ghost in my bedroom/ part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
Someone told me recently that because of all the visual images of women bombarding the male eye, men have become fixated on visual stimulation. While not new, ask great grandpa, this is not entirely correct. Men are fixated of all things of the five senses when it comes to a beautiful women.
Recently, my house was invaded by hundreds of thousands of ladybugs. The stout oak doors and brass locks repelled the invaders. None were able to enter my abode. While in my bedroom, one ladybug flew at my face, she must have come in the window somehow. A strong fragrant feminine scent filled the small closed room. The flying ladybug transformed into a woman in a red dress playing a violin in the small bedroom. Her heels beat and thumped against the weathered varnished teak floor as she swayed and danced about playing racing Hungarian gypsy melodies. The bedroom heated with the tempo of her movements and my interest and delight at her performance. Soft then loud thundered the darting violin music. I surveyed the dark haired brown eyed woman as she tauntingly danced about in my bedroom. Gently she brushed against me as I sat on my bed watching, listening and feeling the vibrations of the crescendo of her interpretation of the charging Hungarian gypsy tunes. Laying the violin across my lap the woman continued to dance and ungulate in silence, methodically, side to side and tip to bottom.
A man's five senses are intimately aware of a beautiful woman if she is close at hand.
Monday, November 4, 2013
Dealing with your true loves hate and loathing for you/ draft 1
Dealing with your true loves hate and loathing for you
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Dealing with your true loves hate and loathing for you requires new skills, new philosophies, and adroit sensibilities.
Start with the sophisticated French philosophers, they were experienced in such matters. One can only imagine the peculiarities those guys rolled about in when it came to relations of the heart. La Rouchefoucauld says " if a heart can no longer love it must hate, passionately". I am like you no novice to amour, but I have only loved once, have only one beloved.
Faced with the hatred and loathing for myself from my beloved I become again fledgling in love's sport. I found myself guilty of crimes against my beloved and having suffered greatly for seven years and being properly remorseful, now with time moved forward, have forgiven myself. Seeking no material gain, or forgiveness from another at this time, now I only wish to understand the path of love turned to hate and loathing.
Initially love commenced as sexual infatuation, subconscious urges to create life. In time excess passion ruled my thoughts toward her. Daily my furor for her grew as I neglected my duties, lost my good name, and became dependent on her for praise and sustenance. Naturally she began to resent this.
Sensing dissatisfaction of myself from my Love every disagreement becomes crisis, every difference of opinion becomes philosophical schism. From this tempest my mind became consumed with restlessness and worry. The end result of the turmoil was a demolition of the peace and calm of our household.
Eventually the top blows off the house and a dissolution of affection occurs.
Years pass. Through study and reflection the mind becomes purged of worry and the heart becomes weak but serene. Relative happiness is achieved.
Mortal life is short and filled with sadness. To send hate and loathing to the one you still secretly Love and admire is not conducive to happiness and joy. Forgive them, forgive yourself your shortcomings. Far out in the lonely woods listen to the gentle winds and hear your love's soft voice anew. Sunrise, sunset, enjoy sweet memories past of her as they float uncalled across your mind. In the patterns of the stars see her forgotten movements and in the motion of the planets detect her coy smile.
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Sunday, November 3, 2013
what color uniform does your love one wear/ part 2
what color uniform does you love one wear/ part 2
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Feminism I support. A woman President, woman in the military providing they don't get hurt and equal education and rights and opportunities for women of all ages.
For you though dear there is one thing, just for you mind you. The cigarette girl. I mentioned it once. The cigarette girl with the half sailor's white uniform with a pink sash looped across your bare shoulders attached to the flat red velvet covered tray pushed against your curving waist supporting a bottle of napoleon brandy with two heated crystal brandy sifters and scattered cigarettes, cigars and the exotic thin sliced fruits on the tray. Walk slow when you enter the smoky room, take your time, I have been waiting a long time. Just for you, mind you.
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Feminism I support. A woman President, woman in the military providing they don't get hurt and equal education and rights and opportunities for women of all ages.
