adbright

Friday, December 21, 2018

it's a very good story

it's a very good story

fiction
edward w pritchard


Christmas is hard for me here in my old age. One thing that brings me a little comfort this time of year is to listen to the entire story of Jesus not just the praise songs of his exalted birth in a stable a long time ago. Seldom do I read the Bible though I do lots and lots of reading about Roman history from the fifth century BC forward.

Last night I got one of my art books and carefully studied the pictures of Jesus' entire life in the paintings of the master of Sienna Duccio.

It's a very good story the record of Jesus' life. Duccio the Italian painter could be a difficult and rebellious man. The business people of Sienna went to great lengths contractually to tie him to the project they wanted him to do back in 1308. Duccio di  Buoninsegna's work is called the Maesta, the Master piece and was displayed first, his finished project of the complete life of Jesus in pictures, to the public on June 09, 1311. The day was declared a holiday and the entire town followed the finished sacred work to the Church.

I saw parts of Duccio altarpiece once in a church in Sienna, Italy. The pictures are worth taking our time to study and meditate on.

The history of Jesus' life,  it's a very good story.

Wednesday, December 19, 2018

the poetry of dissent part 2

the poetry of  dissent part 2

fiction
edward w pritchard

Psychologist Doctor- surely Mr. Pritchard you can't blame yourself in any way for causing the Kent State shootings back in May 1970?

self- I drove to Richfield Ohio with a friend to pick up his Father during a teamster's trucking strike because the Ohio National guard had the roads of the trucking company blocked and secured the Friday night before the May 4th 1970 Kent State shootings and a armed soldier interrogated us at rifle point concerning our right to move freely about the roads of Ohio at night

Psychologist-I remember that too, the same national guard units that were at the trucking strike that Friday night three days later shoot and killed four students at Kent State University

self-yes, when I was interrogated by a soldier that Friday night I first suffered the cognitive discordance toward my country that plagues me to this day

psychologist-and

self-I felt inside all the ideals I had learn-ed as a boy about my country shatter, based on the soldiers truculent behavior towards two of our Countries citizens, me and my friend, who were on honest business, picking up his Father at work during a trucking strike and I had a sinister vague thought that the Ohio National guard was acting in a way not up to the American ideals

psychologist-what could you have done with your premonition about the Ohio soldiers that could have altered events at Kent State on a warm day in 1970 and kept two young women and two young men from being shot and killed? you were just a kid yourself

self-nothing, but I could have questioned earlier what I heard about Native Americans losing their land and right to exist, slavery in America, and bully bully thinking by the silent majority

psychologist-have you considered religion?

Tuesday, December 11, 2018

the poetry of dissent

the poetry of dissent

fiction
edward w pritchard


One must live modestly if one is to keep one's cover as an informant.

I collect a generous federal government pension here in the state of Ohio from my work in the sixties as an informant for the FBI and a NARC both of which I did strictly for money, never for patriotism or ideals. Point of fact I collect as much money in my federal government monthly pension as some former Senators or Congressmen.

I never draw attention to myself by my lifestyle or habits. I rise promptly at 6am winter or summer and am in bed by 9 pm for I detest the dark. I mow my own yard at my small house on my only indulgence, living on a beautiful Lake, and I shop only at dollar stores and I buy everything else I need used at the goodwill.

Studying  poetry at Kent State University in May of 1970 I caused the deaths of four young students by my under cover activities for the FBI.

More later that's-enough confession for this morning. Except say, to Eight more days to my social security check, which comes at mid month.

One more thing: Here's the poem I wrote back in 1970 which caused the Kent State shootings.

Watch,
don't speak.
events are influenced by secret planning
don't tell anyone
your motives are yours alone
let the erasure of time conceal your existence.

Wednesday, December 5, 2018

a house divided

a house divided

fiction
edward wpritchard

By then, that is now, I wasn't like a typical veteran soldier who liked to reminisce with the unit by mail or newspaper over the battles we had been in or scars and wounds psychological we had suffered.

In my memories I recalled a literal interpretation of events, vivid memories of the battles and the wars. For that conflict had been fought house to house and room to room. Our country back then was a house divided.

Daily I strained not to remember

Holidays are worse  In the middle of the night I awake. I am back, then, again on the steps headed for the second floor. Reluctantly I peer into to the darkness clutching the m-1 rifle.

Dog faced soldiers never understood what it was about or why we fight.

Battle fatigue, post stress syndrome.

Then its morning here and now. Another day of little busyness. Everything is totally still, everything is eternally calm. The country is at peace.

Sunday, November 25, 2018

suffering through a bout of schadenfreude

suffering through a bout of schadenfreude

fiction
edward w pritchard

Once there was an imminent painter suffering through a bout of schadenfreude who was executed post mortem by holy inquisition for in each portrait painting he completed whatever the actual appearance of the sitting patron he made the ears unusually large sticking out grotesquely like a  1950's good white boy early rock star. Of course no one noticed the unusual ears at the time as it wasn't till later upon reflection that the matter was re examined and noted.

freedom from want

freedom from want

fiction
edward w pritchard


Once I walked a while with Jesus one day on a man made path called a canal tow path north to the end of the trail at an inland sea called Lake Erie. I remember the path was closed for construction
about a mile or two before it reached the Lake and some workers had made a turn around to send you back South from whence thou had started. The sign was missing that said trail closed ahead.

It's very important to me to try and remember what Jesus had said. The written  verses others had compiled and wrote down of sayings of Jesus can be misleading. So I strain to remember. I seek the unedited version. authenticity is experience

Big girls don't cry sang Jesus. When once he put a hand on my shoulder he said thou seeker of truth stay focused "much learning is to no avail. Still children suffer, abominations are everywhere and the money changers always have their way. Fear the bureaucrats more than one thousand crack Roman legions for no friend or family finishes the path with one's self. there might of been more he said

I am a disciple with no name and no destination. Having achieved freedom from want sometimes when I sit on a night train in the dark in the middle of the gloom headed west to Chicago I scan the hands for the nails holes caused by the hammer driven nails that held Jesus to the cross on the youth riding the train and listening to their Walkman. My purse is empty but I clutch it tightly to my chest.

Early in the morning before other disciples awake and become industrious some times I pray for Virginia Wolf the writer. When she went to the river to be baptized she filled her pockets with rocks so she would sink. What must it have been like for Jesus when he was a boy working in his father's carpentry shop straightening twisted nails for further use to know the future of what would happen to Him at the hands of the Roman soldiers concerning stout nails? What must it have been like for Virginia Woolf walking about the riverside to search carefully for proper rock ballast to hold and support her soul as it carried her back to the lighthouse of her memories?

When I told Jesus about Virginia Woolf he took a small plastic packet from his pocket and handed it to me to keep. It was a tightly folded shroud of Turin with the imprint of his face on it. He said everyone mentioned in this story including Virginia Woolf, big girls who don't cry, children, bureaucrats, Roman legions, persons on trains, friends, family and me and you will need a shroud to wrap us in one day when we are cold, wet and still. Strange but I took no comfort in that though I knew he was speaking truth. I forgot to ask Jesus what happen to the rocks that were in Virginia Woolf's pockets and if money changers are entitled to be wrapped in Shroud's of Turin after their deaths.

Friday, November 23, 2018

old age is a ghost

old age is a ghost

fiction
edward w pritchard

Old age is being a ghost while you are still alive; at least alive sort of.  Everyone has heard of the old ghost in the machine but until you endure old age yourself you cannot imagine being nearly invisible  most of the time to most of the people about you. One of the reasons the young don't like the old and merely see through them is the elderly don't follow the mandatory requirement of being absolutely irresistible looking in what ever scenario they find themselves occupying. Old people just be they don't worry about what they are becoming anymore.

Where goes thou? Old age is a ghost.

On a practical note when you are a ghost it's a good time to be a voyeur in the good sense of that term. You can watch and judge because no one notices a ghost and who cares what you think anyway.

Sunday, November 4, 2018

first there is a mountain then no mountain then there is a mountain

first there is a mountain then no mountain then there is a mountain

fiction
edward w pritchard

First there is a mountain then no mountain then there is a mountain.[1]

When I first traveled to far away places I was amazed and delighted at the diversity of the world external to myself.

When I later traveled to  marvel at places far away I was cynical and skeptical finding unusual philosophies to justify my need to stay put where I was born and need for solitude.

Now I am myself where ever I am and my philosophy is more interested in if or if not I myself have changed with new sensations and locales or if I do in fact, have a permanent self.

