as a nosegays to be pulled out and put on the face to ward off the odor of the dead. In time the posies in the pocket were clutched desperately during the Black Death in the hope to ward off deep red and purple rings of unknown invisible infections. Flowers, fragrant flowers clutched tightly in fear of creeping death is an ancient  subconscious memory of us all.

Fully 30 to 40 per cent of the citizenry of Europe died of the black death from 1348 to 1350. Maybe fifty million people. Before in 548 up to one hundred million people may have died worldwide in the plagues of Justinian. What terror must have been felt by those living at the time of the plague. Racial memory of plagues still exist. Plague is a memory so strong it survived the actual events waiting to  become alive again in the memories of all of the human species whenever or where-ever pestilent plagues should re-emerge.

An escape to the country, with its clean and pure air and beautiful wildflowers was the hopeful wish of  most during the black death. To escape crowds and return to large open fields of wildflowers, to escape to  our ancient pastoral life style would be our hope and prayer in the time of plagues.

Without warning or a known cause the Black Death devastated Western Europe twice. At the time of the Black Death in England then enjoying relative prosperity the average life span was forty years. What terror must have been felt by those living at time of the Black Death a more religious age than ours trying to escape the horror of the biological Armageddon sent by God. Lining ones pockets with posies, trying to ward off the invisible forces of a brutal early death our ancestors suffered and prayed, helpless against the invisible wrath of God. Rings, circular red and harsh purple rings on the bodies of plague victims, buboes under the arms, and in secret places, rings and rings of terror brought by rats. Rats creeping about our houses at night and fleas biting at us and living on and on victim to victim in our clothes are our racial memory of the ancient plagues.

Pick a wildflower and place it to the memory of our ancestors who lived with the terror of the Black Death. We are survivors of plague genetically. Deep in our subconscious might we remember the suffering of our ancestors by those who survived the plagues yet then witnessed their loved ones perish? First a strong person  begins to cough. C, C, coughing and coughing fills the house.Then our loved ones take to their bed with trembling fever. If you are loved, if you are lucky enough to be cared for; from time to time you will be rotated off your back as you sleep. It's wise not to sleep on your back if plague is active.  A day or two of  oozing leaking buboes and searing thudding pain to the ravished flesh slowly follows. Ruining sheets and bedding you wither away as you drift in and out of consciousness awakened only by your pains. If you lived in a town or city the dutiful night watch would seal you in your house; nailing the doors and windows closed. Hear the tap tap tapping of the hammers, as the night watch crew pounds in the darkness in a hysterical attempt to protect others from you. To remove the dieing from sight is the goal. Even the Priest wouldn't come to you to administer last rites. A bumpy ride in a cart follows; toward  the large open mass graves. If you weren't quite dead yet, if you are strong and willful, as the cart bumped and swayed you would be clinging to life among the corpses of your neighbors; methodically searching for a plan, a remedy, salvation for a few more hours of painful shallow breaths. If you can just survive until the cold weather strikes maybe the rats will move somewhere else. As you are awkwardly heaved into the open graves, amongst the scurrying copse rats, a  breeze carries to you a whiff of the smell of fragrant wildflowers. As you groan, your last groan for you aren't quite dead yet, your eyes espy the grave digger noting that you are still alive. The gravedigger crosses himself and reaches for his nosegay of wildflowers which he clutches to his face, to protect him from you as he reaches for the next rotted body to sling with his stiff and tired arms into the piles and piles of flesh. Your last thought is you didn't get the last rites.

Go about your business. Don't worry about unknown horrific infections savagely invading the persons of those you love. You will be a survivor. You have a fifty fifty chance of survival . We can handle anything. Don't fret, it will be light soon. 

Oblivious, I lay down to sleep; skipping my prayers, I prepare to dream and plan of the morrow.
end

lamentation

fiction

Lord,
you have mercifully returned my sight
you have gently found me some reason
you have granted me some relief from hostility
you awarded me some tolerance
you sent me gentle sleep
please guide my course
please direct my gaze

lamentation number 8 repost

lamentation number eight  repost

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

repost


Lamentations are a cry of grief to heal our suffering  and allow us to move on to the next stage of our enterprises.