For you though dear there is one thing, just for you mind you. The cigarette girl. I mentioned it once. The cigarette girl with the half sailor's white uniform with a pink sash looped across your bare shoulders attached to the flat red velvet covered tray pushed against your curving waist supporting a bottle of napoleon brandy with two heated crystal brandy sifters and scattered cigarettes, cigars and the exotic thin sliced fruits on the tray. Walk slow when you enter the smoky room, take your time, I have been waiting a long time. Just for you, mind you.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
What color uniform does your loved one wear in prison
What color uniform does your loved one wear in prison
fiction
edward w Pritchard
What color uniform does your loved one wear in prison. Should the national government regulate the colors of the clothes American citizens wear in prison? Federalism or states rights when it comes to how to dress the 2.2 Americans that are serving in prison?
Some prisoners in the toughest prisons in America can wear blue jeans and tee shirts, Other inmates at more humane institutions wear gray or orange uniforms. No national regulations exist in this matter of what color uniform does your loved one wear in prison. Other issues related to prison rights sometimes are overlooked in some prisons, some States, and for some prisoners.
States rights or Federalism? How should America regulate and govern its citizens who are in prison?
fiction
edward w Pritchard
What color uniform does your loved one wear in prison. Should the national government regulate the colors of the clothes American citizens wear in prison? Federalism or states rights when it comes to how to dress the 2.2 Americans that are serving in prison?
Some prisoners in the toughest prisons in America can wear blue jeans and tee shirts, Other inmates at more humane institutions wear gray or orange uniforms. No national regulations exist in this matter of what color uniform does your loved one wear in prison. Other issues related to prison rights sometimes are overlooked in some prisons, some States, and for some prisoners.
States rights or Federalism? How should America regulate and govern its citizens who are in prison?
new clothes and a new place to stay for a while
new clothes and a new place to stay for a while
fiction
edward w Pritchard
You get new clothes and a new place to stay for a while. Three years in Angola prison gets you new blue jeans, blue chambray shirts and two white tee shirts one size fits all, and a 10 by 10 cell, shared. You don't have to do much to get in. Poor, or colored walking somewhere when deputy had a bad day.
Routine, routine always every day the same. Don't fight though. No cocaine either. Singing is permitted when in cell or off duty. This music hasn't been changed by society, the tune is the same since slave days. Don't expect quiet, even at night. Boy, this is hell.
Sometimes it rains for three days straight, that interrupts routine. Count the days, don't write on walls. You have to eat boy. Just don't sit or stand there. That's the Mississippi river, old man river, on all three sides. Some people want to know why I sing the blues.
Keep moving during yard time. Don't stand there. Where you from? No from east or west yard? Bring me a cigarette next time. What you in for boy?
You can't work at no newspaper or radio station boy. You are SSE. That's special education. You get your GRE and you understand better why this is Hell. It's always been like this. You get to work at farm, a field hand.
It's better than it use to be. Have you heard about rodeo? Louisiana is a beautiful State. Some people want to know why I sing the blues.
fiction
edward w Pritchard
You get new clothes and a new place to stay for a while. Three years in Angola prison gets you new blue jeans, blue chambray shirts and two white tee shirts one size fits all, and a 10 by 10 cell, shared. You don't have to do much to get in. Poor, or colored walking somewhere when deputy had a bad day.
Routine, routine always every day the same. Don't fight though. No cocaine either. Singing is permitted when in cell or off duty. This music hasn't been changed by society, the tune is the same since slave days. Don't expect quiet, even at night. Boy, this is hell.
Sometimes it rains for three days straight, that interrupts routine. Count the days, don't write on walls. You have to eat boy. Just don't sit or stand there. That's the Mississippi river, old man river, on all three sides. Some people want to know why I sing the blues.
Keep moving during yard time. Don't stand there. Where you from? No from east or west yard? Bring me a cigarette next time. What you in for boy?
