NFL Superbowl 2015, a new idea to market product

NFL Superbowl 2015, a new idea to market product

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

We found this little ditty published by Pritchard back in 2015 on the night before the pro football Superbowl. Looks like he had something worthwhile to say for once.


Here's something I wrote before about the Superbowl:

The NFL, an idea whose time has come

The NFL, an idea whose time has come

fiction
edward w pritchard

Product sponsors, rather than commercials every other play, just modestly list the product at the bottom of the screen during timeouts and breaks and show the cheerleaders. A fan.
EOM

lost sheep, repost

lost sheep, repost

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


The older I get the more I am in awe of bible stories.

Here's what I wrote before, based on the parable " the lost sheep''.

Sunday, November 13, 2011

lost sheep

lost sheep

fiction
edward w pritchard

You must put yourself where the lost sheep likely be to find it. Journey far looking for the lost sheep.

Oh what joy when that sheep is found. No place so blessed as where the lost sheep lies. Hoist the sheep on your shoulders if you can and carry it back to the place of safety. Rejoice, rejoice, the lost sheep is back. The flock is whole. The Shepherd rests easily tonight.

super bowl football harbinger of inflation

super bowl football harbinger of inflation

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Author loves Phoenix where this year's super bowl is to be held but anymore he just tolerates NFL football once the Love of his youth. If I were in Phoenix this weekend I'd rather be in the superstition Mountains, on a reservation,  or at the desert.

start:

8,000 for a ticket to a football game. Super bowl the game of the year, they do the game again and again this time February over February; it's the Game of the Century.

Too much money chasing too few tickets has driven up prices to where some one will pay 8,000 for a super bowl ticket. It must be true I read it on Yahoo news, there were no footnotes in explanation; $8,000 dollars to be stuck in traffic in Phoenix Arizona where the game is held and worry that someone will break into your car while you are in your expensive seat. There are lots of petty crimes in Phoenix, $ 8,ooo for a football ticket is one of them. Phoenix is a sur-real place to be.

Too much money chasing too few assets that's inflation. Some bureaucrats at the European union print up a bunch of Euro's to raise prices because the world is in fiscal trouble and some rich guys probably from Boston wanting to watch the New England Patriots win, but without a lot of common sense pay 8,000 for a football ticket. Hedge fund managers who just got a gigantic year end bonus using their wealth to drop out of the world and rather than go to a Monastery for a week to recharge, they go to a very expensive football Game to find enlightenment.

Patriots versus Seahawks. Patriots are favored by 1.5 [ .5? the game must be played with an under inflated ball.] How trite am I.

Let's see,
 Seattle is home to the football sea hawks, Microsoft, Starbucks and the 100 year old "night strangler" who lived under ground in the sunken sub-surface parts of Seattle, emerges every twenty one years to strangle six pretty girls in the 1970's movie with Darren McGavin  as Kolchak.

 The " Night Stalker " TV drama series, features monstrous serial killers with super human strength committing baffling violence while anti hero news paper reporter Kolchak battles the beauracracy and establishment while getting the girl, and displaying an off beat sense of humor, only to be foiled financially in the end being left flat broke and out of work. Sounds like the NFL, monstrous violence, crimes against women, and no job security for the unionized players.

New England Patriots? Our New Englanders fore-fathers took Phoenix from Mexico and subjugated the Native Americans. Business as usual in the 19th century; now football is just a Game. In Arizona these days il-legals can get their drivers license but they must sign an affidavit that they have car insurance. [ watch for Progressive's clever but  monotonous ads during the game] Native Americans in Arizona still make pottery for sale but live on Reservations where poverty is prevalent and oppressive. No, $8,000 tickets for Native Americans.

I'll watch most of the Game though I don't care who wins. I always skip half time. Chips, wings and beer from the dollar store while watching the Game on TV suit me just fine, No $ 8,000 tickets here. I fast forward through the NFL public opinion mandated domestic violence messages and ads; I never had that problem myself. Despite my incorrigibility against women I care about, no domestic violence here.

NFL super bowl football; I always enjoy the violence and mayhem, watching someone else earn a good living. Phoenix, Arizona where the Super bowl is held this year; monstrous vehicular violence, armed citizenry, and a sur-realistic place to be. The American heartland. Would that our next President was from there; where's Barry Goldwater when we need him?

advice for women

advice for women

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Keep your eyes lowered when stared directly at;
no need to wear a veil but modesty becomes you.
A man doesn't need you to not be properly educated
but in some personal matters
everything you know must flow from him.
As for voice, keep it soft and your
opinions gentle.
Age gracefully
but be yourself.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder;
your smile pleases, your dimples delight and soft voice entices,
you hold our fancy,
whatever the Season.

somewhere in time

somewhere in time

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Embers die hard
but our campfire is gone.
Given up the wait,
I am somewhere in time
gone, forgotten,
left for dead.
Poking the fire with a forked stick
listen to the scraping,
rattle future, present, forgotten past
across the universe
hear glowing embers simmer.

a retched look at the adult film industry

a retched look at the adult film industry

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Return ye to the ways of innocence. A retched look at the adult film industry.

Repost, written before:

Heaven and Hell- edit 1

fiction
edward w pritchard



She had the face of Leonardo's unfinished angel and wanted more than this little town could offer. Violet sold herself and her innocence

An aged decrepit strip mall half empty, parking lot unploughed with snow, vacant windows un-cleaned, trash cans over flowing and a dearth of legitimate customers at the stores still in business.

Offices down a dark hall way. Coldson Brothers Media productions, the local entry into the adult entertainment film world, rented a modest suite of rooms serving as hallways to the inner sanctum containing camera equipment, lighting focused toward a couch and an over sized chair. Up to $65 dollars an hour, two hours guaranteed minimum, no experience necessary. Bring face photo and proof of age and signed release.

Hustle, bustle; follow instructions, interested or not. Two hours- and it's over.

Barely now legal, all girl, new faces, new to business, as seen in the magazines, five year plan, then retire, inside of back cover, web site, move to California, special interests, hire a lawyer, dirty business, take care of yourself, no promises, now what?

Hell, recriminations, sleeplessness, loneliness, not the same, un-ring a bell, guilt, wandering, restlessness, what if,
end part 1


hell and heaven part 2

fiction
edward w pritchard

The family was very strict with the women. They had lived on the farm in New England for several hundred years and they still held the women of the family to the morality of the 1750's. Under no circumstances were the women in the family to leave the vicinity of the farm and never were the women to explore the berry patch behind the barn.

Violet was young and came from far away and was spending the summer with relatives on the farm in New England. The families attitude toward women sickened her and their regulations made her anxious to break the ancient rules of decorum and behavior.

