Halloween story
fiction
edward w pritchard
Workers in East Liverpool, Ohio digging a new gas line 200 feet North of the Ohio river have found evidence in a tell, of a lower level ancient civilization on the site of current East Liverpool. The layering of civilizations in mounds, called tells in Arabic, is not unusual. As one civilization passes the next often build on the same site, merely raising the street level so to speak. It's a common occurrence well know to archeologists.
What makes the East Liverpool discovery intriguing, and a little spooky to archeologists from Ohio State University, at Columbus, Ohio is that the lower city remains are not a previous East Liverpool. Nor were they Native American remains. The tell is confirmed as the remains of an early civilization of Ur formerly conclusively known to be in the Middle East, existing in about 2800BC, in ancient Sumeria. How did a layer of the ancient city of Ur end up in Ohio? Archeologists best guess, at least according to underclassmen archeology students from Ohio State is it must have something to do with the Ohio River and civilizations developing on the land between the Rivers.
More later on this as available
end
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
preview- it's 2012 already-part 5
preview- it's 2012 already
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's hard for me to criticize the State of Tennessee or more specifically the City of Nashville. Both have been exemplary in remaining hospitable to the influx of refugees from Northern States, mine of Ohio included. In the catastrophe to civil order following the bad air plaguing Northern States to date, and slowly drifting South across America; Tennessee is being kind and welcoming to us refugees.
Several States, Texas and Arizona leading the charge, have sealed their borders. More moderate States will let in their fellow Americans, providing they do not have health insurance, mandating coverage in their State under Federal law. Those States fear the collapse of economic union.
I took Laura to the airport in Nashville. After she safely was on a plane to Chile and her new life I witnessed what is probably the new normal for Southern cities. I shudder to contemplate what we have become.
A desperate man at the airport refused to be convinced that his airline frequent flying credits, painstakingly acquired over a dozen years, had become worthless in the last month. As he became violent, I watched part of an incident of him being initiated to the newest generation of DNA tasers. The technology usually reserved for our foreign enemies, often called terrorists, by our military is painful and long remembered. The invasive orally delivered technology is apparently now in use in US cities because of the threat of civil disobedience caused by the new normal of the bad air epidemic and the movement of peoples South it has usher in. I was unable to watch longer as he was overpowered by five security persons and the tentacled device was rolled toward him down the sloping airport concourse.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's hard for me to criticize the State of Tennessee or more specifically the City of Nashville. Both have been exemplary in remaining hospitable to the influx of refugees from Northern States, mine of Ohio included. In the catastrophe to civil order following the bad air plaguing Northern States to date, and slowly drifting South across America; Tennessee is being kind and welcoming to us refugees.
Several States, Texas and Arizona leading the charge, have sealed their borders. More moderate States will let in their fellow Americans, providing they do not have health insurance, mandating coverage in their State under Federal law. Those States fear the collapse of economic union.
I took Laura to the airport in Nashville. After she safely was on a plane to Chile and her new life I witnessed what is probably the new normal for Southern cities. I shudder to contemplate what we have become.
A desperate man at the airport refused to be convinced that his airline frequent flying credits, painstakingly acquired over a dozen years, had become worthless in the last month. As he became violent, I watched part of an incident of him being initiated to the newest generation of DNA tasers. The technology usually reserved for our foreign enemies, often called terrorists, by our military is painful and long remembered. The invasive orally delivered technology is apparently now in use in US cities because of the threat of civil disobedience caused by the new normal of the bad air epidemic and the movement of peoples South it has usher in. I was unable to watch longer as he was overpowered by five security persons and the tentacled device was rolled toward him down the sloping airport concourse.
end
Monday, October 25, 2010
Taylor Swift and Jane Asher -did a woman write the Beatles songs
Taylor Swift and Jane Asher -did a woman write the Beatles songs
fiction
edward w pritchard
this is a parody, a work of fiction, with no claim to truth, historical accuracy or integrity by the authors
Did Jane Asher write the Beatle's songs. As a woman was she unable to take the credit for the master works and may she have allowed the duo of Lennon and McCartney to bathe in the limelight of her genius. From 1963 to 1968 Jane Asher was romantically involved with Paul McCartney and several of the masterpieces he is credited with writing, through the typical Lennon McCartney arrangement, were wrote in the music room of her family house. It's just a short jump from that piece of information to assume inaccurately that Jane Asher wrote the bulk of the Beatles masterpieces between 1963 and 1969.