You can't work at no newspaper or radio station boy. You are SSE. That's special education. You get your GRE and you understand better why this is Hell. It's always been like this. You get to work at farm, a field hand.
It's better than it use to be. Have you heard about rodeo? Louisiana is a beautiful State. Some people want to know why I sing the blues.
a warm place to rest/ part 1 and 2
a warm place to rest/ part 1 and 2
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Three years in a row cousin Charles tried coaxing and cajoling Great Uncle Thomas to talk about the Indians wars or at least the American civil war. This year Charles, now seventeen, tried a different approach. " Uncle Thomas, ask Charles, what did the original native American Indians do to keep warm in Winter when they lived on the plains?" Uncle Thomas nearly a hundred first ask me, his favorite, to bring him some of my Mother's rhubarb pie before he started his story.
end part 1
part 2
People today think that the most complicated things are better, naturally better these days, began Great Uncle Thomas. Today, here in 1924 we think our houses, modern houses, are the end all in technology and construction technique. Not true, hundreds of years ago Americans Indians using a minimum of technology and expense of man hours designed a warm place to rest that works better than anything we use today. An Indian family was safe and warm in their home and if need arose their home could be quickly moved from place to place.
I was a young soldier in Kansas territory back 1852. Wounded would I be, for three months I was cared for in an Indian village in a tepee. From the Alaskan frontiers to Texas Indian tribes used mobile tepees to keep warm and snug in temperatures from ten below zero to 100 degrees. The secret technology was a hole in the roof of the tepee structure that allowed air and smoke to escape. A smoke hole permitted a modest fire to be used in the tepee structure at all times to facilitate comfort and warmth. A smoke hole at the top of the tent allowed heated smoke which naturally drifts upward to escape. Two ear flaps on each side of the smoke hole allowed more control of smoke and heat using the wind. If it was desired to close the smoke hole ear flaps pulled across the top of the tepee accomplished that need. The ear flaps were controlled by two long poles.
In freezing winter dirt and earth were piled partially up the sides of the tepee to keep out drafts, sometimes snow was used for additional insulation. The sides of the tepee were covered with a large number of animal skins carefully prepared for that purpose. Hunters spent many days and months finding and securing skins. Squaws spent many days and weeks preparing and curing skins. Ventilation was maintained by an entrance flap, used as a door and the smoke hole and ear flaps. Day in and day out one of the women or young boys maintained a controlled fire. Inside of a tepee on the coldest night is a warm place to rest. Families were comfortable in their snug tent no matter the weather as they prepared and ate their meals and went about family life and duties.
One Indian told me, continued Uncle Thomas that original tepees were no more than 15 feet high because the wood poles used to construct and support tepees were difficult for men or dogs to drag from place to place. However, with the horse, obtained from the Spaniards poles could be up to 30 feet high. At its base a tepee could then be up to 30 feet in diameter allowing plenty of floor space for cooking, eating and family comforts throughout the long winter months.
I lay in such a tepee with a wound here to my side. Great Uncle Thomas carefully lifted his shirt and showed us all sitting in the large living room here at our house on this Thanksgiving his ancient wound. It was from a bullet and was a dark purple smear down and across his left rib cage. That village where I recuperated in, Thomas continued, had 267 of the large style tepee and 48 of the smaller 12 pole variety. When the soldiers came to rescue me the boys burned every tepee to the ground after most of the Indians fled. Many Indians of the village where I had recuperated were wounded or killed in the battle to rescue me and revenge attacks on America soldiers. I was sad and sorrowful to see those tepees burn concluded Great Uncle Thomas. " A tepee in an Indian village was a warm place to rest. Family life for those three months I lived in a tepee was most enjoyable to me. "
After the story of the tepees was finished our family here in Michigan was hushed. After a few minutes of near silence I went to the kitchen and brought my Great Uncle Thomas another large piece of rhubarb pie with whipped cream. Uncle Thomas stroked my blond hair with his withered hand and said I was a pretty girl, pretty like my Mother. By next thanksgiving Great Uncle Thomas had passed on.