Violet ventured behind the barn and found the ancient green pumpkin growing in a circle as large across as the town clock on a high tower in an ancient Swiss medieval town. The rotting pumpkin was very old and solid to the touch but when she pushed on the top of the green gourd the entire vegetable rolled and moved forward with a clump, revealing a deep sloping descending passage way; dark but beckoning. As Violet began to descend the long twisting passage under the farm property, Violet inhaled the pungent damp air of the far away sea coast.

Violet began to perspire as she walked down into the tunnel and her face displayed a flush and her shirt clung to her body as she dripped with moisture. Violet was not afraid as she walked and she seemed to remember walking down this path before. An anticipation and curiosity besieged her as she walked into the depths of the earth leaving relatives and the farm high up behind her.
end part 2

part 3

Owen's patriarch status emerged as soon as he felt his niece Violet enter the forbidden passage way behind the barn. Owen tore the large stem off the green pumpkin and lit it for illumination as he lowered his large body carefully down into the descending passage, and looking back over his shoulder; he took a last glance at the moon in the sky before he was traveling solely into artificial light.

Owen was no longer an individual for he had taken on the persona and understanding and experiences of his entire now dead clan and family. As soon as his wife's niece Violet rolled the green pumpkin off the ancient passage way away from the farm Uncle Owen's awareness had simultaneously merged with Violet's actions as she descended the long dark passageway into ancient temptation.

Owen was going to save his niece Violet from sin and sexual excess for the ancient passageway behind the barn that Violet now traversed somewhere ahead of Owen as he descended the dark passage lead to the sea ports and bacchanalia and precocity.

As he traveled by the light and odor of the burning stem of the gourd, Owen ceased to be himself, having taken on out of necessity the sentiment of invincible power and a singleness of purpose that would be required if he was to endure the ordeal he faced in the coming days ahead. Although he was now capable of heroic action, Owen likewise was now capable of a limitless brutality when necessary to accomplish the secret preordained goals that he no longer was able to consciously judge.
end part 3

part 4

Word spread quickly that an insatiable young woman was now working in the second floor rooms over the old saloon. Violet was driven by ancient urgings and she became very busy in her work. Whalers on shore leave spent hours waiting specifically for the young woman and the management of the rooms over the saloon had difficulty in maintaining order. The other girls going about their duties in a normal fashion discussed in earnest killing the new girl for she was speeding up the line and disrupting their routine.

Out at sea men began to plan how to spend time in those rooms over the saloon and meet the new girl face to face.

A volatile situation was developing and as Violet's uncle entered the seaport looking for his niece, chaos was the likely outcome of his confrontation with the men of the whaling crews waiting to visit his niece in the rooms over the saloon.
end part 4

part 5

Violet was half way through the two hour session at Coldson Brothers Media productions her initial introduction into the adult entertainment industry. Violet, aspiring actress was having an elaborate fantasy as she worked at Coldson today about her long dead uncle Owen coming to rescue her. Violet endured the initial invasion to her body and tried to keep her mind elsewhere with fantasy and escapism, a technique that served her well over the next several years as she became a rising talent in the adult entertainment industry.

Barely now legal, all girl, new faces, new to business, as seen in the magazines, five year plan, then retire, inside of back cover, web site, move to California, special interests, hire a lawyer, dirty business, take care of yourself, no promises, now what?

Hell, recriminations, sleeplessness, loneliness, not the same, un-ring a bell, guilt, wandering, restlessness, what if.

end

east of eden, south of Sumer

east of Eden, south of Sumer

fiction
Edward w Pritchard



The myths of Sumerian literature influenced the story of Cain and Abel retold in the Novel " East of Eden" by Steinbeck.

Hunter gathers vs. farmer or metaphorical depiction of religious wars between brothers who worship the same God but manage epic disagreement over doctrine disrupting order and stability across society.

Meanwhile as in Steinbeck the Father suffers paralysis unable to come to grips with evil in the household. Our understanding of the world is destroyed as good vs. evil, civilization vs. barbarism confuses philosophy.

Ancient story-modern problem. Sanctimony and hypocrisy vs. jealousy, sanguinity and uncontrollable anger.

Different but the same; few people realize that we are all alike despite what century we discuss.

Clutch thy child's hand and embrace his Mother, the wife of thy youth to maintain order and stability across civilizations. Order in the Home, kindness and civilization in the land; maintain the irrigation ditches by gentle diligence, seasoned labor and group effort; sing Mother, pray Father, children follow the laws of the elders to insure another dawn.

Vincent Van Gogh; a different way of seeing things

Vincent Van Gogh; a different way of seeing things

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Everyone is not the same. Yes, some people see the world a little different and their behavior is difficult for normal people to understand, resulting in alienation and isolation from others.

Here's what I wrote about Vincent Van Gogh. I admire his paintings very much and have read many of Vincent's letters to his Brother Theo.

The letters between Vincent the alienated artist and Theo Van Gogh business man tell a sad love story between two very different brothers.
Here's what I wrote before about Vincent Van Gogh.

the flower arranger

fiction
edward w pritchard

As charity work, being a religious woman, Mrs Lemat, florist took flowers to the psychiatric patients in the hospital at Arles.

Mrs. Lemat  came on the painter of sunflowers in his room at the hospital after the patient Van Gogh had quarreled with a fellow artist Gaugin and later had cut off a piece of his own ear.

Mrs. Lemat remembered the painter Van Gogh because she had as a commission for the artist from her Florist's shop a few months ago supplied and arranged twelve sunflowers in a vase that the artist had spent several days painting.

The patient who could be amiable at times [ despite his reputation] spent several minutes talking to Mrs. Lemat, as she delivered to him several sunflowers in a small vase this day as part of her charity work for patients in the psychiatric hospital at Arles.

Van Gogh talked in a friendly perceptive way to Mrs Lemat about the differences in color between the original commissioned vase of flowers she had supplied a few months ago to Van Gogh earlier for one of his Paintings and the Sunflowers she delivered to him now as a charity gift to brighten his room in the Psychiatric hospital here at Arles.

As she left the hospital, feeling sad for the fate of the sick painter, Mrs. Lemat wondered if the painter's being in the hospital was influencing the way he saw the colors of the two sets of sunflowers, for in truth they both looked the same to her.

Mrs. Lemat who was in no sense an intellectual thought for a long time about colors and perception conversation she had with the artist Vincent Van Gogh and years later when she heard that Mr. Van Gogh's painting "Sunflowers" was now very valuable Mrs. Lemat recalled with sadness that the artist had shortly after her delivering the flowers to his room at the Psychiatric hospital shot himself in a field where she played as a girl many years ago.

my trip to the Metropolitan museum

my trip to the metropolitan

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Get to NYC and then visit the Metropolitan museum and the cloisters museum near Harlem but in it's own unique world, a medieval monastery in the heart of the United States.