Here is what I wrote before:


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.

this mournful traveler/ lamentation 7

fiction
edward w pritchard

This mournful traveler, myself, having arrived at this place; without recognition, friendship or admiration, did I come here of my own initiative. Or, was my path pre-determined. Was I placed here and now, fighting to stay this dejected reputation, as preparation for future battles. Or, was my path random, of no meaning or significance. And, did I arrive here through lack of resolve, insignificance of character, and stint of judgment.

Stumble on, refuse to fall, dream despite reality and probability and hope for victory over the next hill. The script if written is not in my hands and my eyes cannot see beyond this abyss.

noise of a wall street crash about to wake up the late sleepers

noise of a wall street crash about to wake up the late sleepers

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Good people go about their business oblivious to the noise of the churning and parroting of stocks and bonds on Wall Street.

First a few coal miners get laid off for slowing demand for electricity in china and over production of coal in Australia and green slaps against dirty coal in America.

Then the price of gas actually declines at the pump.

Next people who clean planes at the airports refuse to work because of a virus in Africa.

A very pretty girl on the local news who use to do weather and now is co anchor says it is a good time to buy quality stocks.

It can be awakening to try to time the stock market when the noise of a wall street crash is about to wake up the late sleepers. The noise from wall street will interrupt dreams of generation six cell phone upgrades and defer the release of an Apple  watch that automatically sends your moods and blood pressure to your doctor and lawyer.

Wall street lands with a thud when fear spreads across the trading terminals of Manhattan, Greenwich Conn, Hong Kong and your town USA. Mysterious footprints appear on the new carpets of your living room when wall street stories are on the front page of the local paper.

Soon the congressional investigations will start. Someone has been manipulating stocks. We are all just shocked by the revelation. Maybe it's harder for everyone to get rich than we had heard.

Noise of a crash on wall street is about to wake the late sleepers. Grandpa is telling the children that a company called Alibaba could fall twenty dollars a share from it's IPO high price this October.

Meanwhile Social networks in America may be used to train soldiers to fight overseas terrorists. How? That's the next high tech IPO which can't be discussed as yet; it's in the lock up period just now.

fear in the morning

fear in the morning

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Our ancestors knew fear. Famine, thirst, hyperthermia, violence and sudden death were their fears in the morning.

What of America? Can we insure, vaccinate and target bomb away all of our fears? Yes, domestically if we become educated in math and science, lose twenty pounds, practice aerobics, take our medications, save for retirement,  vote, read a daily newspaper, insure our possessions and arm our burglar alarms. But, can we tame our fears beyond our borders?

America manipulates the money supply and fortifies the dollar to secure our Homeland. We arm  ourselves at home with handguns against our neighbors and our family members. We send unmanned mechanical drones to seek and liquidate our enemies half a world away. We send soldiers to fight the invisible virus Ebola in Africa.

Thousands of agents in the field gather intelligence throughout the world and send it to Washington to be misinterpreted. Our gargantuan ships cruise the worlds waterways and our planes fly high above schools and hospitals in foreign lands.

First to fight America confronts the tremendous risks and complications of a world with too many people, not enough brotherhood, and no benign equivalent between the invisible enemies.

There aren't too many real men left

There aren't too many real men left

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Early starts the new day. Blow wind direct my first footsteps on my road to new my vita nouva. [1]

Here's what I wrote before: Later is now, now is destiny. Dare we confront our self?

should we follow our first mind?

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


The veil drops for a moment and the entire adventure stem to stern is revealed from our subconscious in a blazing instant of insight. Should we follow our first mind? Or, should we retreat and tempt the fates hoping to ignore what we must hereafter bury deep in our sub consciousness, that first gleaming of recognition.

Better to live superficially. Ignore your first mind. Stumble through life drifting with breezes. Revelation is better left till later. Things must simmer before they are examined in a blazing instant of insight.

should we follow our first mind?



Later begins now,

later is now, now is destiny

[1] new life, attributed to Dante,


new life, vita nouva started here sans Beatrice. Speak to me my Muse I long to speak, I yearn [2] to be heard.