[1] attributed to the singer Donovan

Friday, October 26, 2018

eagle broken wing

eagle broken wing

fiction

edward w pritchard


Eagle broken wing
clutches to branch
at treeline on highest mountain
away from everything and everyone
fearful to let go
sharp talons gradually cuts connecting branch
cruel cold wind rock sacred tree
once dignified emblematic eagle refusing to hop about
shoves off to find a friendly wind to support broken wing
whistling down, down  through the freezing solemn night air
down toward the empty abandoned homestead
in the happy hunting grounds
razor sharp eyes
searching  for final resting place


Monday, October 15, 2018

Napoleon on the future

Napoleon on the future

fiction
edward w pritchard

Dear Mrs.Edwards:

I so admired your posts on the Emperor Napoleon's last days on St Helena .I can't document it but I have some verbal history on the Emperor that I thought you might find of interest. My great grand Mother when I was a young girl would often tell me we were related to Napoleon's faithful servant Marchand. My grand mama  often told me the following story:

Marchand our relative was driving a small cart to the highest  mountain on the small island of St Helena where Napoleon had been sent to die after his second fall from power. Napoleon's two guards had just jumped out of the cart to meet some local women at a local tavern. My relative Marchand and Napoleon were alone as he drove the emperor to the top of the Mountain. Napoleon was in pain with stomach cancer near the end of his life at that time in 1821. When they reached the top of the hill Napoleon talked for a half hour to Marchand about how someday a future Emperor would be able to talk verbally to an entire country through signals sent through the air and the
citizens by using a receiving device would be able to hear the messages all at one time as if they were a few feet from where the Emperor then stood talking. The story always ended with Napoleon being in severe pain, dying a few days later with Marchand assisting the doctor with the death mask.
Toni

Toni

Thank you so much for that interesting piece of family history. Please accept with my compliments
my latest book on the Empress Cleopatra another interesting person from history.

Staci


Sunday, September 30, 2018

left out in the rain

left out in the rain

fiction
edward w pritchard

My life is not like a house of cards,
more like a tinker toy house is my life
that  two six year old children left out in the rain
when they had to come into the parlor suddenly for Sunday lunch at grandma's
and the steady rain, wind and drizzle
shrunk and folded
the green plastic tinker toy fan blades
hooked to the tinker toy unpainted wooden stick pieces
supporting the tinker house structure
that once were my plans and dreams
for a life less than ordinary

Saturday, September 29, 2018

a substitute teacher reinvents christianity

a substitute teacher reinvents christianity

fictiojn
edward w pritchard

She was very tired slouching in an old chair in the teachers break room when she reinvented christianity in her own mind at least. Someone had left a tattered bible on the edge of the  screechy over stuffed chair as she was about to nap opened to Isiah. Glancing to a passage underlined in red she watched as the letters rearranged themselves to read

go out and tell some one the secret news

clever, classless and free

clever, classless and free [1]

fiction
edward w pritchard

Perhaps capitalism is the virus, here, in America, like the good witch of the North is the good witch, a horse of a different color. Always there, smiling and blushing, staring out of a billion pages of treaties, constitutions, laws, rules, regulations and taxes. A little tired perhaps but always invisibly on the job.

See the interactive map of pre-Columbus America. See the small red stain start at Jamestown and Plymouth rock. See the red color saturate every river. See the red stain connect spread and saturate up every ancient sacred burial mound looking for treasure. See the States form on the interactive map roughly conforming to disappearing tribal hunting grounds. See the religions disappear. See the settlers work, and struggle, save, plan and worry.

See the 300 million people rushing about. See the people pay the fees to renew their license plates, have their grocery and pizza delivered and drive a driver-less vehicle.

Capitalism has a right to be a little tired here in America.

you can't choose your parents/ part 2

you can't choose your parents/part 2

fiction
edward w pritchard


Judge- Why are you here

John Ruskin - I am here to testify on Pritchard's behalf

Judge- aren't you John Ruskin British art critic long dead who wrote "the stones of Venice"

Ruskin-yes, but I also wrote criticism about what constitutes good writing

Judge- well Pritchard has been accused of in addition to plain bad writing of misusing the pathetic fallacy in "you can't choose your parents" [part1] by having a Mother in a short story find some potato sacks near a railroad tracks and sew them into a suit for a high school graduation for her son
who must either work in the coal mines the rest of his life or get killed in the military

Ruskin-not  guilty of the violation of the pathetic fallacy for I specifically state throughout my criticism to violate the pathetic fallacy with exaggeration or lack of a suitable noble purpose can be done only in poetry not plain writing, good or bad such as short stories, novels etc.

Judge-thanks you Mr.Ruskin, but please do tell us about yourself and rose la touche

Ruskin-no I don't talk about that but if you like scandal read about myself and James Whistler

following Seymour Glass and Iris Murdoch up and down the isles at the grocery store

following Seymour Glass and Iris Murdoch up and down the Isles at the grocery store

fiction
edward w pritchard

For a master detective or even just an ordinary cop driving his cruiser on his beat the hardest surveillance job in police work is following a cross town bus up and down the streets of a small city
without being conspicuous. The bus keeps stopping and starting and the officer plays his role by pretending over and over to be looking up street names and directions on a folded up map.

That's how it was for me last Friday night shopping in the ice cream isle at my local store following Seymour Glass and Iris Murdoch up and down the isles at the grocery store. I wanted more than anything to listen to their intriguing conversations but did not want to intrude or be too obvious and draw unwanted and unwarranted attention to myself.

When Seymour is doing anything he gets into it all the way. It took him nearly twenty minutes to pick out an ice cream product for their upcoming after brunch Sunday at the park dessert soiree. So many words were minced to choose chocolate or vanilla, vegan or chemical product.

With Iris its always about relationships, philosophy and metaphysics. Her voice is soft and doesn't carry so I had trouble at times eaves dropping but no matter with Iris the elan of her thoughts is the thing. Once Iris stared me straight in the face as I was pretending to read the ingredients list in a pack
of  Eskimo pies. I don't know all the facts but to clear up one thing about Iris I could tell from her smile she likes men,even older ones being a little too nosey and maybe too familiar.

When one of the store employees brought a mop into our isle to clean up a broken glass bottle of Hershey's syrup I had to leave.

As I walked off with my back turned I heard Seymour doing to be or not to be in a falsetto mock British voice like Dick Van Dyke used to bring authenticity to his characterization in Mary Poppins.
That Seymour sometimes he is just an imaginary character, not authentic at all like Iris Murdoch, or myself or the expired actor Dick Van Dyke.

Wednesday, September 26, 2018

you can't choose your parents

you can't choose your parents

fiction
edward w pritchard


Technically Lacy and I weren't cousins at all having the same Mother but different father's but right there on the program of high school graduation for Morgan town high 1942 it listed Ma as Lacy's Mother and me as his cousin. Technically as well this wasn't Morgan town's graduation but Osage's a
mining town about eight miles from Morgan town where the coalmines were located and because of the War  Mr. x owner of the Mining company had donated use of the company store in Osage for the graduation ceremony of the auxiliary students from Osage receiving their high school diploma. Just Lacy and Sharon X,  Mr. X's only child  were graduating and of course Sharon was valedictorian coming from the wealthiest family in this part of the State and Lacy was headed for work in the mines.

No matter to Ma, she spent two days sewing Lacy a  new graduation suit from a few old potato sacks
someone had abandoned out by the railroad tracks. More than anything Ma wanted to see Lacy walk across the stage. So I sat with Ma listening to Sharon X drone on about her plans at the Ohio State University come fall and I worried I would be fired if I was late for my four o'clock shift at the mine. I kept thinking maybe I should ask Mr. X for a note explaining why I was late to work today.

No matter to me either really. Me and lacy had signed up yesterday for the War and with any luck  we will be shipped overseas to fight the Japs or Germans soon. Secretly I wished as I sat there on a broken egg crate listening to Sharon X talk about sorority life at OSU maybe Lacy and me would get blown up defending our country and my younger brother Lacy wouldn't have to work underground whacking out coal 4 pm to midnight for the rest of his life should he survive military service to his county.

Tuesday, September 18, 2018

downtown Akron isn't there anymore

downtown Akron isn't there anymore

fiction
edward w pritchard

Jericho S. Ballard head of maintenance and street repair how we wish you were still with us.

Downtown Akron isn't there anymore. The buildings are all half demolished and the streets are all half rubble.

The people who live there look at their cell phone when you try to talk to them and Domino's pizza delivers product to 100,000 hot spot locations but no homes since everybody rents or stays temporarily with casual acquaintances.

When will the mayor's office reopen Akron U college and who will decorate Christmas the downtown windows at Polsky's and M. Oneil's Department stores now that you are gone to heaven Jericho S. Ballard?[1]

[1] John S. Ballard was mayor of Akron in the halcyon days of our youth


Friday, September 14, 2018

we are an anachronism everyday

we are an anachronism everyday

fiction
edward w pritchard

I recently did some intensive reading and writing on the American civil war, over one hundred books which I bought and underlined up, starred and asterisked in a scholarly way completely; and I have decided after historical and philosophical thought and judgment that we all are an anachronism  everyday no matter when in history or location we find ourselves living, breathing and thinking.

As example Robert E. Lee receives much criticism for loyalty to a cause condoning slavery and slavery's accouterments by current members of American society.

Likewise could a future strong pacifist curse northern civil war soldiers and General Grant for slaughtering men and horses whatever the cause or reasons.

We, you and I undoubtedly have beliefs and habits that some future citizens will find appalling and barbaric. Perhaps such as our actions towards the handicapped persons of the world.