Image all the trials and tribulations that the greatest artists in History lived through. Yet they still produced their masterworks. To God's glory and to posterity the great artists in History have their works on display in museums throughout the World.

Eleven great pictures at the Metropolitan museum of Art I will see on my next trip there.

Food and entertainment in NYC is great but fantastic Art is heart rendering and unforgettable. Money well spent.

11 great works of Art at the met:

1 Juan de Parija- Velazquez- gallery 610

2. Madonna and child- Duccio- gallery 625

3. Saint Jerome as a scholar- El Greco-gallery 608

4. The crucifixion, last judgment- Van Eyck- gallery 645

5. Madame X- Sergeant- gallery 771

6. Piazza San Marco- Canaletto- gallery 619

7. Madonna and Child- Bellini- gallery 600

8.- Erasmus- Holbein- gallery 953

9. Virgin and child- Durer- gallery 643

10 Francesco d' Estes- Rogier Van der Weyden- gallery 644

11. annunciation Triptych- Campin - gallery 019

there are many more, just some of my favorites

Chaos comes to america/ part 2

Chaos comes to America/ part two

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

A week ago my forebodings re-appeared. Expected were international repercussions concerning economic disaster or political turmoil.

Turns out things personal and familial effect our lives more than timeless epic events.

So many ugly maladies intrude to disrupt the beautiful interworking's of the natural sequence of time's silent bubbling progression into the future.

Revelation's end of days won't be triggered by our passing from this hostile world. The play goes on.

Be kind, non-judgmental of others follies and look at a cathedral and a piece of great Art now and then for solace.

Perhaps the sun will reappear soon here in Winter Ohio and I can walk along the Lake and commute with God's beauty.

Or, perhaps I will commute with Beatle George Harrison this Sunday morning and listen to " Isn't it a Pity" ";
" not to many people see we are all the same" " how they break each other hearts and cause each other pain".

Because of all the sorrow no one can Love anymore.
Revelation's end of days won't be triggered by our passing from this hostile world. The play goes on.


Here's what I wrote a week ago today:

Sunday, January 18, 2015

chaos comes to America; January 20th, 2014

chaos comes to America; January 20th, 2014

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

My intuitions are signaling chaos coming to America; January 20th, 2014. Invisible forces brought by the winds from east to west across our country.

Maybe from Europe. Something about Swiss francs and euros. Invisible forces producing imperceptible changes.

Ancestral voices prophesizing chaos. It happens now and then; something about time and before and after or now and later.

Here's what I wrote before on my forebodings:

 

see original if interested

ewp

your kids aren't you/ part 2 with edits

your kids aren't you/ part 2 with edits

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


your kids aren't you

fiction
edward w pritchard

It takes you twenty or thirty years to learn your kids aren't you. They look a little like you and they remind you of your partner sometimes but they confound and confuse you and you don't understand them just like your partner does sometimes and so it's understandable that your kids aren't you.

It's still hard to but out. Don't say things but be there when needed and then vanish. It's fine to like your grandchildren. Have your own life but pick up the phone quickly and don't let their calls go to voice mail. Try to keep a scheduled time to see them.

Most important don't get co dependent when there's bad trouble and don't try to love them too much but keep in touch. It's ok to ask them fishing if they like to fish. Mexican food is fine unless they don't like spicy meals then let them pick another restaurant. Don't talk too much at the restaurant about when they were little children.

If you do manage to distance yourself from your children to protect yourself rest assured their problems will find you and intrude into your well being.

An over abundance of concern for your children is a form of idolatry, like in Abraham and Isaac in the bible. You can't control what happens to others even your own children who you love as they were when they were innocent and obedient.

Don't fret if one of your grown children wants to get tattooed and certainly don't send them a brochure on tattoo's and hepatitis. If they drive too fast tell them once and then just hope or pray for safe trip's through the next twenty years. Don't "what if" a thousand disasters based on your children's character flaws.

Rest in the knowledge that you weren't connected enough to your parents to cause them much trepidations. Nor your parents to theirs. Over protectiveness is a modern malady. It takes you twenty or thirty years to learn your children aren't you and that sometimes you can't shield them from life's disasters even those of their own making. Try to be nimble in assisting with serious issues if asked but otherwise keep a proper distance whenever feasible.

Where is Emperor Bismarck when we need him?

Where is Emperor Bismarck when we need him

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Ranting as per protocol:


What do we do after a good nights sleep when we wake up at 3AM? Why we read and study the balance sheets, income statements and cash flow information on sinking America companies in the Coal and Molybdenum industries. With level head and stout heart I watch our countries strategic assets become deflated to zero.

The stocks of American companies in the coal and Molybdenum sectors are trading at alarming lows.
Too much debt, too little cash flow. Perhaps some of our foreign associates will notice and intervene to save America's strategic assets. With a long term outlook perhaps Coal will become important again someday.

The market will solve the problem say the free market guys. Bankruptcy to reorganize and re-enrich current management, a sale to an overseas company and the company is revitalized. Stock holder equity disappears and current debt responsibilities dissolves as junk bonds sexually entice foreign raiders.

America is a quasi socialist country in reference to domestic programs and issues but other than providing a helping hand to the wealthy in terms of subsidizing sacred cow industries our Government seems obsessed with short term domestic issues.

But what do I know, I wasn't privy to an Ivy league education. I only know what yahoo news and finance spoon feeds me.

Perhaps Companies deemed legitimately strategically important [ not solar energy or vitamin manufacturers] should be able to borrow from the government at less than Junk bond rates to conserve American ownership of America's strategic assets. In return part of the strategic resource becomes socialized and is owned by the country with a say in the future dispersement of said strategic assets. Of course we must also be realists and enrich current senior management and various hedge funds and Gold-man's and those guys if politically a deal of this sort is to fly. It's part of those unwritten rules of Wall Street and good old boy inside workings of business and government that those of us in the Midwest don't understand.

It's all so complicated. Maybe we have a coherent and well thought out long term strategic policy to protect America's strategic assets that we appropriated from the Native America's and Mexico in centuries past and  I am too ignorant of politics too know and understand it. Perhaps programs already exist but we must avoid the fall into socialist thinking and not let Government protect strategic assets by getting too involved in the Marketplace.

Or, perhaps it's just time for me to stop worrying and listen to old music on the you tube.

Where's Emperor Bismarck [ German head of state known for shrewd statesmanship and practical mercantilism in politics] when we need him? He used to do the thinking while his citizenry listened to music over you tube on the internet. Anachronism intended.

Or, maybe it's like this. " The River of No Return" now playing on you tube is a great American movie from the 1950's with Robert Mitchum and Marilyn Monroe, directed by Otto Preminger, and based on a book written by Louis Lantz.

" River of no Return" was inspired by the Italian film " the Bicycle Thief" by Luigi Bartolini. Both are great movies based on the same theme; someone owns something, loses it to a thief and then after struggling to get it back within the law try's to steals it back.