I Yearn, here's what I wrote before:

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

to yearn for something

to yearn for something

fiction
edward w pritchard

Word derivations are bursting human treasures passed to us from our nameless ancestors.

First, although everybody is unique, we all experience the same basic daily stimuli. Waves, sunrises, phases of the moon, fingers smashed, loved ones removed.

Over time we realize that sometimes we are happy and sometimes sad. Often reason unknown. Our moods are a legacy passed on to us in deep human time from our ancestors who came before us and language is the  tally as our species successfully struggled to exist, uttered sounds to convince, order and express fleeting wistful emotions and moods.

To express the moods and longings they experienced our ancestors passed on to us and reluctantly sent us the words that composed the language they used in a shrinking attempt to order their lives.

I "yearn" intensely for what I have lost. My distant Grandfather, great greatly had a "yernen" to understand why he missed his dead wife. With his great great grandmother, she had a "giernan", an intense desire to know why she felt as she did, but her Great great great [ times ten] aunt  used "hortari" and urged  the future descendants to use "chairein" to encourage and to rejoice in the travesty of life.

end

My first gleaming of understanding was distilled drip by drip from 20,000 hours of wandering pathless through my dreams. Now my ancestors allow me to glean their understanding. I begin my new life. Alone I look to the horizon, with a smile I reach for the dawn.

me .

on his writing

on his writing

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Like a passion for carnality in old age; driven to write but whispering down a well do I.

Here's what I wrote before:

My muse doesn't say much anymore

fiction

edward w Pritchard

 

Certainly she inspires me to write and write. Silent she is however. Speak to me my Muse. Though my talent is meager you inspire my pen to sing out.

I am very untuned to your secret thoughts my Muse. What are you thinking?

Lead me through hell Beatrice. Inspire me dear Laura. Through sheer repetition eventually I will produce something worthy. Maybe not.

My Muse doesn't say much anymore. Whisper to me my muse, I wish to speak. I yearn to be heard.

 

second chances

second chances

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


We must ask for what we want but who do we ask? Having thought through all the options I suppose it must be God who must be within ourselves; God being that which connects us to every other thing and our connection with that outside our own mind.

Second chances start from now. Here we are and here we start. Peer in all directions. Stretch our arms and rotate hands. Listen, look and feel. Sniff and sense.

What would it be if there couldn't be any failure? [1]

Focus. Second chances start with a jump and a smile.

[1.] attributed to another 

lost causes

lost causes

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Let us do an accounting of lost causes.

The savings account that never multiplied. The renown that never occurred.

The right fielder who never got to play in the game. The musician who couldn't play without sheet music.

The love that never bloomed, the friendship that never harvested.

The house without happiness. The neighborhood where no one knew any bodies names.

The retirement without the pension. The vacation without the comrade.

Fearful children. Sterile Christmas tree.

Life without health, mealtime without music.

Opportunities wasted. Hopes silenced.

Days without sunshine. Nights without company.

Plunging stock prices. Burnt chickenless pot pie. 

Sagging economy. Growing defense budget.

Blind obedience. Single hearted allegiance. [1]

Dis-confirmed expectations. Cognitive dissonance [2]

Unplanned funeral. Forgotten man.

end

[1] Eric Hoffer  "the true believer"

[2] Leon Festinger " when prophesy fails"

two handfuls of sand

two handfuls of sand

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Put your faith in anything and you end up with two handfuls of sand sifting through your fingers.

Friend or foe your affection will be misplaced as at last alone in your dreams you strain your understanding to decipher what has occurred as age and circumstance drip by drip lay the burden of wisdom on your stooping shoulders.

Jesus, saints and heroes leave first unable to stand the scrutiny of time and maturation.

Beautiful children fade becoming part of the census of humanity racing into the future struggling to leave a fingerprint on the cave wall of a forgotten clan.

Loved ones, strangers; unapproachable, mysterious, guarded, untouchable, rust out of use, out of sight.

Your self is gone. A racing red junked bicycle rolling backwards through misty school yards of vanished childhood.

Light as a feather your heart floats skyward forgiving yourself  sins and carnalities but your soul lays heavy on your stomach.