Basic human rights. Walk with your head bowed we have much to think about.

we see they are partitioning old Englande again

we see they are partitioning old Englande again

fiction
edward w pritchard

We see they are partitioning old Englande again. As far as our clan is concerned and we don't get involved in a scrap lightly, we blame it on the Scottish; and we are throwing down the gauntlet.

Naturally with the Scots it was a matter of money. Mickey Oodouleyhan of the Irish Catholics of Notre Dame, Indiana owed the McmcDonald's clan 46squid for some cheeseburgers the Oodouleyhan's children had charged on credit, the eldest Mickey refusing to pay his children's bill,
the family being vegan and the McmcDonald's had thrown one of the Oodouleyhan children out of the tree house children's play area there at McDonald's nearly breaking her leg.

This is a call to arms of all good Englishmen in America to teach the Scots a lesson, even if we have to help the Irish of Notre Dame to do so. Let's get on with partitioning the old County over there in Europe. Why is it taking so long to break away from the European mainland and can it possibly be true that our leader of the entire Parliament in London recently, was a Woman.


Thursday, September 13, 2018

things weren't the same anymore

things weren't the same anymore

fiction
edward w pritchard

Sometimes when he was lost and confused like this it helped or at least was comforting to himself to slowly take stock of where exactly he was and what he carried on his person, in his pockets, what he was wearing,especially the shoes,  for he remembered specifically he wasn't to ask just anybody for assistance. Then forgetting everything he should know he walked up to a woman in the corridor and said "shoes"? She rushed off obviously upset.

a little later he checked his pockets.there was no wallet. that was upsetting for of course there should be a wallet,a fine one with say four tightly folded hundred dollar bills in the compartment near the drivers license and credit cards for emergencies. four dollar bills and an ironed white handkerchief, that's all he found. too bad there was no writing on the hanky for ID and if he found the wallet he could look at the drivers license or credit cards and look at the name to see who he was. Panicked he worried if he could read.
as he walked he thought sometimes people travel in disguise or incognito, he remembered that word easily when he needed to draw it up, from his subconscious,he remembered that too.

Wednesday, September 12, 2018

Chicago in mind by albert ammonds

Chicago in mind by albert ammonds

fiction
edward w pritchard

After I bought my railroad tickets at 2am to Chicago at the train station in Cleveland behind the football stadium I had $15 left for the remainder of the trip. Mostly I looked out the windows into the backs of the buildings and homes across the Midwest until we arrived in Chicago. I didn't talk to anyone on the train.

Arriving in Chicago about 9am I went to a small unpretentious diner about a mile from the train depot and had a good breakfast of eggs and beans and I said a few compliments to the  Mexican cook who was also my waitress. I gave the Mexican guy a five dollar tip as I paid my $7.55 food bill. His cooking was that good but since I only had $2.45 left I went back to the train station and hung around there until the 9pm train to Cleveland pulled in to take me home.

I enjoyed the scenery on the trip home but I didn't get to talk to anyone much on the train. When we crossed the border into Ohio I tried to hum a few bars from "Chicago in Mind" by Albert Ammonds to keep myself company. Soon though I had to stop for that is a difficult tune to hum to and to remember.

Sometimes I like to go over to Chicago for a change of scenery. But you know how it is,"wherever you go there you are ", and all that.

1453 at 4am

1453 at 4am

fiction
edward w pritchard


Constantinople has fallen to Turkish invaders and the walls are breached.

Pompey has been incinerated.

Two galaxies collided creating a creeping black hole across a billion miles of silent space

Half of the coral in 7 oceans has been destroyed by global warming threatening life as we know it

I am here and she is there permanently apart

Destroy the universe anew

Chaos has conquered creation and I can't sleep alone

Tuesday, September 11, 2018

soldiers get edgy sometimes

soldiers get edgy sometimes

fiction
edward w pritchard


We were about a quarter mile from the front over there in France on a dark rainy evening on the second floor of a bombed out old chateau with no food, no blankets and the sound of the huge guns twenty miles off meticulously destroying one picturesque French town at a time.

As he jumped to his feet Williams startled me from my revelry with his cursing as he jammed the heavy wooden butt of his rifle through bedroom wall knocking a twelve inch hole below the pictures of the small family.

Next morning just before dawn Edwards and William's whispering interrupted my dreams of the French girls standing along the river as we marched along the other night just before wire patrol.

Cracking one eye open I watched Edwards mixing muddy water, sticks and dirt in his helmet with his bayonet as he taught Williams how to repair a blemish in the wall of an old chateau.

there's always something that you don't know

there's always something that you don't know

fiction


There's always something that you don't know.

Stop.

Sit by a raging river and listen.

Stir in your sleep and direct your dreams to reveal to you the secret in Babylonian symbols.

There's always something that you don't know.

Wednesday, September 5, 2018

Huzun

Huzun

fiction
edward w pritchard


this flat world
black without hope
History as failure
remembrance as defeat
desperate we sit
the air is dead
the past is constraint
now is gloom

Monday, September 3, 2018

more horses than men died at the battle of Lisbon, Ohio Saturday July 25,1863

more horses than men died at the battle of Lisbon, Ohio Saturday July 25, 1863

fiction
edward w Pritchard

These oral memories from former slave Rufus [ no last name] as archived for the works progress administration [wpa] April 1932.

State your name please

When I became a Christian in 1883 my name became Moses Win but while a slave I was called Rufus

Where were you a slave at

I was born in Virginia at Clarksburg [now West Virginia]. When I was six I was sold at auction in Wheeling [ WVA] where I was permanently separated from my Mother and sister. I was taken to Lexington Kentucky where I worked at a horse farm as a slave for the Allen family. In 1859 I was sent to Alliance, Ohio to care for Roswell Allen's dying aunt Miss Martha Allen. Although I was still a slave in Ohio [technically, legally?] during the course of the Civil War I became emancipated in 1866 [14th amendment].

Did you know Captain John Morgan in Lexington Kentucky?

Yes sir. Captain Morgan and his brothers bought many fine blooded blue grass horses from the Allen family and I often delivered the horses to Captain Morgan's riding stables in Lexington where he and his fellows of the Lexington rifles trained and practiced riding and shooting from 1857 till I left Ky in 1859. Later after the battle of Gettysburg I heard that Morgan's raiders were attacking Ohio [in July 1863]. I became a soldier in the Ohio  home guard near Lisbon, Ohio. I believe I was one of the first black soldiers to fight in the Civil War from Ohio.

Tell us about the battle there at Lisbon, Ohio July 26th 1863 against Captain John Morgan and his raiders

We black men from the area were fighting because we thought captain Morgan would send captured colored folks back south into slavery like had recently happened at the battle of Gettysburg on July 04, 1863 by General Lee's armies.The white persons in the Ohio home guard were fighting to defend their families from raiders. Captain Morgan and his men had robbed a few banks and businesses and more than once threatened to burn a town in Ohio or Indiana if a large ransom wasn't paid by ordinary people. We thought at the time, Morgan's raiders had ridden into into Ohio with 10,000 men and these soldier's were the best horse soldiers in America then, excellent shots with a rifle and were equipped with the the best horses. Then professional soldiers from Ohio were fighting in Virginia or in the West at Vicksburg or down that way. That's why we needed a home guard of volunteer amateur soldiers and how things became desperate enough to allow black men to fight. Also there were many pacifists in Ohio then, like religious Quakers who wouldn't fight and Copperheads,who were Ohio democrats against continuing the civil war. Many people said at the time that the copperheads would organize, rise up and help Morgan's men to subdue Ohio and negotiate an end to the civil war; allowing the Confederacy to succeed and slavery to continue. That's why I was willing to fight even though my wife was against it.

Please go on and explain what you mean by "more horses than men died at the battle of Lisbon, Ohio Saturday July 25, 1863?"

May I have a drink of water?

to be continued

[later]

Please Mr.Win go on

We started to march down to Lisbon, Ohio on Friday July 24th and arrived just North of town about 6 pm Saturday the 25th.There were about five hundred of us.We had marched about 36 miles in two days and I was tired from the walk although I was in good shape having always done manual labor. We did not have uniforms but most of us had good rifles because Mr Halley our captain had confiscated rifles from men who could not fight or pacifists in the Alliance area. That Saturday we setup camp in the woods along a long stretch of road on the Wellsville to Cleveland Pike which was
considered the most likely place that Morgan's raiders would pass through on their way to Northern Ohio or Lake Erie. At the time we thought that Morgan's raiders were invading Ohio with plans to attack Cleveland or Ravenna. The Wellsville road just South of Lisbon runs down a long steep hill for about half a mile and then as it enters the Salem, Ohio area up another hill close to a mile long. The area around the road there is heavily wooded,a perfect place for an ambush. We had an excellent supper as our wives and sweethearts had spent days cooking to send us to war fully provisioned. We were scared of Morgan's raiders as we did not know where they were, when they would come, and how many there would be.We did know they were excellent marksmen and had superb horses. My wife had just had a fight with me two days before, worried about me being  singled out to be killed by the confederates who did not accept the idea then of colored soldiers and we black men were sure they would take no colored prisoners should they overwhelm us. My wife had said to me afraid for my safety and in anger "Rufus your black face will be the first thing they shoot at". I hoped to prove her wrong and come home a hero to see her again and our little daughter.