That's how it is with America's strategic reserves of coal, molybdenum  and oil. Who  really owns it anyway? Hey, that's what the Native Americans always said in the broken treaty scenes in the old western movies; those native Americans always said: " How can anyone own part of the Earth and Sky that the Great spirit endowed us with for use within our lifetimes"? Go figure, how do you list that on a balance sheet or cash flow statement?

beautiful girl vanished

beautiful girl vanished

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Anymore if I go to the convenience store or a restaurant I always hope that the harried girl waiting on everyone in the crowded lines secretly has hidden talents that make her happy or once was the prettiest and smartest girl in the second grade.

If I had enough money I would always give the beautiful girl vanished working as a waitress or convenience store clerk a nice tip to tell her someone appreciates her efforts. Although it makes me sad to notice too much how hard waitresses, convenience store clerks or Native American Indian women have to work to scratch out a meager existence I notice and appreciate their efforts.

Here is what I wrote before on the subject, a tribute to said beautiful girls vanished;.

Another clerk at the convenience store

another clerk at the convenience store

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Three hundred and sixty five days a year the customers are irritated with you if you are a little over weight and take in money, clean, cook their budget gourmet coffee, and change the waste container liners outside by the gas pumps at the large well lit convenience store here on South Main Street in Akron. Sometimes in the middle of the shift Medari the general manager will send me to his other gas station in Kent to take them change or something like that so they don't run out of unrolled nickels or quarters. I have to take my own car and Medari never pays me for gas. Sometimes I feel invisible to the customers.

I know that I am not pretty enough to work at the Star Bucks where the crew splits up tips and jokes around with each other while they go about their working rushing to and fro at hyper speed. Maybe I shouldn't eat so much junk food during work but my job can be stressful. These salesmen come in and I'll have a long line of irritated women late for work and the handsome delivery guys will pull their Pepsi Trucks right into the middle of the lot and block all the pumps and then demand that we count and verify their delivery priority one.

It's seems like it's always winter or raining here in Ohio. Usually I don't have time to pull on a coat when the trash containers are full to overflow out near the gas pumps and my feet always seem to be a little wet and slushy.

My shift starts at six AM. Only you have to be in at 5:45 to review stock before you start and count the drawers. I quit at 2PM. Only if it's 2:15 sometimes Medari will trick me into driving up to the Kent station because Sally the assistant manager, his close friend that his wife the RN doesn't know about is sick for the second time this week and no else had time to make it to the Bank and I have to drive up and do their deposits for them.

About six thirty AM the older people come in to buy lottery. They talk and talk about their daughters in Illinois or their sons five miles across town who are always too busy with their wives families to see them at Holidays. Old people at least want to know if you have a name and then they always remember it for years and years and call you by name when you hold up the line of irritated women late for work to sell them lottery. Old people don't understand the concept of random numbers. Each one has a theory about special numbers that are lucky to them like, six, seven, three, eighteen or twenty seven their football shirt number back in high school in 1955. Old people never tip when a lucky one of them finally wins fifty or seventy five dollars at lottery.

If I was pretty and sexy I would like to be able to work as the bar girl at the counter at a sports bar and sell Keno cards to handsome men and have them give me hundred dollar tips when they won a thousand or two. I would joke with them about how tough life is while they drank beer and followed me about with their eyes as they waited for their pizza orders to take home to their families. If the owner hassled me there at the sports bar I would tell them to screw themselves and they would have to take it and be nice with me because all the men customers would only come to our bar because of me. If I quit waitressing the owner would know half his customers would follow me to the next place down the road to buy their beer and keno tickets.

After work I head on home to take care of my Mom who is handicapped and just watches television all day. Her and I have a lot of special cable series shows that we watch each specific night of the week. Sometimes I will get us fast food because both of us are  always on diets. My brother never manages to stop by to help with Mom. He lives over In Kent and his wife is a princess who needs to be catered to. She doesn't see Mom except when Mom is taken by ambulance to the Hospital. Usually my brother brings ribs or buffalo wings when he does finally stop by to give me a break from taking care of Mom.

If I was pretty and sexy I would like to be one of the service girls at the Lexus dealership who write up the repair orders for the handsome men. I would know a lot about car repairs and be able to astound everyone with my diagnosis's. I would joke with all the mechanics and a few of the good looking salesmen would call and text me on weekends. Or if I was pretty and smart I would be one of the women Doctors over at the Hospitals who help with the sick children.
end
ewp

life on Mars/ part 9

life on Mars/ part 9

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Using up the standard stories about restricted security over a visit by the Pope, American Presidential inspection tour and suspected outbreak of plague [again] authorities here on Mars banned private low-flying helicop trips for the month of July by "executive order". No further information was given.

My younger brother called me frantic to help him. He had leased an expensive Tesla helicop for his vitamin sales business and with the ban on civilian use of private flights in the month of July, 2034 my brother was losing 800 euro's a day in lost sales and daily rental of the leased vehicle. Knowing I chronically needed money my brother approached me to do some old fashion " blockade running " to get the leased Tesla Helicop from West sector to East sector which was exempted from the ban.

Security was tight, tight, tight in West sector. Ground troops home honor guard, level 7 drones and high flying Boeing's guarded airspace. West sector Mars was on lockdown again.

I used the old fashion bush jumping technique of flying from Hospital to hospital delivering sterile water and  insulin to work my way across West sector. About twenty kilometers from the border to East sector my luck ran out and I was grounded by one of the new Drone 9 detector class.

My brother got a 5,000 euro fine which took him all of three weeks to pay off when he got back about his vitamin D business. Me, I got thirty days re-documentation and  confinement, ethics and responsibility, [ again.].

 After a  few months of being mad at me Bro sent me a bottle of home planet 2016 Scotch whiskey as apology for his temper; we are family after all.

I still have not paid my re-documentation court costs of 179 euro's. There never seems to be enough money to pay all of one's expenses here on Mars. It's the same wherever you are in the solar system I suppose. Hard to get ahead in life.

life on Mars/ part 8

life on Mars/part 8

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


More by author Pritchard about early settlers on Mars. Here a macabre incident involving lab rats.



In our off duty hours Phillip Matson and I were picking up a few extra Euros back in 2028 delivering water and bootleg alcohol to the early settlers up on Mars.

Mic Kruson was a Russian who had lost his wife to a meteor during the first trimester of their duty in the East sector and having no working helicop had been out in the bush for four months with no visual inspection from authority. Kruson had a reputation as a heavy drinker and Matson and I made the long trek to the far side of east sector with visions of a large sale of our expensive hooch.

I had a bad feeling when we landed at Kruson's helipad that he didn't come down to meet us when we embarked. The area was a mess and the signs and slogans from his wife's funeral which I had attended last year were still plastered about the settlement and things were eerie and silent even for Mars.