Two million years of human evolution deposited you here.

Hour by hour the clock ticks but the calendar never changes and each day is the same.

Invisible birds chirp breaking dawn. Hundreds of industrious squirrels store up for frigid winter

What's it all about and where is the significance?

what we found out later about Marci

what we found out later about Marci

fiction

Broken dishes speckled the hallway  outside room 4D at our apartment in Fillmore Homes south Akron as I awkwardly carried Marci's sleepy daughter Sophie barefoot into the ransacked apartment to retrieve Sophie's third grade spelling book for her Monday pop quiz.

Four days later when I reviewed the missed answers on Monday's pop spelling quiz with Marci's daughter; Sophie says "Blues sing last when Mom starts to drinking again."

plain and simple living

plain and simple living

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

It's good to work around a farm until the arms and shoulders ache and until the heart becomes light. Even if you can only spend a few hours per month close to the earth, do so.

Plain and simple living is good for the soul. Free from worries of things far away tend to your own and particular everyday imminent business.

Mennonites and Amish embrace a simple plain life style. Their life style has struggled for four hundred years to simplify their interactions with the fast paced hostile world around them. Take a part of their lifestyle to find time to examine your own life and to let go a few of your complications.

It is not a sacrifice to live with less. It is not disloyal to lessen to worry over people and events far away from yourself. Throw away your worry beads and put your hands to work with simple tasks.

Ebola fears and economic trepidations? Go about your business, we can not change destiny with worry. The vaccine for fear is little busyness.

Good deeds, and simple living is the start to a life of freedom and a life free from worry and fear. Attack today's chores heartily, keep thy footprint on the world light and thy thoughts local whenever possible.

Plain and simple living is good for the heart and soul. It is a divine gift to reach toward a simpler lifestyle.

the divestiture of the American psyche

the divestiture of the American psyche

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Verily, verily, Everyone American enjoys owning three pocket knives, two good pair of binoculars that they can't find when an eagle is spotted flying over and behind their garage and six or eight stout colorful blankets for emergencies.

At some point however, things, goods and objects begins to overwhelm the psyche and it's time for the first divestiture of part of one's material ownership of things. At some point everyone must begin to shrink their footprint on the world.

It's unsettling to throw things aside because our things are part of the ballast that keeps us balanced in an indifferent and distracted world. Collectively few care cosmically if we are here or not and we clutch tightly our material goods as comfort from that realization as long as we can.

Comes the day when all must have their original divestiture.

Take your Indian blanket, the one with the Native American markings on it and go out in the early morning cold and mist and find the planet Venus in the murky sky and sit on the hillside wrapped in your blanket while clutching the edges to contemplate how alone you are in the vastness of things.

Someday it will be your time grab only what you can carry and face the next stage of your existence.

What do you burden thy hands and shoulders to lug through your days?

immediate future events

immediate future events

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Get up quickly from your warm bed when the garbage truck crunches the detritus of your civilization with a loud snap waking you from dreams about mint espresso and discounts on your car insurance and run to the window and you will see the garbage truck is being driven through your suburban neighborhood by good old Jesus who works the route alone jumping up and down from the big truck occasionally to throw a bent discarded baby carriage into the grinding motor of his machine.

Turn on CNBC business news a few minutes earlier and the Arabic guest being interviewed will be Jesus again and he will side step the host's question about when will the Federal reserve definitely state when it will raise interest rates in 2015 and Jesus will look at you straight through the TV and ask if you heard that two or three children over there in Aleppo, Syria had been killed in a bombing raid yesterday morning by targeted bombing.

Head over to the Dollar store later to get next year's planning calendar and while you wait in line at the register to pay the guy working frantically alone to take every one's money and count out carefully the proper change there at the dollar store will be the same blue eyed Arabic guy good old Jesus who drove the garbage truck earlier and was even earlier being interviewed on CNBC and he will tell you that the baby carriage that got crunched up in the grinding machine of his garbage truck in front of your house here in America once belonged to those same little kids who got bombed over in Syria and that you and the pilot who flew the targeted bombing mission that mangled those children near the souk in Aleppo used the same type of day planning calendar to organize your days.