John Lennon lived with his Aunt in middle class circumstances in Liverpool. McCartney's father was a talented amateur musician. Neither Lennon or McCartney attended University and neither seem to have the background to write the music usually credited to them.
Asher's parents were a physician, and her Mother a music teacher. Both are members of the British aristocracy and passed their blue blood on to their daughter Jane. True they also passed it on to their son Peter Asher of Peter and Gordon sometimes erroneously credited with writing the Beatles songs. McCartney often gave cast off songs to Peter Asher which became hits worldwide for Peter and Gordon. Why?
Jane Asher is traditionally credited with being a Muse to McCartney and she is credited with inspiring many of the songs McCartney wrote and then magnanimously shared the credit with John Lennon.
It's probably false and foolish to assume the Beatle's didn't write their songs. Especially since many credible witnesses say they did.
If two lads from modest backgrounds in Liverpool in the 1960's without University education or British blue blood did in fact write their masterpieces; is it too much of a stretch to assume Shakespeare wrote his own plays, instead of Marlowe, or to assume that Chaucer really wrote the Canterbury tales.
Taylor Swift, a contemporary American songwriter blatantly writes songs about her lovers and ex lovers. A more traditional and demur Jane Asher didn't. Score up another one for British sensibilities. Jane Asher bakes cakes and shares with the world how to do so. Taylor Swift is the Savoy truffle de jour.
stay tuned for more such nonsense- Is Taylor Swift influenced by Jonathon Swift?
fiction
edward w pritchard
this is a parody, a work of fiction, with no claim to truth, historical accuracy or integrity by the authors
Did Jane Asher write the Beatle's songs. As a woman was she unable to take the credit for the master works and may she have allowed the duo of Lennon and McCartney to bathe in the limelight of her genius. From 1963 to 1968 Jane Asher was romantically involved with Paul McCartney and several of the masterpieces he is credited with writing, through the typical Lennon McCartney arrangement, were wrote in the music room of her family house. It's just a short jump from that piece of information to assume inaccurately that Jane Asher wrote the bulk of the Beatles masterpieces between 1963 and 1969.
John Lennon lived with his Aunt in middle class circumstances in Liverpool. McCartney's father was a talented amateur musician. Neither Lennon or McCartney attended University and neither seem to have the background to write the music usually credited to them.
Asher's parents were a physician, and her Mother a music teacher. Both are members of the British aristocracy and passed their blue blood on to their daughter Jane. True they also passed it on to their son Peter Asher of Peter and Gordon sometimes erroneously credited with writing the Beatles songs. McCartney often gave cast off songs to Peter Asher which became hits worldwide for Peter and Gordon. Why?
Jane Asher is traditionally credited with being a Muse to McCartney and she is credited with inspiring many of the songs McCartney wrote and then magnanimously shared the credit with John Lennon.
It's probably false and foolish to assume the Beatle's didn't write their songs. Especially since many credible witnesses say they did.
If two lads from modest backgrounds in Liverpool in the 1960's without University education or British blue blood did in fact write their masterpieces; is it too much of a stretch to assume Shakespeare wrote his own plays, instead of Marlowe, or to assume that Chaucer really wrote the Canterbury tales.