After supper that Saturday night as usual the colored men got the worse jobs. Captain Halley our leader had us ten colored men select the best rifles with the longest range and then he had some of the men set four horses loose running down the Wellsville pike road. We colored  troops were ordered to shoot the horses as they ran from a long way off to demonstrate the effectiveness of the new rifles and  the practicality of shooting a horse,  a much bigger target than an enemy soldier charging down a hill during an ambush on a steep decline. I am sure I hit and killed one of the horses which troubles me to this day. We were all, the home guard soldier's, ordered should battle occur to shoot and aim at horses not men as the men would die from the fall should his horse be shot while charging.

The next day was Sunday July 26th and we saw no action during the capture and surrender of Morgan's remaining raiders about ten miles away from Lisbon at Salineville. Morgan's raiders were down to less than a thousand men at the time of the surrender. Since there was no confederate raiders killed at Lisbon and no battle of Lisbon on July 25th or 26th I believe I am correct to say that more horses than men died at the battle of Lisbon in the American civil war. I shot one of those horses, following orders. Although I was a member of the Alliance home guard for the next two years in the civil war I saw no more action. Much later in the 1870's I was a member of the black 10th cavalry fighting Indians throughout the American West. But that's something I don't talk about.

Thursday, August 23, 2018

walk with your head bowed America

walk with your head bowed America

fiction
edward w pritchard

Union General John Sedwick was working with his men on a skirmish line just prior to the battle of Spotsylvania during the American civil war as Confederate marksmen began firing from about a thousand yards away with a new style rifle when suddenly the rank and file soldiers quickly dove for covering interrupting the pre-battle preparations. Chiding the men for cowardice, General Sedwick remarked" they couldn't hit an elephant at this range" as he promptly fell dead from a bullet under his eye. Sedwick the popular, competent Union General had died pre-maturely.

Walk with your head bowed arrogant America so many people far away still don't like us. Why are our leaders so arrogant? Don't be truculent, wait-wait the battle will come to you in God's proper time.

Wednesday, July 18, 2018

this is not really about Lebron James leaving Akron

This is not really about Lebron James leaving Akron

fictions
edward w pritchard

Since many, make that a few people tell author his writing is confusing this is not really about Lebron James leaving Akron for greener pastures in Los Angles California instead it is about author's oldest son recently getting married and moving to California.

Here is the confusing part.When Dante the Italian poet wrote about his not to secret love Beatrice sometimes to keep her identity secret from the world he would address his poems to another beautiful woman in Florence, Italy who he called his stage beloved. So for now Lebron James will be my stage son for a few hours and I will address a few lines to him about the small tired little City he left behind.

Mostly empty buses still run toward downtown despite the street repairs down that way and cars on the expressway driven by folks from the suburbs still drive very fast to avoid the downtown that is unless they are headed  to Quaker square which is dark and quiet but still a good place to find an excellent divorce lawyer.

The housing resale market here continues to lag although property taxes are rising steadily. A big housing project is planned in Akron at Gunther school where this author successfully matriculated.

Grand children are fine. Young kids still ride around on bikes donated by Lebron James.

Life goes on even though our hometown favorite took the last train for the coast.

the end

Sunday, July 15, 2018

i found myself selling a house

I found myself selling a house

fiction
edward w pritchard

I found myself selling a house,
a house that Generals of invading armies never commandeered for strategic headquarters
or troops never pitched tents in the yard awaiting upcoming bloody battles
a house where no one ever awoke early Sunday morning to read the newspaper and drink fine teas with a friendly lady in a lacy red peignoir 
a house that no one ever entered without ringing the doorbell while waiting and waiting
it's a house that everyone secretly criticizes because it needs an update and makeover to be marketable,
a house but not a home
selling a house is difficult where no one wants to live in  modern times
a house where no one orders pizza on line and turns the occasion into a memorable party
a house where no pictures are texted to friends and followers of daily curiosities
because the house I occupy needs extensive expensive dental work
has a broken malfunctioning heart, a disappearing will
and lacks a sunny upbeat attitude
I found myself selling a house
a house in need of an update and overhaul, to be marketable in the world of an approaching future
each house stands silently alone, watching weeds of memories of vanished pasts
blot out the noise of busy carpenters and home builders making obsolete yesterdays
abodes, to make way for smiling future
for someone else.


Monday, May 21, 2018

It's always dark where I come from

It's always dark where I come from

fiction
edward w pritchard

I followed the jets crossing the sky
East to West, north to south
to the serpent mounds,
piling basket after basket of dirt and debris,
we made a hill
but waiting and waiting Jesus
never exited from behind the large stones
so down the dark hole
back to the source we slipped
in other words
it's always dark where I come from
open the windows
clouds block eternity

Sunday, May 13, 2018

my Epiphany of Lebron James

my Epiphany of Lebron James

fiction
edward w pritchard

Nothing is so sacred to us ordinary people of  mundane places like Akron, Ohio than to look on famous and relevant people in reverence and awe.

I had my epiphany of Lebron James in game 1 of playoff number three versus Boston at the beginning of the second half of the playoff game in May of 2018.

If I an ordinary person can gaze viva television upon Lebron James I will acquire some of his power, some of his mystique, some of his je non sais quai.

I could transcend in fact my ordinary existence if when I see Lebron flying through the air I would by his image entering the portal of my soul through my gazing eye acquire his success and uniqueness.

By my  gazing on Lebron James  television image I would be transcended. As Lebron James  was no longer stuck as an unfortunate in the Elizabeth apartments under the viaduck bridge in Akron, Ohio so too I would no longer be stuck in my ordinary pedantic life.


Tuesday, May 8, 2018

the spaces in our togetherness

the spaces in our togetherness

fiction
edward w pritchard

The spaces in our togetherness [1] have expanded beyond space to the dimensions of time which is dark, frigid and unoccupied. I have moved so far from your shadow that I see neither the cypress or the oak tree only decaying leaves of forgetfulness. The silence is deadening. I yearn to speak to escape my thoughts of isolation but the strings of the lute are broken and I don't know which direction to whisper into to send you a message on the wind. The pillars of the temple have crumbled to dust and the shadow of your smile points in another dimension. No longer can I sing or dance and being alone from you so long brings me no joy and becalms the soothing winds of heaven. Love's bond of invisible string is stretched uselessly into approaching eternity.

[1] all thoughts reworked from Kahlil  Gibran's "the Prophet" concerning when love was new

Monday, April 23, 2018

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

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

fiction
edward w pritchard

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

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

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

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

amen

Thursday, April 19, 2018

his tepid mistress

his tepid mistress

fiction
edward w pritchard

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

Saturday, March 31, 2018

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

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

fiction
edward w pritchard

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

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

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

Thursday, March 29, 2018

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

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

fiction
edward w pritchard

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

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

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

it's all so pre-programmed

it's all so pre-programmed

fiction
edward w pritchard

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

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

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

a large crash and a mumbled voice is heard stage right


Thursday, March 22, 2018

current southwestern art; set it gently in the garbage

current southwestern art; set it gently in the garbage

fiction
edward w pritchard

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

attendance at the ancient Roman coliseum was free right

attendance at the ancient roman coliseum was free right

fiction
edward w pritchard

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

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

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

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

Sunday, March 18, 2018

for our few Russian readers

for our few Russian readers

fiction
edward w pritchard

For the most part author as he ages has become like a medieval peasant anonymous to the world and future. Nameless and faceless in the place and times in which he lives. Perhaps your life is the same.

Most of us wake up one day to find we do not habitat in Paris, London or Moscow and on Sundays
we don't journey to Chartres cathedral to enter god's house.

Downtown where I live is a sad little place, the inner city, for the last year and maybe the next two a blighted construction zone of demolished buildings roads and sidewalks to nowhere. To my eye as I drive by our downtown ten or twenty construction workers are trying to rebuild fifty years of the lack of growth and vitality as progress moves somewhere else.

Our main industry here is a hospital or two to treat the sick. The once prosperous University that I matriculated is shrinking as students wise up to the student loans realities of the last twenty years.

Still this is a pleasant place to live. My grandchildren are here and once or twice I have taken my grandson into the magnificent catholic cathedral in our town to see the stained glass windows. South of here is a beautiful campus of a college built and maintained by the catholic church. Fifty miles north is a world class city with excellent museums, sports venues and a nice large inland lake.

Places don't change we do. Still tomorrow morning it would be nice to be in France and spend a half hour trying to find eternity in the stained glass windows of the Chartres cathedral. 

Friday, March 16, 2018

speak no more of battlefields

speak no more of battlefields

fiction
edward w pritchard


Speak no more of battlefields,
or empty chairs, or missing chairs,
or children grown, changed and mystifying,
or memories and cherished beliefs doubted,
or changing gods and vanished deities,
or paradoxes of invisible friendships solvable only by linguistics and vanished logic,
subtract one grain of sand and a heap is just a heap, the weaker argument can never be the stronger,
let us be simple, tied up in small busyness,
forgetful of past and unawares of unanticipated future,
stuck in 30 seconds of present,
praying not for delusional double rainbows,
after every disappearing storm,
god is everywhere, and custom and comfort is King.