Kruson was sick in bed and his room was dank and lifeless when Kruson and I began to attend to the old bat. Kruson obviously hadn't changed his life suit for several weeks and the metallic smell hung about the cabin.

Mattson had some medical training as a cadet and using an old rotating saw we carried on our transport he cut Kruson's Russian issue standard blue survival uniform in a complete circle across Kruson's chest while I held him down for Kruson was obviously in a lot of pain.

Five or six white lab rats were imbedded in old Kruson's body causing infection and starving the former Captain. Mattson cut a small incision into Kruson's right triceps and seven small white lab rats
scurried about the cabin after tentatively exiting Kruson's body.

Mattson did a professional job of sewing up the old Russian at least that what the Doc back at American sector told him; Me I caught Hell for blasting the white rats with a taser, apparently it's a violation of code to kill lab rats, white or otherwise. I still haven't paid the fine.

After we got old Kruson back to American hospital I stopped by to see the old guy and gave him a free bottle of our Agave hooch and two old "Playboys" I carried in the Helicop. I didn't charge him a thing which is obviously why my credits are usually negative and the Bank has thugs looking for me all the time up here on Mars. The one magazine I gave Captain Kruson  was the college coed 2017 Spring issue, which these days is probably worth a fortune at least it's worth a lot here on Mars and the Mescali we gave Captain was some of our best stuff. Both Mattson and I always liked that old Russian and we wanted him to know we appreciated the original settlers and the hardships they faced trying to civilize Mars.

As for my partner Mattson he didn't even get a warning for practicing Medicine without license; he always comes up clean, just lucky really but I don't mind I can use a little luck even if it mostly benefits one of my drinking buddies rather than myself.

signing out
ewp, still stranded on Mars

pull the family together

pull the family together

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Third generation cell phones and artificial intelligence in computers and machines has leveled the playing field between children and adults within the family unit while the role of strength in the father or maternal instinct in the Mother has been lessened by civilization and easily accessible community knowledge.

Author visits two of his favorite themes here: children are not larval adults but unique individuals with remarkable abilities and instinct tops reason supplying a natural order to the world.

Pull the family together:

Mother and father were fighting about an insurance policy and the family home was in turmoil. The brother was in his room cocooned in his headphones escaping into his music and the baby girl was taking care of herself in the yard.

When the Mother rolled the insurance policy up like a club and thumped it against the walls of the living room continuing the running argument with the husband the boy to escape the noise went to the back yard to find his sister.

The girl was sitting near a pile of stones at the rear of the yard that the Father had bought some time ago to pave a path back to the gate running to a walking path near the fence. The girl was
industriously piling stones into groups. As she worked she hummed a little. The brother joined her in the work.

Fifteen minutes later the Father walked in to the yard followed by his wife to check on the Children. The wife had unrolled the insurance policy and was reading section heading 11 as she walked.

Hours later the four family members sat in a circle sorting and chipping stones, As they worked they hummed the song originally composed by the girl. The little family continued at their work till the mosquitoes drove them back into their Home.

Del Shannon; gone are the days of Hollywood a go go

Del Shannon; gone are the days of Hollywood  a go go

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Del Shannon strums at his guitar which isn't electronically connected while he lip sings "Runaway" as seven lithe female dancers strut in a circle round and round him standing on a pedestal on national TV on Hollywood a go go in 1964. It don't get any better than that. It was his moment of fame, one great song, seven ritually circling Gazzarri dancing virgins, national TV.

Poor Del Shannon born Charles Weedon Westover; December 30, 1934 – February 8, 1990 was living in a trailer flat broke in Louisiana when he took his life.

Fame thou fickle whore. How we pant and circle as we chase you round and round the circle, you strut into an unplugged guitar and lip sinc; " to end this misery, and I wonder why, why, why". [1]

Check out Del Shannon on you tube; gone are the days.

[1] "Runaway" words and music by Dale Shannon and Max Crook

Here's what I wrote before on lost fame and fortune for you Del Shannon:
it don't rhyme but you get the idea

tudo se foi

tudo se foi

fiction
edward w pritchard

Tudo se foi
was all I could say,
speaking Portuguese
the language of my youth.
When I had vitality
and riches,
stocks, tapestries and silk sheets at night.
Tudo se foi I told the magistrate
No, I couldn't pay my taxes, medical bills,
mortgage or anything really.
Tudo se foi.
I could see the magistrate wasn't listening
it didn't matter officially that he didn't understand.
I wanted him to know, for the record.
Tudo se foi, every thing is gone;
the money went with youth, my health and my looks.
For a minute the Magistrate looked down at me, from the bench and smiled
and asked me to please spell it, for the court reporter.

Epistle to Barack Obama

Epistle to Barrack Obama

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Unceremoniously have I lived and without ceremony will I pass from this life. However, President Obama I wanted to thank you for dutifully maintaining the night watch and to the best of you abilities protecting me and mine from chaos and intervention.

On your watch we have found the world is a complicated and impersonal place. How we hoped for change and transparency in the beginning.

Mostly now I huddle in my Home. Two or three times a quarter one of my neighbors will stop by with news of imminent destruction such as Ebola, terrorism or now deflation. My way of life destroyed by sinking prices for coal and copper. Often I don't answer my neighbors knock preferring to stay holed up in my lair lulled by professional sports on the Cable.

It's certainly getting warmer. But Winters are unusually cold of Late though nothing like when I walked to school sub zero as a schoolboy.

Japanese schoolgirls intrude on the internet and carry viruses which give hackers access to my abode and personal thoughts.  Usually I don't follow them on you tube. I do enjoy a cover by German Mona Lisa twins backed up with electric guitar and a girlish lisp at the end of a complicated English word pattern on Beatles songs.

Thank you for lowering gas prices. You have shown those Texans a thing or two. Mornings I often enjoy a short drive listening to the radio if I can find a station not roasting your performance deciphering the world's hostility against us.

I have come to grips with my situation and I thank you for maintaining peace and stability for me to grow in. Stuck in the spacious present I avoid the future and the past. Here I sit, forgotten man, rusting American patriot.

What's next for you after your watch is over. If I may be so bold; avoid the Lecture circuit. It's so typical. Maybe work with your wife, become reacquainted perhaps both swinging a hammer on habitat for Humanity projects somewhere warm volunteering while you collect your Federal pension.

The quiet life can be dignified for one who was once at the center of things. New Mexico is nice.

Greetings from a silenced suburban cowboy, once an honorary native American and ex-hippy sans funds to enjoy the lifestyle. I appreciate you efforts.

when taken at the flood

when taken at the flood

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

If you travel in a stout boat a tide taken at the flood may be fortuitous. At such times the sons of man are happy working, eating, drinking, singing and merrymaking.