Taylor Swift, a contemporary American songwriter blatantly writes songs about her lovers and ex lovers. A more traditional and demur Jane Asher didn't. Score up another one for British sensibilities. Jane Asher bakes cakes and shares with the world how to do so. Taylor Swift is the Savoy truffle de jour.
stay tuned for more such nonsense- Is Taylor Swift influenced by Jonathon Swift?
another picture of dorella gray
another picture of dorella gray
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dad kept the house after the divorce with Mom and Mom's picture from their 25th anniversary always hung in the dinning room, even after the divorce, when I took the grand-kids over to see Dad on holidays. It's a good picture of Mom as a 45 year old woman and she looks distinguished and attractive in the picture.
Dad has been upsetting me by changing Mom's picture each year since that first Thanksgiving after the divorce. It's been fifteen years now and Mom is down to age thirty now in the picture of her that hangs in the old dinning room where we grew up. What's my Dad trying to say here?
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dad kept the house after the divorce with Mom and Mom's picture from their 25th anniversary always hung in the dinning room, even after the divorce, when I took the grand-kids over to see Dad on holidays. It's a good picture of Mom as a 45 year old woman and she looks distinguished and attractive in the picture.
Dad has been upsetting me by changing Mom's picture each year since that first Thanksgiving after the divorce. It's been fifteen years now and Mom is down to age thirty now in the picture of her that hangs in the old dinning room where we grew up. What's my Dad trying to say here?
end
Sunday, October 24, 2010
it's 2012 already-part 4
it's 2012 already-part 4
fiction
edward w pritchard
Normalcy establishes itself even in a mass movement of people trying to escape bad air. I have forgotten everything I ever cared about and I am instinctively driven to survive. Me, a bit of a philosopher anymore, have decided that I am driven by an ancient drive to keep alive the species that I am a small part. I have established a routine to deal with the bad air that drifts north to south at seven miles per hour twenty four hours per day.
No mechanized vehicles can survive the bad air which is viscous and clings to the throat and lungs and is coughed up by humans as blackish blue flem or urinated out as sharp crystal slivers in painful daily ordeals. Machines, and horses can not survive, only humans survive and in particular those of us with an immense capacity for suffering.
It's been about three weeks here in 2012 since the bad air started and most of those who planned for Armageddon based on astrological Mayan Calendars and those type of things died in the first few days. About one in ten people, at least that's the mortality where I am now about here in lower Kentucky and heading South, have experienced. The air will get us all eventually but I don't think about that, I just walk, stumble forward until I collapse. If I didn't have to eat and throw up the foul concoction that now is food, or drink and fight not to scream as I urinate it wouldn't be so bad.
A complication. A little girl of about eight is traveling alone. Those she cares about or started with are gone. She was staring intently into the fire I was sitting by and I started to get paternal or something with her because someone had stolen her glasses. Glasses aren't valuable because what's to see anymore. The landscape is nightmarish. I'll describe that later, I just ate.
The girl is thin, probably losing weight,like everyone else and studying her as she sat by the fire bravely staring forward my heart went out to her plight.Other than her thinning hair she looks like a normal, intelligent, curious little girl. Not afraid, just marching like the rest of us. I gave her some food and water and an asthma inhaler and a small Indian blanket that I have for warmth at night and we have been walking together.
I guess I have a wild look about me but she doesn't seem to mind. Most people have took to avoiding strangers and I guess I have become pretty strange and savage looking.
I got the little girl, who I call Laura, not her real name, her glasses back. I offered publicly to trade one of the twenty asthma inhalers I carry for a pair of child's glasses, if they had purple frames, after she told me her glasses were purple.
The next night at the fire a man approached and I took him aside and after I saw and confirmed the glasses were Laura's I took the glasses and beat the man to death with a tree branch. Morality has changed here in post 2012 and I am no longer a man of peace but now live by an eye for an eye.
Laura was happy to get the glasses back and my reputation for sudden violence continues to grow, which will help both Laura and I to travel without harm.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Normalcy establishes itself even in a mass movement of people trying to escape bad air. I have forgotten everything I ever cared about and I am instinctively driven to survive. Me, a bit of a philosopher anymore, have decided that I am driven by an ancient drive to keep alive the species that I am a small part. I have established a routine to deal with the bad air that drifts north to south at seven miles per hour twenty four hours per day.