Wednesday, March 14, 2018

Doctor Krenshaw snake charmer extraordinaire

Dr. Krenshaw snake charmer extraordinaire

fiction
edward w pritchard

Back when Warren Crenshaw was a resident early in his medical career some rainy mornings at 4:30 AM after a double shift he would catch a few winks by finding an empty room somewhere on a quiet ward and catch an hour or two of much needed sleep before starting his next very long day.

Today was forty years past Dr. W. Crenshaw's residency and out of ancient habit after driving four hours on a snowy night from Cleveland to Mansfield General Hospital he awoke in a strange bed to find twenty young medical students and nurses surrounding the bed he was sleeping in. Glancing quickly Warren groggily blinked his eyes to reorient himself to time and place; it was 3:45 AM as Warren remembered last night, actually about an hour ago, finding an empty room and bed in a long  dark out of the way hall and room of the Mansfield Hospital he was to lecture at later this morning in hopes of catching a few of hours of shut eye before work.

The young residents taking notes crowded close to his bed. The chief Physician obviously from  Neurology and a bit too pompous was finishing up a long answer to a student question concerning medical ethics and billing choices as Dr. Crenshaw quickly surmised to his dismay they were talking about himself. He was the patient they were talking about in the example that the chief Physician was discussing and he was the patient in the story example that had been unconscious for a few days and had not signed the legally required intake forms as required by Medicare. 

In a panic but thinking carefully Warren looked again to his wrists to check his watch for date and time and verified he had no watch but he did have an IV in his left arm. Moving only his eyes he glanced from student to student and despite his predicament had to smile a bit at their boredom. Been there done that he thought. 

The chief Physician droned on about the medical billing question. Sadly Dr. Crenshaw couldn't speak to interrupt when they called the patient in the story a snake charmer, as if that had anything to do with Medical billing ethics anyway thought Warren.

Tuesday, March 13, 2018

the discernment of the Belgium women

the discernment of the Belgium women

fiction
edward w pritchard

Among-st the endless chitter-chatter of sexual gossip that sloshes about the politics of our times it behooves us to look back into history to other societies to see how the matter successfully was handled in other times and other places.

Different strategies are most fruitful to change the gossiping behaviors of men and women and today we will look at how the Queen of ancient Belgium taught the women of her court discernment.

The bayeux tapestry is over 200 feet long and the actual sewing of the piece was done by the women of Belgium. As they sewed the women often talked quietly among themselves of many things.

As punishment to ladies of the court who tended to gossip of the personal matters of others Queen Matilda wife of William the Norman conqueror would require women at court who gossiped about the sexual matters of others to sit and sew without speaking for weeks and weeks at a time. Listening without talking was considered back in ancient Belgium strict punishment indeed, back back then in ancient times, in Belgium. Today one never hears about the women of Belgium, even now, alleging they were unfairly taken advantage of, what we would call sexual harassment, while being pursued
in times long past. Even the French say, even now, that the people of Belgium are indeed a civilized county.

things had changed at the university

things had changed at the university

fiction
edward w pritchard

Fifty seven year old Bernard Patoophee found him self in a strange position this warm March day at the local business college for there was a 60% chance of rain this Tuesday and on his first day back to business school in forty years cadet Patoophee came to find out things had changed here at the local University.

Cadet Patoophee was having trouble traversing the stairs down to section 4 of business secured debt instruments level 1 in the basement of old bolder hall. Each cadet as he ran down the steep stairs past the struggling Bernard three at a time would turn his head slowly to one side make brief eye contact with Mr. Patoophee and like a piano player in formal boogie woogie concert taking a stage bow with just his head and eyes after playing a difficult section of a jazz piece yell loudly as he smiled Sir before racing through the sealed closed iron door of the glass walled classroom. Through the glass of the classroom Bernard  watched each cadet as he entered the classroom bow to the instructor at the long desk in the front of the room remove his army style waterproof poncho and immediately plug his computer into the yellow console and begin to type frantically. Within a few seconds like the other students the new arrivee would using only his left hand interrupt his typing briefly to don an ultra slim pair of khaki headphones and commence to bob his head gently left to right repeatedly as he worked.

As he finally entered the heavy iron door Cadet Patoophee accepted the formal bow from his new teacher and took a seat next to the pretty blond girl in the rear of the room. A woman training for the military. Things had certainty changed here at the local university since Cadet Bernard Patoophee's day.

Monday, March 12, 2018

school shooter

school shooter

fiction
edward w pritchard

There is a sagacity among Amish women
that allows 300,00 Russian soldiers to surrender to a few thousand German soldiers, more than once,
marching eyes downtrodden hands reaching skyward to wait out behind barb wire until the next war.
Amish women,  barns, 8th grade finished educations,  and shopping at the goodwill for a doll without a face.
Silent Amish women with anachronistic quaint bonnets and all knowing eyes.
What do you think?
When America's iceman
slips in the door of your one room schoolhouse
and shoots with a rifle at your little girls?

Thursday, March 8, 2018

where to another time or just another place

where to another time or just another place

fiction
edward w pritchard

Where to my friends another time or just another place?

Sometimes I awake from dreams with time juxtaposed rather oddly. Tonight waking at two thirty in the morning vividly dreams upset my equilibrium.

In dreams I was twelve years old on the football field again and while scrimmaging with some of the gang one of the offensive players who passed away a few years later was prophesying to us about the internet of the future when suddenly he started telling us that we might have to fight in the trenches of WW1 as a group. I awoke suddenly and to calm my mood,

I am imagining myself in another place, a pleasant place of peace and serenity, neither past or present
just somewhere else, somewhere I have been before and enjoyed.

Tonight I imagine and remember myself at the National Art Gallery of London one of the world's premier art galleries. In mind's eye I remember a pleasant two hour walk among-st the exquisite paintings.

First among paintings to me at the National gallery of Art is the Arnolfini Wedding by Van Eyck. You know the work he holds his right hand up formally and wears a funny black hat while she smiles while pregnant. Detail and symbolism abound but what does it mean?

Complete your walk by viewing the Leonardo's Virgin on the Rocks, Raphael's Pope Julius the second, a Vermeer, a few Rembrandt self portraits and the Rokeby Venus by Velazquez.

The national Gallery of Art in London it's a nice another place to spend a little time; better by half than a tour of duty in the trenches as a British or French soldier in WW1.

Time to awake soon and get back to the real world.

Wednesday, March 7, 2018

Hecate at the cross roads

Hecate at the cross roads

fiction
edward w pritchard

Three faced Hecate keeps on the move but rests at the cross roads, two forks in the road to uncertainty. Maiden, woman/mother and crone she looks at you with understanding and bewilderment. Sometimes she lets glimpse plans and schemes. Listen carefully for nothing is written down, her character was formed before people could write in any language.

To see her in the dark look back with twisted head over left shoulder. As you walk away listen obliquely; on rare occasions she sings three part harmony in obscure melody. Far away and forgotten her footfalls echo through dark forests. Six impressions of blurred footprints up the sacred snowy mountain.

Saturday, March 3, 2018

the bus ride ends soon

the bus ride ends soon

fiction
edward w pritchard

another metaphor of where the country is going with no indication of why and with no driver

A bump in the road startles one from sleep sitting on the bus and for a moment or two you have no recollection of where you are going. There's a dull ache in your lower back and your shoulder hurts from being pressed against the dark streaked window.

The couple in the seats ahead of you are fighting again, She is very pretty but her face is in a scowl looking away from him and she won't hold his hand. He is strangely quiet looking sad. You can see their reflections in the window. He supposed to be driving the bus but the bus moves forward through the countryside on auto pilot, bouncing along the dark roads.

Behind you in the seats back there you can hear children murmuring. They are talking about the future. They want the bus to stop so they can look around outside. That would be dangerous you think.

Then the vibrations of your head against the cold damp window puts you back to sleep to unfinished dreams. Unless the bus hits a big bump unexpectedly the journey goes on and on.

Friday, March 2, 2018

Denzel Washington as Higgy in " the iceman cometh"

Denzel Washington as Higgy in " the iceman cometh"

fiction
edward w pritchard

We have never watched the play live or a movie of it in it's entirety but we enjoy the play by Eugene O'Neil a little at a time. It's said O'Neil borrowed the concept from Russian writer Gorky's " the lower depths".

In any event this reviewer would like to take the train up to New York and watch Denzel's performance, but that won't likely happen.

It is a very demanding role, the role of reformed alcoholic Higgy.. Kevin Spacey looks from the clips we saw of his performance like he handled the complicated role well. He is one of the premier male leads working today, if he is still working which would be sad if he isn't.

With more than a dozen characters on stage most of the time Iceman is  a good venue for  the actors unions. It would be amazing if you tube or Roku could bring a TV showing live of the play Iceman in it's early run to us in the hinter lands of America. They call us hicks there in NYC sometimes but we have our pipe dreams too and we enjoy good live theater one good play per decade of our lives or so is about enough for us.