Woe to us who are away from the boat when the flood does come; unexpectedly and with crashing rushing weight and force beckons the flood waters carrying flotsam and debris.

Far from the River we don't see the tide rising or hear nature's creatures presage destruction and annihilation. Turn your back from the river and the flood is upon you.

Drop by drop rushing waters descend. The flood crashes toward our valley. Rush, rush uphill.

Turn your back from the River and the flood is upon you.

Taken at the flood still waters transmogrify. Rush, rush uphill; the flood crashes towards peaceful valley.

forsaken, forlorn and forgotten

forsaken, forlorn and forgotten

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


If I wasn't so busy with trying to get my mules to pull the wagon down across the rim surrounding the settled parts of Arizona territory I would ruminate some more on being forsaken, forlorn and forgotten.

No time to worry about the woman who left me behind just now; Apaches are on the warpath again. Wouldn't they like to get a hold of my wagon of vituals and supplies down at the bottom of the rim in Payson Arizona territory?

When I get to Payson I'll get a bath and a shave and a dousing splash of some French eau do cologne in case I meet a blonde blue eyed pioneer woman at August Doin's. I am not going to spend my time this year at Rodeo in Payson like I did last year. Last year I spent my four days in Payson at the tables gambling. A cowboy can't meet a lady over a deck of cards drawing for a flush.

Fifty one weeks a year I follow my six mules as they pull my wagon of supplies for the pioneer households from Phoenix to Nogales. My mules and I dodge Apaches, dust storms and landslides day in and day out for fifty one weeks a year. Every day my mules and I take our lives in our hands to bring necessaries to the pioneer families of the Arizona desert. Someday when the territory is civilized maybe our sacrifices will be appreciated. Meanwhile I'll settle for some good beer, a fine hand of Poker, and a lovely Lady once a year at the August doin's right dead downtown main street in Payson, Arizona territory.

Tomorrow I should be in Payson. I'll find me a special gal and spend a month's pay on her.

Meanwhile if I wasn't so busy with trying to get my mules to pull the wagon down across the rim surrounding the settled parts of Arizona territory I would ruminate some more on being forsaken, forlorn and forgotten.

women, don't we love them, don't we like to watch them move about

women, don't we love them,don't we like to watch them move about

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Women can be so infinitely interesting if you keep a proper distance and perspective and just watch and enjoy the moment. I like the way they move and I like their petite mannerisms.

Here's what I wrote before about two beautiful women I knew once very different but both alluring and tres interesting.

Chasing my butterfly of the early twilight

fiction
edward w pritchard

Chasing my butterfly of the early twilight I touched her as she flitted from flower to flower.
Flamboyant, beautiful and alluring I pursued 
When the moon rose my butterfly was gone and I was alone under a granite sky.
Softly the whisping wings of another caught my ear.
Not a butterfly but a moth scudded in the moon lit air.
not chichi, but camp, my moth obscured the changing moon
a butterfly is enticing but a moth is at hand
light the torch, the moth will appear
moonlight becomes her spotted wings
heavily tumbling about
she lands awkwardly
quick to return and easy to please

chaos comes to America; January 20th, 2014

chaos comes to America; January 20th, 2014

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

My intuitions are signaling chaos coming to America; January 20th, 2014. Invisible forces brought by the winds from east to west across our country.

Maybe from Europe. Something about Swiss francs and euros. Invisible forces producing imperceptible changes.

Ancestral voices prophesizing chaos. It happens now and then; something about time and before and after or now and later.

Here's what I wrote before on my forebodings:

after the volcanoes

fiction
edward w pritchard

After the volcanoes, and after the earthquakes they caused and after the tsunami all was in chaos and  I walked through the disruption unfazed. Secretly I welcomed the turmoil although I saddened for the suffering of those around me. Nature had manifest our inner struggles externally and everyone must see and feel them.

After the tsunami I went to the ocean and watched for the waves. After the earthquakes I stood in the city and watched for the buildings to fall. After the volcanoes I went to the mountains to see what was anew.

After nature erupted I sat quietly and enjoyed the silence.

plunging 10 year bond yields

plunging 10 year bond yields

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Thirteen months ago the ten year bond yield was 3.0 % and now it's 1.755. I hope the geniuses in the US treasury department refinance all that 3% debt that they took on for ten years and refinance it now at 1.75% or lower. If they do they can save the US tax payers a ton of interest expense.

Boy oh boy sometimes it's better to be lucky than smart. This deflation can be Ok for some of us it seems.

I wonder if the price of food, property taxes, and used cars will follow the deflationary trend. I notice the price of lottery tickets, and minimum bet at craps and slot machines at the casino never goes lower.

Sometimes I just try to spend less money from month to month when prices decline rapidly or if they later surge unexpectedly. It's like if a butterfly flaps his wings in China, Switzerland  or Russia does it cause a tornado on Wall Street or something like that.

proclaim thee the light of the Lord

proclaim thee the light of the Lord

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Pity the Roman soldier whose section of the Royal road is lined and lit by burning Christians glowing
the wrong shade of orange or yellow.

Emperor Nero notices such things. Traveling to one of his parties or orgies, pulled by slaves, near Midnight, dressed in pink as a woman, an actor or a gladiator Nero prefers to read the Plays and comedies of Aristophanes to a bright orange light.

The diet of a Christian can effect the color they glow when burned as a Martyr to light Emperor Nero's way to a party or the theatre.

Advice to officers of the Roman guard. Don't think that just because a soldier has experience with lining a roadside with crucified Christians, or has experience with feeding Christians to lions that a rank and file Roman soldier is thereby qualified to select Christian Martyrs for burning as a torch.

Choose a qualified  expert to choose fat cherubic Christians for burning as human torches.

These Christians are devious. In their desire to get to " heaven" to meet their God and "proclaim thee the light of the Lord" the devoutly faithful will lie about their weight, diet and eating habits and place of birth to be chosen as a Martyr.

Emperor Nero is creative in choosing execution for Roman officers who have displeased  his majesty.

Members of the Roman legion; choose an expert to pick Christian Martyrs to light a road that is to be traveled by emperor Nero on his way to the theatre or a party.

A Message to Muslims, Catholics, Jews and other backsliding Christians

A Message to Muslims, Catholics, Jews and other backsliding Christians

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

What violence and evil will Men do with another new year? Here is a message to Muslims, Catholics, Jews and backsliding Christians like myself.

God protect innocents from the harm and violence that Men do in 2015.

Here's what I wrote before on anti-establishment thinking:

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Jesus the Most Dangerous Man in History

Jesus the Most Dangerous Man in History

fiction
edward w pritchard

Being near Jesus was dangerous and lethal to one's past affiliations. When Jesus lead us to a new town, women would often take their families and go into the hills for up to a week to keep husband's and children from his jeopardous influence. In time an element of peril surrounded us, Jesus' followers, for just being near him. Later we were the one's staying in the hills, and places obscure and hidden, for we were forbidden to enter towns, business areas and churches by the powerful local establishment. However despite incredible hardships we were blissfully happy and even obscurity could not stifle Jesus' message which convulsed to be revealed.