No mechanized vehicles can survive the bad air which is viscous and clings to the throat and lungs and is coughed up by humans as blackish blue flem or urinated out as sharp crystal slivers in painful daily ordeals. Machines, and horses can not survive, only humans survive and in particular those of us with an immense capacity for suffering.
It's been about three weeks here in 2012 since the bad air started and most of those who planned for Armageddon based on astrological Mayan Calendars and those type of things died in the first few days. About one in ten people, at least that's the mortality where I am now about here in lower Kentucky and heading South, have experienced. The air will get us all eventually but I don't think about that, I just walk, stumble forward until I collapse. If I didn't have to eat and throw up the foul concoction that now is food, or drink and fight not to scream as I urinate it wouldn't be so bad.
A complication. A little girl of about eight is traveling alone. Those she cares about or started with are gone. She was staring intently into the fire I was sitting by and I started to get paternal or something with her because someone had stolen her glasses. Glasses aren't valuable because what's to see anymore. The landscape is nightmarish. I'll describe that later, I just ate.
The girl is thin, probably losing weight,like everyone else and studying her as she sat by the fire bravely staring forward my heart went out to her plight.Other than her thinning hair she looks like a normal, intelligent, curious little girl. Not afraid, just marching like the rest of us. I gave her some food and water and an asthma inhaler and a small Indian blanket that I have for warmth at night and we have been walking together.
I guess I have a wild look about me but she doesn't seem to mind. Most people have took to avoiding strangers and I guess I have become pretty strange and savage looking.
I got the little girl, who I call Laura, not her real name, her glasses back. I offered publicly to trade one of the twenty asthma inhalers I carry for a pair of child's glasses, if they had purple frames, after she told me her glasses were purple.
The next night at the fire a man approached and I took him aside and after I saw and confirmed the glasses were Laura's I took the glasses and beat the man to death with a tree branch. Morality has changed here in post 2012 and I am no longer a man of peace but now live by an eye for an eye.
Laura was happy to get the glasses back and my reputation for sudden violence continues to grow, which will help both Laura and I to travel without harm.
first mind meeting-part 2
first mind meeting-part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
My wife died of cancer and has been gone about eight months. I have got a lot of good advice about keeping busy and finding new interests but Sunday nights I get very lonely. Things weren't perfect between me and my wife but there is a hole in my soul with her gone. I feel like a man reading a fine novel but skipping every other page without her in my life.
Three weeks ago I began to use her pension, which I get the first of every month, to buy cell phone companion so I can talk with her. To keep our relationship fresh I only call Sunday nights about a quarter to nine like I used to do when we first met. We talk for about a half an hour and then I talk again to her the next week. I look forward to our call all week. Ninety five per cent of the customers of cell phone companion use the service for sex talk, with a fantasy woman that they change now and then or sometimes add a blond or a redhead to so they can talk to two women at once if that is their thing or just their whim, that lonely Saturday night.
Using a few recordings of my wife's voice, her bio, and everything I have ever wrote about her in my writings the cell phone companion computers have artificially created a program that is more her than she was. I would never dishonor her memory by talking to a redhead at the same time or anything like that, and I am nearly sixty after all; but I have had the program modified a little. I have chosen the first mind feature so that when my now deceased wife talks to me and answers my questions and argues with me a little it is as she was when we had known each other for three or four years. It's easier and more pleasant for me that way and I don't think she would mind if she knew.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
My wife died of cancer and has been gone about eight months. I have got a lot of good advice about keeping busy and finding new interests but Sunday nights I get very lonely. Things weren't perfect between me and my wife but there is a hole in my soul with her gone. I feel like a man reading a fine novel but skipping every other page without her in my life.
Three weeks ago I began to use her pension, which I get the first of every month, to buy cell phone companion so I can talk with her. To keep our relationship fresh I only call Sunday nights about a quarter to nine like I used to do when we first met. We talk for about a half an hour and then I talk again to her the next week. I look forward to our call all week. Ninety five per cent of the customers of cell phone companion use the service for sex talk, with a fantasy woman that they change now and then or sometimes add a blond or a redhead to so they can talk to two women at once if that is their thing or just their whim, that lonely Saturday night.