In any event we are rereading O'Neil's iceman one more time to review and revisit our own pipe dreams and to update their current status.

the zero one program

the zero one program

fiction
edward  w pritchard

Author writes recently of  Immanuael Kant's antinomies of space and time; you find yourself here now but you want to be there.

Some subjects should not be broached by some people of limited intellect. Author has been ruminating too much on the zero one program and has came too close to understanding the burden god himself has carried since things began.

If you find everything is either zero, nothing or one, something then given infinite time, which time exists outside of god, everything then has the potential to happen.

Everything is therefore beyond even god's understanding.

The aspects of everything given infinite time to ruminate will worry and overwhelm then even god
who by definition must know and understand everything which by definition can't be known or it wouldn't be everything.

Don't ruminate on the zero or one program. Better nothing than everything. Nothing is familiar, comfortable. Everything is unknowable.

Between zero and one are an infinite number of fractional possibilities eventually  ending in  everything but everything is not a fraction.

One divided by one is not a fractional possibility. One is everything. Everything is unknowable.

Stick to what you know. Avoid thinking about the zero one program. Also don't study Mathematics, calculus, Bertrand Russell, space-time Quine or St Augustine. It's too confusing you will be sorry you learned it.














Thursday, March 1, 2018

Immuaels Kant's antinomies of space and time; you find yourself here now but you want to be there

Immuauel Kant's antinomies of space and time; you find yourself here now but you want to be there

fiction
edward w pritchard

After a lot of soul searching I try not to think about it anymore. My life is what it is and it's all I have.

I work now in C section on a large mineral transport in space over loaded with product heading home to Earth a few light years out in deep space. I am no scientist just a grunt; I separate valuable mineral  product from chaff and robotic technicians handle the rest including steering the ship back to earth.

In my spare time if I am not sleeping I play keno with fifteen other mineral technicians  who also work in C section to try to strike it rich by hitting 20 of twenty numbers. The odds are astronomical of picking the right twenty numbers but the rewards are fabulous and  in addition to becoming an instant billionaire a special spaceship gets you back to earth very quickly.

Originally we had two hundred technicians in our Keno games that I participate in but by attrition we are now down to fifteen including me. For you see each week after scoring one's success at per cent of goal achieved at reaching a satisfactory progress toward hitting the dream hit of twenty numbers at Keno, one person, the one with the lowest success rate in our C section is removed from the team and the robotic workers who pilot the ship incinerate the poor soul for fuel to help power the spaceship back Home.

That's about it really. One of the scientists here on the spaceship says it just another one of the philosopher Immanuel Kant's antinomies; you find yourself here now and you want to be there. Of course with this space time stuff everyone knows that the longer you stay in space, here on the ship the less you age relative to someone back there on Earth. So in my case for me who wants to be rejoined with someone back there on Earth once I make good and strike it very very rich they will be extremely old not like I remember them or maybe no longer conscious even at all.

Sometimes when I am laying on my bunk before I go to sleep the inequity of it all seems a bit absurd. But just before I go to sleep, after a lot of soul searching, I try not to think about it anymore; my life is what it is and it's all I have.

Thursday, February 22, 2018

sometimes I wish I were born Russian

sometimes I wish I were born Russian

fiction
edward w pritchard

These times, these days,  living in America is like standing on a small block of ice in a near freezing lake drifting with the current without a destination.

Sometimes I wish I were born Russian [2] for only one of the great Russian novelists or short story writers such as Gogul could manipulate the words and language to portray the absurdities of contemporary American society accurately and with a proper subtle panache. If Gogul were writing in America today in Russian and I understood the Russian language perhaps he could write a story of fiction explaining Russian political interference in American politics in 2016 and why it occurred. I for one would love to hear Gogul's  take on the matter; perhaps a short story in the style of " The Overcoat".

If I were a Russian politician charged with creating mayhem in American society, politics  and  institutions I would leave American society alone and allow home grown over achievers to wreck the ship of state of American society in four year elected shifts broadcast ad nausea across the various social media channels by beautiful people- who never tell you the whole story. [1]

[1]    author is referencing Quick Silver Messenger's service song " what you going to do about me"

[2] author appreciates his Russian readers

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

you know it's a government job when the workers are working in the rain

you know it's a government job when the workers  are working in the rain

fiction
edward w pritchard


T'is true that enough money will remove all obstacles if the capitalistic system is allowed to operate unimpeded. You know it's a government job when the workers are working in the rain.

There's a pretty system of lakes I drive by everyday where the workers are working frantically working  double shifts and Sunday's this winter to break up the ice in the middle of the lake with large special equipment so they can place fencing units to hold back the water so they can manipulate the Lake for a future economic development scenic park project. The government employees even work in the rain.

How much over time and how many triple shift bonus hours must the Government of Ohio be spending on the project there near the clock tower on Portage Lakes this Winter?

Another way to look at the Portage Lakes clock tower improvement project is rain or shine the project will get done quickly and no one will stand around and talk while one guy does all the work as you drive by.

Well it should be beautiful when the project is done.

Thursday, February 15, 2018

the President and the porn star

the President and the porn star

fiction
edward w pritchard

How can an important politician such as the sitting American President improve his image after allegations he through his representatives paid a porn star to keep quiet about their relationship?

Looking back into history for an example we find that in the years near 1650 the sitting Pope Innocent the X [tenth] found himself accused of being involved with his deceased Brother's widow
one Donna Olimpia Maidalchini who some said had unusual control of the Pope's financial affairs and access to his person near the end of the Pope's life in Rome. It was quite the scandal.

A certain ruthlessness in Pope Innocent X can be detected in the marvelous portrait painting of the Pope by Spanish master Diego Velasquez.  The painting of the Pope from 1650 is one of the greatest portraits ever painted. 

It has been suggested the Olimpia Maidalchini controlled vast amounts of papal wealth through her influence over Pope Innocent X; considerably more Italian money than the  $130,000 dollars that a porn star  allegedly received as hush money.

Too bad that gossip hungry public's can't judge great men by their accomplishments and not their very personal private lives. In such non political activities I say my Country right or wrong and do not personally carry tales or Judge.

god speaks through his journal entries

god speaks through his journal entries

fiction
edward w pritchard

Come to find out did I that like the Judge in a court of law god speaks through his journal entries.

January 31, 1986 at 11:46 AM a MB 5 earthquake occurred in Northeast Ohio where I was which I took as the voice of god jolting me to reconsider my position in the universe. The fact that I doubted god's existence was immaterial at that moment. As was the fact that activities of Men at the nuclear power plant fifty miles away may have induced the rare earthquake by shooting water into bedrock.

The solid building I sat in on the third floor of the old Firestone bank building began to sway. I put down the phone I was working on and made my way slipping to the window and watched the world I knew slide and shake.

Being sophistic then as now I deduced that the universe was trying to tell me something and had been having trouble getting through to me.

Keep you eyes open and your heart alert pilgrim the signs of change surround us though we crave permanence in all things.

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

raving fans run a muck

raving fans run a muck

fiction
edward w pritchard


If I have cancer and go to the Doctor no matter how happy and impressed I am with his office routine and staff, his personal competence as a physician and as a man and the fairness of his billing routines there is no way I am ever going to be too happy with my experience. Ditto with a criminal defense lawyer if I am charged by the State  with a serious crime and the lawyer is fighting hard to keep me in jail for only five years instead of twenty. In serious situations that cause me personal harm and loss there is always the nagging realization that no matter how good the outcome if I have lost something I once had I will be unhappy.

This idea that the customers of businesses should be raving fans of Banks, hardware stores and day care centers is misguided. Who can stay perfectly satisfied with their choice in grocery stores week to week as prices insidiously rise, the cashier staff get younger and younger, and the old men potato chip salesmen stocking the food aisles become more and more detached from their customer base.

This yelp idea of rating your experience with your criminal defense lawyer and putting it on line with negative vicious comments is misguided. Word of mouth does enough damage what with people's tendency to gossip and be stealth-ful and inappropriate in their comments and criticisms. To write down nasty allegations even if true is not cool. Let things be.

So to this current plethora of negative accusations, co worker against co worker of sexual misconduct allegations twenty years after they have left the employer. Ditto again ex spouses accusing each other of emotional abuse twenty years post divorce. In fact shouldn't there be non disclosure language in employee exit agreements and divorce contract language to minimize the human tendency to grouse and exaggerate their experiences?

To write down nasty allegations or spread gossip even if true is not cool and leads to so much discomfort and disrespect for human dignity. It's cliche- but to error is human to forgive and to have never spoken divine. Let things be.