Jesus presence had became mesmerizing. When we heard the message of profound truth he taught we only wanted to be near him, abolish our sinful ways and full fill and experience the destiny he promised us. More than one who met Jesusm or even heard of him would abandon a faithful wife, or son and daughter, or Father and Mother in hope of following him about or just doing one deed or small kindness to make his life easier, if only for a moment.

I traveled with Jesus for several years before he recruited the disciples but was forced to leave the group because I was a link to his past, a past which he had forsaken as the power of his message burst from his body. I had been an early friend, arranger, and bodyguard and assisted Jesus as he prayed, studied and meditated. As the aura developed around Jesus day to day I began to taste a fear in the air, the fear of disruption and destruction to every day concerns and matters. Matters such as carrying money, clothes, and personal items became unimportant to Jesus and he bid us to abandon any type of planning as we traveled and trust in things working out without any preparation. We traveled in to unfamiliar towns throughout Judea with no contingencies. My job as arranger was dissolving before my eyes and incredibly the multitudes of followers took Jesus literally and many traveled in fact as wandering beggars but with complete faith and became a community of believers of his word. Jesus walked and we followed. He planned only for the next day but Jesus continued to allow me to go on with my duties as arranger for the time being.

Jesus was always an incredible judge of character and could instantly dig out the hidden obscure motivations of others often with only a glance. Initially however, I would go into a town first, with money and smooth the way for Jesus' entrance. I would meet people, arrange places for us to stay and make plans so we could avoid breaking any Roman local rules and ordinances or upsetting the Jewish hierarchy. I was loyal to Jesus, but eventually even I out of concern for his safety and those of the faithful followers had to say something about the effects on every day concerns the brutal honesty of Jesus' message was causing. The more I fought with myself to stay grounded in everyday matters of business and commerce the further I was driving myself from the bliss of Jesus' community of followers.

If I had to give an example that a modern reader could understand I would say to imagine if a prophet walked from town to town In America in 1968 and gave LSD to every man woman and child over age 16 who wasn't satisfied with his spiritual situation. Jesus wanted to awaken those who were not content, not full of conformity, and not comfortable with their skin and their situation. Then imagine if those malcontents began to spread the word that a teacher was coming who could show a brighter day, had the answers to the meaning of all things and would lead the awakened. Then imagine if Jesus in 1968 had urged those followers to give up their money, jobs, family, health insurance, extra clothes and shaving and make-up kits and walk with him. Often then Jesus would disappear with a few favorites to think and evolve and then return to us and share greater growing insights against the thoughts and beliefs that we had been raised on and were the foundations of our everyday lives. Then imagine if those malcontents began to become perfectly at peace with themselves, selfless, and approached the world with love, joy, peace and goodwill towards all, even their enemies.

Eventually as I returned to Jesus after leaving him to arrange the affairs in the next town we were to enter I would be shocked by his appearance, especially the hollow timeless eyes. He would be sitting alone, deep in thought refusing food or water and then after a while Jesus began to speak. Whatever one was doing became unimportant and the focus would be on the hidden meaning of his words and Jesus would birth ideas and concepts that were earth shaking. Later when I would try to logically fit Jesus' profound teachings into my belief system I would become afraid for us. Because Jesus' message was disturbing, revolutionary, and absolutely and perfectly anti-establishment I often wanted to silence Jesus out of fear for his safety. There were Romans everywhere and they were formidable and they controlled our world. The followers of Jesus became blind to the reality of the Romans however and bathed in the message; I however fought that bath, and drove myself from my friend Jesus, and was left behind, and I could not walk with Jesus any longer.

In a small village , after a very long walk Jesus was sitting in a chair exhausted, for he had been refusing water during the trip. A woman came in, just an ordinary woman, who none of us knew and she poured an expensive ointment on Jesus' head from the Country of India, said to refresh and revitalize. Jesus was grateful and blessed the woman. Later It took me several hours to soothe the irate Husband, whose wife had spent over two years of their savings on the potion. The husband was convinced the wife had gone mad and was threatening to complain to the Romans. This was unthinkable for Roman justice was brutal and swift and the woman, the husband and Jesus would be in grave danger. The Romans were only afraid of two things and that was disorder and chaos and they dealt violently with threats of either. Miraculously I shielded Jesus from himself until he began to recruit the disciples and heal the malcontent-ed, and until it became humanly impossible to stop confrontation with civil authority.

We were walking along an inland sea and Jesus had just recruited two new followers. Jesus knew I was upset because I knew nothing of the men, had not checked them out in advance, as was customary and Jesus had called them in a flamboyant public way which only a year ago he had cautioned against. Jesus was talking very fast to me in private and was convinced that the new man Simon [ later called Peter] would be a key member of the group who could spread the word and message beyond Judea and into the future. I tried to believe but I saw only a humble fisherman, and one with a sour temper. Fortunately no one objected to those two men leaving their boat. They just jumped off the boat and left. They didn't say good bye and they didn't explain to anyone. I often had told Jesus that this type of showmanship would upset the Romans because the recruit's creditors and obligates would complain. Jesus however had taken to answering me in parables that made sense when we talked but later left me holding a handful of water when it came to practical ways to avoid the Roman civil authority.

Jesus and I fell out however over the recruitment of James and John good son's of Zebedee a fisherman also. We were walking past their boat, in a very public place with the usual multitudes and Jesus called both James and John and they just came with us. The Father, Zebedee  was a good man, and although he employed other fisherman was devastated by the loss of his sons who he had trained and nurtured to carry on his business. The Father, Zebedee also was not a bad man spiritually, he followed the laws of his people. I found later good Zebedee  helped the poor and unfortunate; and as I later brought up to Jesus as Jesus and I argued over the matter Zebedee feared and respected God. The crowds saw this happen and to them such drama was becoming narcotic and the mobs following Jesus craved miracles, showmanship and razz ma taz.

Jesus was alone and it was 1AM when I was able to see him. Jesus was in a small tent, the kind goat herders use and was sitting delicately on a light chair. Jesus looked frail and had a feminine element to himself that day that frightened me more than our problems with the Romans. I had known Jesus back in Nazareth and had often punched and jostled at him and he was robust and strong. As a Carpenter, I often saw Jesus carry heavy logs of wood with ease. Now the aura of death surrounded Jesus, especially at night. I knew Jesus slept poorly and had troubled dreams but his presence to me seemed to spread fear, and potential disaster and I could taste the destruction that surrounded him.