Using a few recordings of my wife's voice, her bio, and everything I have ever wrote about her in my writings the cell phone companion computers have artificially created a program that is more her than she was. I would never dishonor her memory by talking to a redhead at the same time or anything like that, and I am nearly sixty after all; but I have had the program modified a little. I have chosen the first mind feature so that when my now deceased wife talks to me and answers my questions and argues with me a little it is as she was when we had known each other for three or four years. It's easier and more pleasant for me that way and I don't think she would mind if she knew.
end
Thursday, October 21, 2010
it's 2012 already part-3
it's 2012 already part-3
fiction
edward w pritchard
Many disaster movies in our time spend a few obligatory frames trying to describe what it's like to flee from your home in a large natural disaster. Be it meteor, volcano or earthquake, in the movies there is always somewhere to go to find sanctuary.
What if your decision to move was not rational but instinctual and ancient. Suddenly you have to move out of your house now. You don't know why but bad air is coming and to breathe it is to die. Don't think. Just keep moving, step after step. Success in your tribulations is time's duration. You are divinely granted a few more breaths; but you must suffer and you must not plan or aspire. You only are driven to move.
Here's something I wrote before about the start of the journey.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
the movement of vast amounts of people
the movement of vast amounts of people
fiction
edward w pritchard
The noxious vapors drifted slowly, north to South at no more than seven miles per hour but to not keep moving meant death to human and most larger animals. Steadily day after day I stumbled forward. My strength was long gone and my will shattered but blindly I stumbled, on and on going to where I don't know or care anymore but driven to move and escape the burning of the lungs and confusion that stopping caused; even if one stopped only for a moment in a desperate attempt to regroup or plan a new exit strategy.
The vapors continued to drift South and although alone I stayed with the pack and patiently continued forward.
Posted by edward pritchard at 7:29 AM
Labels: onward
What would you carry as you left your house in this scenario? If you were an astute business man before- maybe asthma medicine- for everyone's burning lungs- it might become the new currency. Cognac, VSOP to prop up sagging morale and to keep the memory of civilization alive for a few more weeks-while the flask endured. And a watch, keep track of the time, for this ordeal has to eventually, mercifully end soon.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Many disaster movies in our time spend a few obligatory frames trying to describe what it's like to flee from your home in a large natural disaster. Be it meteor, volcano or earthquake, in the movies there is always somewhere to go to find sanctuary.
What if your decision to move was not rational but instinctual and ancient. Suddenly you have to move out of your house now. You don't know why but bad air is coming and to breathe it is to die. Don't think. Just keep moving, step after step. Success in your tribulations is time's duration. You are divinely granted a few more breaths; but you must suffer and you must not plan or aspire. You only are driven to move.
Here's something I wrote before about the start of the journey.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
the movement of vast amounts of people
the movement of vast amounts of people
fiction
edward w pritchard
The noxious vapors drifted slowly, north to South at no more than seven miles per hour but to not keep moving meant death to human and most larger animals. Steadily day after day I stumbled forward. My strength was long gone and my will shattered but blindly I stumbled, on and on going to where I don't know or care anymore but driven to move and escape the burning of the lungs and confusion that stopping caused; even if one stopped only for a moment in a desperate attempt to regroup or plan a new exit strategy.
The vapors continued to drift South and although alone I stayed with the pack and patiently continued forward.
Posted by edward pritchard at 7:29 AM
Labels: onward
What would you carry as you left your house in this scenario? If you were an astute business man before- maybe asthma medicine- for everyone's burning lungs- it might become the new currency. Cognac, VSOP to prop up sagging morale and to keep the memory of civilization alive for a few more weeks-while the flask endured. And a watch, keep track of the time, for this ordeal has to eventually, mercifully end soon.
end
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