Monday, February 12, 2018

cutting the buttons off his best suit/ another sexual abuse scandal on wall street

cutting the buttons off his best suit/another sexual abuse scandal on wall street

fiction
edward w pritchard


They've made us watch the hanging of Deever Daniels [1] three times this morning,
and all the boys have left their desks to watch,
so the trading floor is empty,
and no one is a watchin the stocks and bonds hit the third bump in the road this week,
and I ask-ed my sergeant what did Deever due to deserve such a punishment,
why he emotionally abused both of his ex wives said old sarge,
and chased three lithe young girls about the office for a dozen years besides,
and the girls wouldn't lie,
so the government has sued the company,
and all the boys have to watch training films on how to treat a woman, so saith the honorable board of directors,
so I ask-ed my old sarge grizzled veteran why do we have to watch a man be hung three times for the same crime?
and sarge gave me a wink,
with his one good eye,
and said to learn ye mates,
that's no way to treat a lady,
take heed of the passions of ye-s youth Man
for why would a woman lie about something she is remember-in
that happened fifty years ago,
now that she is old and left alone,
and I said but won't a lot of good folks lose their jobs,
when the company's deal to sell itself and continue to operate falls apart,
and the company has to file bankruptcy,
and old sarge just a looked away.
and said I be retirin soon,
and it will all be over for me,
but his voice arisin with anger,
sarge said
no man should be hung three times for the same crime,
not even that Harvey Weinstien,
but I was confus-ed and said,
I thought we were talkin about Deever Daniels?
and some more of the bad folks on Wall Street,
like Men, the usual villains in every story

{1} author is writing bad poetry with a purpose with reference from the work of Rudyard Kipling " the hanging of Danny Deevers" about the latest sexual abuse scandal in America


Friday, February 9, 2018

taking Buddy to the amusement park

taking Buddy to the amusement park

fiction
edward w pritchard

Today is the once a year day when the small family takes Buddy to the amusement park. The last time we went was when Buddy was ten.

Mother walks with a tight face eyes forward towards the right for she is the cause of judgment in the eyes of the crowds temporarily distracted  from the task of enjoying themselves here at the fair.

Father is oblivious to the crowds for he must concentrate always to remember where the car is parked
row and slot number and clutch tightly to Buddy's hand to maintain order with Buddy in the midst of the mayhem of the fair.

Buddy is very excited. He is drinking a bright scarlet snow cone with a twisted plastic spoon looking excitedly for Mickey Mouse in costume and in character to stroll about the runway.

Soon it will be time to deal with the first line at the first amusement ride. How will buddy react to the wait? The last time Buddy was in line at an amusement park he was ten, five years ago. A lot has happened since then but Buddy is pretty much still the same.

Father is mumbling under his breath as he walks row 27c slot number 37 over and over.

It's a warm sunny day at the fair today. No one has a care in the world here at the State's largest amusement park this peaceful Summer's day.

what drives a soldier to charge out of his trench and go over the top?

what drives a soldier to charge out of his trench and go over the top

fiction
edward w pritchard

What drove a soldier German or French in WW1 to charge out of his trench and go over the top silently running at top speed around the barb wire, explosions and bullet fire towards the enemy?

What drives us today in 2018 here in America when no one has much alliance to King and Country to trudge on among-st the chaos and disorder of a world external to our reason?

Today is one of those critical days here in America when the stock markets are just that close, less than half an inch from wiping out the dreams of another half generations of wealth and security. One ten percent drop today in the stock averages caused by blind fate turning it's back on the world for a few moments will bring misery and dash the hopes of a lot of good hard working people. The trend in world stock markets, the invisible barometer of prosperity or misery, may be about to change; confirmation teeters with the buy sell orders of a few invisible rogue traders somewhere out there far away and unknown to our reason or understanding. 

As a soldier in his trench in WW1 we are sometimes like our ancient, ancient ancestor a small mammal, maybe a lemur like creature, trembling and shaking in it's underground burrow when thunder and lightening comes from high above for causes unknown to us or the earth quivers below from mysterious earthquakes and eruptions. What does it all mean and why does it have to happen?

Listen carefully the sergeant is about to blow his whistle. Daylight is coming soon over the battle fields of Flanders in WW1 and it's time for us all to jump out of our trench and dash headlong towards an invisible enemy. At such times we are alone. As you run forward carrying your rifle in your right hand reach with your left hand to the small cross on the chain about your neck and clutch jesus tightly into your clutched fist until the pain awakens you to where you really are.

US futures markets currently are up about half of 1% as of 4am as traders in New York rise early to begin their day today February 09, 2018. 


Wednesday, February 7, 2018

Jerome Powell new head of Federal Reserve spotted

Jerome Powell new head of Federal Reserve spotted

Fiction, fiction, fiction/ this is not fake news or true
edward w pritchard

Last night Jerome Powell new head of the American Federal Reserve was spotted walking across his deck behind his house down the steps into his back yard where he proceeded to manufacture soap bubbles over and over from a Walt Disney tootsie toy Mickey Mouse soap bubble pipe [1] once belonging to one of his children.

The opaque soap bubbles created floated gracefully into the night sky and investors and followers of money the world over saw the shiny bubbles drifting skyward and knowing all was well, the best of all possible worlds, promptly went serenely to sleep dreaming of bundles of mortgages, leveraged buyouts and money.

All is as it should be. Go back to your own life and rest easy again. Don't take the game too seriously.

[1] Mickey Mouse is a trademark of Disney Corporation

Tuesday, February 6, 2018

sometimes the glass is really only half full/ stock market tantrums

sometimes the glass is really only half full/ stock market tantrums

fiction
edward w pritchard


Author once worked in the collection and commercial workout department of a Bank. Trying to collect money from people who couldn't keep up in the American society's race to the top.

From time to time it became apparent that the glass really was sometimes only half full.

The stock market might just be starting one of it's periodic tantrums. Maybe there really is still a business cycle in which actual cause and effect behavior en mass matters.

The remedy? Count your blessings pilgrims. Things are really quite good my friend. Be grateful for what you have and quit comparing yourself to other people especially those hand picked by the media because they are temporarily enjoying an unusual run of good luck in their lives.

Warning author suffers from world's smartest man syndrome. Here's what we wrote earlier about the stock market around Christmas. PS no one knows what markets will do in the short run.

this below was written 12/17/2017

this wacky stock market

fiction

edward w pritchard

The rich know things we don't. Everybody knows that.

Bernard Baruch boy genius stock market investor said " let me tell you something I always sold too early."

Earlier the ultra rich Baron Rothschild said " I always sold too soon".

Everybody has opinions about this wacky stock market and the Trump rally. Opinions are cheap facts are scarce. Nobody knows what the stock market will do come January 2018.

Shakespeare said speaking as Julius Caesar in his play of the same name " there is a tide in the affairs of men when taken at the flood leads on to fortune" that's a fact. Meaning in reference to the wacky stock market " no tree grows to the sky" as the Chinese say. The tide goes out the tide comes in, except in biblical accounts it never floods the entire earth, it always eventually goes the other way.

Take some profit in your portfolio of stocks. Buy yourself a new wardrobe.

Need some fundamental analysis on the stock market as a whole in 2018? Toys aren't selling this Christmas. That must mean something. The rich know things we don't. Too bad the Rich aren't around here to ask.

Cynics say, that's, the stock market wall street brokerage establishment, that they, the good old boys  types, can't make money if all the clients buys and holds. It's time for a little forced selling " they" say in private.

Caveat writer is neither rich nor wise but is merely pointing out " no tree grows to the sky. You only have to get rich once I have heard. It seems to me as an observer it takes hard work and sacrifice to become wealthy. Can everybody do that for years and years in a row? That's what propels the tide in the affairs of men me thinks. Take some profits pilgrim.

Monday, February 5, 2018

life isn't fair it's a competion

Life isn't fair it's a completion

fiction
edward w pritchard

Teaching school as a substitute teacher because of  my sympathies and beliefs I often taught handicapped students. My take away from that was life's not fair it's a competition.

First folks bond together as couples to get an edge up in the struggle. Ideally a fully functioning family shields and assists in the game of life.

Sometimes people form larger associations for protection and economic reasons. Like unions, or twenty percent of Americans working for the Government. Churches can be a comfort in the battle for survival.

And those handicapped students when they are grown? Hopefully the Government and the Churches can lead the charge to help the handicapped survive day to day. Families should help as practical.

Saturday, February 3, 2018

the arrival of testy real estate markets

the arrival of testy real estate markets

fiction
edward w pritchard


In every time and every place suddenly without formal warning the madness of crowds startles society with a temporary mass hysteria. In America, in the Summer of 2018 the madness of crowds took the form of " testy" real estate markets becoming an obsession as a frenzy of buying and selling of houses crowded out normal business activities and became ludicrous and pathetic as driven by the antics of Real estate professionals normal people went to obnoxious lengths to squeeze the last nickle out of each and every real estate transactions.

The concept of " testy" might have began as in- these are the times that test man's souls. Others mostly male historians writing later suggested "testy" behavior meant testicular as in it took real balls to negotiate a sales contact in these frothy markets for houses with these type of sleazy practices and sales techniques. Whatever the true definition of the original " testy" it certainly was a truism that in the Summer of 2018 real estate markets across the United States took on an edge not ever seen before and the lady realtors and buyers and sellers were central to making real estate practices Summer of 2018 not business as usual.

Some examples of sleazy and " testy " real estate behaviors? How about the county auditors sending tax collectors to the formal closings of final real estate transactions. Not unusual maybe to collect all of what is owed but dressed as Antonio, the merchant of Venice quoting Shakespeare's collection language to help smooth along another testicular real estate closing.