end
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Three years in a row cousin Charles tried coaxing and cajoling Great Uncle Thomas to talk about the Indians wars or at least the American civil war. This year Charles, now seventeen, tried a different approach. " Uncle Thomas, ask Charles, what did the original native American Indians do to keep warm in Winter when they lived on the plains?" Uncle Thomas nearly a hundred first ask me, his favorite, to bring him some of my Mother's rhubarb pie before he started his story.
end part 1
part 2
People today think that the most complicated things are better, naturally better these days, began Great Uncle Thomas. Today, here in 1924 we think our houses, modern houses, are the end all in technology and construction technique. Not true, hundreds of years ago Americans Indians using a minimum of technology and expense of man hours designed a warm place to rest that works better than anything we use today. An Indian family was safe and warm in their home and if need arose their home could be quickly moved from place to place.
I was a young soldier in Kansas territory back 1852. Wounded would I be, for three months I was cared for in an Indian village in a tepee. From the Alaskan frontiers to Texas Indian tribes used mobile tepees to keep warm and snug in temperatures from ten below zero to 100 degrees. The secret technology was a hole in the roof of the tepee structure that allowed air and smoke to escape. A smoke hole permitted a modest fire to be used in the tepee structure at all times to facilitate comfort and warmth. A smoke hole at the top of the tent allowed heated smoke which naturally drifts upward to escape. Two ear flaps on each side of the smoke hole allowed more control of smoke and heat using the wind. If it was desired to close the smoke hole ear flaps pulled across the top of the tepee accomplished that need. The ear flaps were controlled by two long poles.
In freezing winter dirt and earth were piled partially up the sides of the tepee to keep out drafts, sometimes snow was used for additional insulation. The sides of the tepee were covered with a large number of animal skins carefully prepared for that purpose. Hunters spent many days and months finding and securing skins. Squaws spent many days and weeks preparing and curing skins. Ventilation was maintained by an entrance flap, used as a door and the smoke hole and ear flaps. Day in and day out one of the women or young boys maintained a controlled fire. Inside of a tepee on the coldest night is a warm place to rest. Families were comfortable in their snug tent no matter the weather as they prepared and ate their meals and went about family life and duties.
One Indian told me, continued Uncle Thomas that original tepees were no more than 15 feet high because the wood poles used to construct and support tepees were difficult for men or dogs to drag from place to place. However, with the horse, obtained from the Spaniards poles could be up to 30 feet high. At its base a tepee could then be up to 30 feet in diameter allowing plenty of floor space for cooking, eating and family comforts throughout the long winter months.
I lay in such a tepee with a wound here to my side. Great Uncle Thomas carefully lifted his shirt and showed us all sitting in the large living room here at our house on this Thanksgiving his ancient wound. It was from a bullet and was a dark purple smear down and across his left rib cage. That village where I recuperated in, Thomas continued, had 267 of the large style tepee and 48 of the smaller 12 pole variety. When the soldiers came to rescue me the boys burned every tepee to the ground after most of the Indians fled. Many Indians of the village where I had recuperated were wounded or killed in the battle to rescue me and revenge attacks on America soldiers. I was sad and sorrowful to see those tepees burn concluded Great Uncle Thomas. " A tepee in an Indian village was a warm place to rest. Family life for those three months I lived in a tepee was most enjoyable to me. "
After the story of the tepees was finished our family here in Michigan was hushed. After a few minutes of near silence I went to the kitchen and brought my Great Uncle Thomas another large piece of rhubarb pie with whipped cream. Uncle Thomas stroked my blond hair with his withered hand and said I was a pretty girl, pretty like my Mother. By next thanksgiving Great Uncle Thomas had passed on.
end
Friday, November 1, 2013
suburban cowboy;alone on a Saturday night/ part 3
suburban cowboy; alone on a Saturday night/ part 3
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Where is it worse for a cowboy to be alone on a Saturday night? The old bunk house or far out on the open range under the stars watching the cattle doze?