We argued for a few minutes and I told Jesus I couldn't do it any more. Jesus hugged me and bid me follow my own heart, told me he always loved me, and promised I could always come back to the community. I broke the bond between us, I forsook the Love  between Jesus and myself. No goodbyes for me to my friends of several years and I had nothing to carry with me anyway so I headed East away, from the direction Jesus was going tomorrow and sought to reclaim my life. Now it was my turn to fore sake my past for I had been one of the first to experience the perfect joy of Jesus presence and I was forsaking it.

A few weeks later I heard through my contacts that Jesus had recruited a tax collector for the Romans to be his chief scribe, Levi known as Matthew. Matthew had left his coins on the table where he worked and just walked off the job. Nothing could be better orchestrated to upset and infuriate the Romans.

Every night now my dreams are alive with the presence of Jesus' death and I fear and tremble for him out of the love I still have for him. Nothing seems real any more but the comfort of the message of Jesus is gone. It all seems like a mirage. The Romans however are every where I look. I can't believe we were able to avoid them these last 18 months because they are easily angered. Everything I believed is gone and I have lost my faith. I never feared death, it is always at hand in our times however, something seems missing. As I face the future I sometimes hope that the new scribe Matthew will be able to write down for others who come later what I could not hold in my mind of Jesus' message. I often pray that others once they experience the bliss of Jesus and his Father's kingdom to come do not backslide like I did because of business concerns but remain faithful to the message and not brood, worry and persecute and strangle themselves with tomorrows disquietations.

Approach Jehovah with terror

Approach Jehovah with terror/ draft 1

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Mia and I make ourselves small against the side walls of the dark enclosed Bloomfield stagecoach  clutching  together tightly when our driver, his assistant shotgun Joe, fellow passenger Mr. Hooey and Patent medicine sales agent Mr. Pinkerton lower the stage on stout bristled brown leather ropes down yet another steep mountain slope. I pray hard that Mia and I will be delivered again from sudden death here in the Superstition Mountains of Arizona to return to our home back in beautiful Ohio to once again see our family and resume our lives far from the savages and these wicked inhabitants of Arizona territory.

My sister Mia is ashen white with terror as our cell in this stagecoach sways in the harsh winds dependent on the four Men above holding our lives in their hands as they lower the stage down yet another embankment, assisted by our four horse team for backup. The blue row markings tattooed on Mia's face along her chin imprinted by her captor's the savage Apache contrast against the ashen background of her round face and Mia's pleading blue eyes.

I have given my white leather gloves to Mr. Pinkerton to assist him in the work with the ropes above. Mia clutches her gloves neatly in her lap. I dared not give Mia's gloves to Mr. Hooey to protect his disgusting hands from rope burns and scars for Mr. Hooey is a wicked evil man who panders women for profit.

Mr. Hooey's trunk of women's underwear and under garments will be lowered next on ropes and chains by himself and shotgun Joe after Mia and I and our stage coach  are safely on the ledge below. Mr. Hooey travels from mining camp to mining camp across Arizona territory and charges the vile Gold miners gold dust or nuggets to look at fine silk Woman's undergarments and unmentionables that he carries in his wooden trunk from San Francisco. Mr. Hooey's profession is to travel about the West and display women's underwear for fee to lonely miners.

Mr. Hooey's two monkey's and their cage will be lowered after the trunk with the priceless women's undergarments are safely on the ground below. In addition to allowing  the filthy sweating  miners to leer at the folded pink and blue undergarments for additional fees Mr. Hooey will allow the leering men in the gold camps to clutch and fondle his inventory.  Mr. Hooey never sells any of his cargo of women's under wear for they are priceless here in Arizona territory due to the compete absence of women for fear of the savage Apaches. Mr. Hooey after he has been drinking says his cargo of fine women's undergarments are his stock and trade and will eventually allow him to leave the West and return to his home in upper New York state near Albany. When he has been drinking and is very sad Mr. Hooey says someday he will return to Albany a rich man and live as a fine gentleman.

The men in the mining camps go crazy when they see Mia for they know what the secret blue marking tattooed on her face mean and Mia as well carries permanent fear in her blue eyes because of the outrageous behavior of the savage Apache's when Mia was held the seven months in captivity. Such men in the gold camps are excited by a vulnerable woman.

I came West to rescue my sister Mia and  Lord willing, should we survive another descent down another mountain with ropes, Mia and I will someday leave the wicked west and return to Ohio.

Both Mia and I detest Mr. Hooey's evil little Monkey's. Sometimes when it is very hot here in the desert riding the stage trails Mr. Hooey allows his two pet Monkeys to leave their cage and jump about the dusty passenger area we sit in. Both Monkeys try over and over to touch, explore and pick at the blue markings on Mia's round face which seem to fascinate them. Mr. Pinkerton always swears at Mr. Hooey and forces him to return his monkeys to their cage.

God, please guide and protect fellow passenger  Mr. Pinkerton, our stage coach driver and his assistant shot gun Joe.

Precious and powerful Jehovah, please rescue me and my dear sister Mia from savage Apache's, vile and disgusting Gold miners, sinful Mr. Hooey and his perverted monkeys and return us safety to Ohio from Arizona territory, June 08, 1880 thirty miles North of Nogales, Mexico.


end

gold everywhere in California

gold everywhere in California

fiction
edward w pritchard

After two months of freezing in waist deep rushing river waters in the Mountains of California and gasping for breath in thin air it struck me that my fantasies of riches and longing for reknown were really a desire for knowledge of God. Dropping my pan and abandoning my sluice box I lost altitude as I headed down hill toward the Desert to meditate on my new discoveries.

Like a  sudden deterioration in one's health a desire to know or understand one's perception of God startles one from their " dogmatic slumbers" [1] and initates changes in their stagnant life.

Whether ones is diligently panning for gold or chilling and surfing  waves at the beach we  can get overwhelmed  in the material side of life. Disorientation and pesssimism are a symptom that you have gone astray from your original journey.

Abandon the tools of a gold mining and release your trusty mule to freedom there is Gold everywhere in Califonia.

Search Pilgrim; straighten your back, lift your gaze from the freezing river and commence small steps to  initiate your journey.
end

[1] dogmatic slumbers- attributed to David Hume confirmed atheist

open letter from a forgotten voice

open letter from a forgotten voice

fiction
edward w pritchard


I hear a voice but I have forgotten who it is. Tilt your head for better understanding.

Bon New year
author:

happy new year,

let sad past memories fade

as a burning bush's light in the Desert

slowly extinguishes before your gaze on a dark night

reflected on the Walls of the distant mountains ahead;

as you travel

forward into the future

don't look back as you tenatively walk on, walk on

but keep a little of the strange fruit from the desert cactus in your clutched left hand

to fortify and warm you

on your quest forward

should the road become a bit bumpy

steep, or hard to follow.

Near or far, always with you