Another sleazy example of unusual real estate practice that Summer of 2018- there weren't enough real estate agents to handle the volume of buying and selling so because of the lure of easy money young people entered the real estate business in droves and here's the unbelievable part in those times
 real estate contracts were written on Paper and those young realtors abandoned their cell phones and texting and "chattings" sessions in droves which permanently hurt the real economy as the Summer 2018 bubble in real estate coincides with the collapse of the cell phone obsession in America. Go figure.

Hard evidence of the original cause to the "testy" real estate markets of Summer 2018 may have been the fear in American Island Guam"s of nuclear bombing by North Korea then a separate Country than the Korea of our times. Additionally two false nuclear scramble warnings of Nuclear bombs being sent towards Hawaii from North Korea materially effected real estate values in Hawaii which soon spread to California and the West coast causing waves of forced selling of over priced Houses.

It was over soon after it started looking back with hind site.

 First a major stock market crash. Then the collapse of something called bit coins. Then another Presidential scandal. Then everybody defaulted on student loans. Then the hunger and homelessness and massive unemployment. They couldn't even finish to build a gigantic wall between Texas and Mexico. Then one day normal people decided to live in houses only as large as they could afford and then the " testy" real estate markets returned to normal.

Friday, February 2, 2018

gloating author faces over reaching President

gloating author faces over reaching President

fiction
edward w pritchard


Fresh from the recent confirmation of his pursuit  of pure justice in the Cleveland Indians baseball squad's recent decision to eliminate a racist Chief yahoo symbol from their corporate image and persona, gloating author is ready to take on the sitting President. As reader will recall in the October 2017 blog " Just another opinion" author called for the Cleveland Indian baseball team to end the Wahoo image and, and  they the corporate powers that be in Cleveland did so formally this week. Gloat on- myself.

Please Mr. President don't even, even in jest, or with tongue in cheek suggest that yourself deserves to be immortalized by having your face in gigantic stone carving on the face of Mount Rushmore. Comparing yourself to Abe Lincoln. PS- Don't forget what happened to Beatle John Lennon when while riding the crest of Popularity he compared himself to Jesus.

Author won't lecture Mr President that Mount Rushmore as it is offensive to many native American groups for a variety of historic and ethical reasons.

Author merely points out that that one, anyone, no matter how rich and powerful should fear blind fate's fury.

Accusation fly out of control in America right now. So much fury over accusations of sexual harassment and misconduct. Not to mention thousands of journalists looking to make a few kudos for themselves out of slinging a little mud over Rich folk's previous financial shenanigans.

Lay low Mr. President. Bathe in the glow of your recent spectacular accomplishments but keep yourself humble. Remember as the sage sayeth- a wise man walks with his head bowed.

Thursday, February 1, 2018

fear and trembling

fear and trembling


fiction
edward w pritchard

When I was starting out in life as an adult in my later teenage years the good lord gave me a unique skill that I did nothing to earn or develop which suited me well in my economic battle with an indifferent world. I came to find out that the world didn't owe me a living or an existence. More to the
point I came to learn that all the Christian values that I assumed my fellow citizens lived by were for Sunday only if at all an no one put the interest of others above the own excepting a few, often Catholic women.

My unique served talent me well for a half dozen or more years when I was starting out. Although I was working nearly full time and in college I supplemented my income with playing Poker several nights per week. It worked out quite well economically but in the long run might have kept me from appreciating the need to develop a real mature type adult style job skills and career.

Hence I found myself in my elderly years facing a hostile economic world as a lower income type with the appropriate poor person mentality of facing a hostile world with fear and trembling.

Despite myself in my situation I find myself often relying on the kindness of strangers.

Thank you Lord for providing those strangers.


note author takes fear and trembling from Kierkegaard and kindness of strangers from Tennessee Williams

Monday, January 29, 2018

so much to say

so much to say

fiction
edward w pritchard


There's so much to say about Napoleon Bonaparte spending the last half dozen years of his life there on the tiny obscure island of St Helena. Napoleon lived in a crumbling damp old house until his death in 1821 at age 52 probably from stomach cancer. So much to say but no substantial information comes forward from History to satisfy how the great Man Napoleon endured the last insignificant half dozen years of his life.

Napoleon was very lucky in his rise to power in France from bullied boy who misused words in his second language French to Great and successful military genius who crammed the museums of France with stolen art treasures from all over Europe. A cultured man Napoleon liked the good things in life. Winning battle after battle Napoleon spent his life as a soldier and leader of Men.

Napoleon's great victory over Russia at Moscow escaped him as Alexander 1 of Russia refused to discuss surrender terms. Tired of waiting in Moscow as Russian winter approached Napoleon and armies started off home to France only to be decimated by Fate in the hands of bad weather, Cossack's harassment and the desinigration of the grand army.

Only at St Helena was the charmed career of Napoleon really over. Napoleon died a man  but lived as a god small g. Like Alexander the Great of Macedonia before him and Hitler after him he didn't know when to stop.

the Indian rope trick

the Indian rope trick

fiction
edward w pritchard

Jesus didn't attract much attention performing the Indian rope trick over and over in old India around
the turn of the last century.

First Jesus would gather an audience in a busy marketplace with a few parables drawn from everyday life or a few proverbs. Next Jesus would stand the rope on end, being careful never to let anyone handle the rope. Then just like that Jesus would climb the rope disappearing above. Immediately an assistant would jump on stage and throw a handful of coins into the audience actually a small percentage of the gate charge was being returned to distract the attention of the audience.

Witnesses later swore under oath that Jesus had disappeared into the sky. Skeptics later claimed that the rope was actually a bamboo rod, or was secretly supported by wires. For publicity the magicians society offered a three hundred pound reward to anyone who could duplicate the trick but no one came forward to perform under controlled conditions.

Indian street performers later when questioned about the secret of the trick merely smiled refusing to speak on the record. 

Friday, January 19, 2018

girl at a half door

girl at a half door

fiction
edward w pritchard


In a garden
at a window
a girl at a half door
handed me an apple
deliciously lusious
part pear, part apple, part peach
to be savored over and over
later in a dream
it came out she wasn't an original Rembrandt
merely attributed to the studio of the artist's assistants
succulent never the less, the girl never changes
while myself like Rembrandt in self portrait
grew older and older
blemished of skin, wrinkled off face
struggling to maintain a little dignity in the old sad eyes
among-st allegations of fraud
so, so long ago that garden of my dreams

His name was Genet

His name was Genet

fiction
edward w pritchard

His name was Genet aand I met him at the abandoned trailer park in Tuscon, Arizona. He told me he was searching for the City of God. Before I was a wounded veteran I went to two years of college so I took it upon myself to explain to him the difference between the City Of God and the City of Man of St Augustine and in jest added that I was sure he wouldn't find the City of God anywhere in America.

Genet was grateful that I gave him half a pack of cigarettes so he took it upon himself to explain a few things to me. He said that the City of God was a metaphorical place, geographic but not visible in Time. Just as likely to be somewhere in Arizona as in say ancient Rome or Israel or somewhere like that. For his last piece of advice Genet told me I should go to the VA hospital as it was free and it was hard on a man to live like we do as vagrants.

Sometimes when I am alone, sleeping in the cold I wonder if Genet ever found what he was searching for.

an insidious knock in the night

an insidious knock in the night

fiction
edward w pritchard

It comes like as insidious knock in the night, like a bump of a mouse creeping into the kitchen of a grand mansion. 

Judgment has come to town. A very fat man riding into the territory on a small white burro. Beginning to spread money for information. Building a network of vengeance and innuendo of things that shouldn't be said. The fat man knows it is time to leave when those who squealed begin to turn on each other. He knows when the good men of business begin to fall he must quickly ride his burro far away to another place.

Money, money money for information, for secrets. God knows anyway, speak your duty.

And the victims. Turn the other cheek, forgive your enemies. Always with Love, always faith, charity, hope.

Then the secret archives of summary judgment are passed into the future. Pious Monks in silent Irish monasteries on rocky cliffs along the frozen crashing ocean waves preparing ornate scrolls beginning with one gargantuan flowery letter of the alphabet proclaiming the distant past for tomorrow until invading Viking armies burn and plunder and grant one heart felt request of the oldest broken Monk begging to spare the worthless scrolls. Mercifully the invading raiders light their fires with something else. 

Then it's all passe. A new idea comes like an insidious knock in the night, like a bump of a mouse creeping into the kitchen of a grand mansion.

Tuesday, January 16, 2018

pay day never comes

pay day never comes

fiction
edward w pritchard

Why is there no surgery to implant the gene that enables one to save money every pay day for their entire life into our breast so we would always have a positive net worth and lots of security?

Tomorrow is payday and already most of the money is owed out for bills and obligations. It's getting so we can hardly keep up with our bad habits anymore.

Sometimes our security is the ability to face another day with a smile. Pay day never comes. That big bonanza we are always waiting for is so elusive.

No matter. True, hope is not an investment strategy but it keeps the old heart pumping for another month. Until the next social security check comes in the mail.