In the wobbly shared bunk house it's warm and there is a card game and a few of the boys will fight over communal things involving a woman that happened two years ago down Santa Fe. Out on the expansive ranges it's cool and the fire crackles and there's hard coffee and lazy harmonica music, Clementine or if near a town Camptown Ladies. Someone always spiritedly sings, someone with a grizzled sad face who was in a church choir a long forgiven time ago.
Sometimes you sit all night cramped upright in saddle on your slumping horse passing guard duty or watching stock. A cowboy is always lonesome especially on forgotten Saturday nights and remembers runs of poetry or a woman's voice. Briars and brambles stick at a solitary cowboy and jump from boots to shoulders.
A done in cowboy sleeps a few hours and then listens to crickets and coyotes. His mind is not still. His bedroll is warm but the ground is hard. Each time a cowboy climbs in or out of the bedroll he shakes it out expecting scorpions and rattlesnakes. Small flying insects drop into dusty eyes. At five am another vanished night's ordeal is over. Dawn is preceded by a cold wistful wind then subdued reds fill the lower sky. The last cramped ten minutes sitting upright before rising is devoted to remembering the girl from Los Cruces. Then breakfast always tack biscuits. If at the bunk house, house breakfast is store meat and crisp fried Navaho bread. Either way, thick coffee is brewed with a bent nail in it.
Rainy weather is common in certain months and rain comes early in the morning. The sound of the rain on the prairie is pounding noise rattling everywhere. But first rains patter, as it thumps the dry desolate sod.
If there's no rain and the night is clear the cowboy watches a million stars and vows to learn the names of a few. The panoply of the night sky rotates the sleeping cowboy from place to place across the West.
A cowboy is a romantic. He sees life as he wishes it could be, not as it is, hard and gritty and alone . A cowboy totes a dilapidated bedroll as he moves about from place to place and his bankroll was spent last Winter when honest work was scarce. Country roads are familiar no matter the State, but always seem to slope uphill now days.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Where is it worse for a cowboy to be alone on a Saturday night? The old bunk house or far out on the open range under the stars watching the cattle doze?
In the wobbly shared bunk house it's warm and there is a card game and a few of the boys will fight over communal things involving a woman that happened two years ago down Santa Fe. Out on the expansive ranges it's cool and the fire crackles and there's hard coffee and lazy harmonica music, Clementine or if near a town Camptown Ladies. Someone always spiritedly sings, someone with a grizzled sad face who was in a church choir a long forgiven time ago.
Sometimes you sit all night cramped upright in saddle on your slumping horse passing guard duty or watching stock. A cowboy is always lonesome especially on forgotten Saturday nights and remembers runs of poetry or a woman's voice. Briars and brambles stick at a solitary cowboy and jump from boots to shoulders.
A done in cowboy sleeps a few hours and then listens to crickets and coyotes. His mind is not still. His bedroll is warm but the ground is hard. Each time a cowboy climbs in or out of the bedroll he shakes it out expecting scorpions and rattlesnakes. Small flying insects drop into dusty eyes. At five am another vanished night's ordeal is over. Dawn is preceded by a cold wistful wind then subdued reds fill the lower sky. The last cramped ten minutes sitting upright before rising is devoted to remembering the girl from Los Cruces. Then breakfast always tack biscuits. If at the bunk house, house breakfast is store meat and crisp fried Navaho bread. Either way, thick coffee is brewed with a bent nail in it.
Rainy weather is common in certain months and rain comes early in the morning. The sound of the rain on the prairie is pounding noise rattling everywhere. But first rains patter, as it thumps the dry desolate sod.
If there's no rain and the night is clear the cowboy watches a million stars and vows to learn the names of a few. The panoply of the night sky rotates the sleeping cowboy from place to place across the West.
A cowboy is a romantic. He sees life as he wishes it could be, not as it is, hard and gritty and alone . A cowboy totes a dilapidated bedroll as he moves about from place to place and his bankroll was spent last Winter when honest work was scarce. Country roads are familiar no matter the State, but always seem to slope uphill now days.
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