Buddha in the sky
fiction
edward w pritchard
Bud had few friends but those that he had often told him he looked like the Buddha. The very fat friendly one for Bud had gained an enormous amount of weight and had trouble running the small construction company he owned and managed. With the heat of the Summer and the demands of the physical labor of the home improvement business Bud began to lose jobs because he couldn't manage his crews and could no longer swing a hammer himself because of the excess weight he carried.
One hot July day down in Hartville, tearing out a porch Bud had enough. He was sitting on top of the job, on a small roof overhang, supervising his crew, in the very hot Sun and he decided not to come down from the roof ever.
The owner's of the house he was working on were progressive people and with Bud's
Buddha like appearance, and the fact that Bud began to give advice on spiritual matters to passers by on the main street through the town of Hartville, the homeowners allowed Bud to stay permanently of the second floor overhang of their house.
Bud awoke very early in the morning and commuters in cars along the main road, 619, that ran very close to the house, where he now stayed at, would stop and give him rice or other food. For the rest of the day Bud would give advice to anyone that asked. In time people would line up along the main road to speak to Bud. Although that caused some traffic congestion the local authorities took the inconvenience in stride.
Because of the heat on the roof and the direct sunlight that struck Bud throughout the day, Bud began to wear an orange flowing robe that one of the advice seekers gave to him.
Sitting on a small sloped roof, about fifteen feet above the busy street of 619, dressed in flowing orange robes, the fat and happy former construction company owner, formerly named Bud, would provide spiritual solace to the Commuters of Hartville, Ohio.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
a complete and productive workout
a complete and productive workout
fiction
edward w pritchard
I forgave my husband of sixteen years for getting involved with the lady assistant principal at the school where he taught. I admit I was surprised by the type of woman he choose to replace me with. He had told me for years and years he preferred a demur lady, which I always was. His new friend was tall and broad and assertive and rather loud.
After my divorce for two years I went to gym and read Fitness and Prayer health magazine and followed the advice in the articles on how to build my muscles and body in a christian friendly way. For me however, my results were not what I wanted and certainly not up to the typical results achieved by other readers of Fitness and Prayer magazine.
In desperation and wishing a change I began to work around my neighbors farm with a spud bar. It's a six foot long crow bar used for prying out stumps. It weighs about 20 pounds and it gives a vigorous workout as one tries to remove stubborn stumps from the heavy soil. Over a summer I developed muscles like never before and I began to look like the female fitness models in Fitness and Prayer. Of course I continued to read Fitness and Prayer and to follow it's dietary recommendations and to ask God for his blessing with my health regime.
It wasn't until I began the spud bar routine that I began to make rapid progress as a bodybuilder and power lifter. Every other day, except Sunday, I would spend two or three hot and sweaty hours per day prying up stumps and fighting roots in the boiling sun. I would supplement my endeavor with the ladies three day weekly workout from Fitness and Prayer magazine. Twice per day I have a Moses power hour shake with bit of creatine. [see Maggi's diet, supplements and exercises and spud bar routine on line at Fitness and Prayer,, issue 89 September 2010] editor
I credit my success as a weight lifter to my work with a spud bar removing stumps/ Try it
Maggi Regozzi
fiction
edward w pritchard
I forgave my husband of sixteen years for getting involved with the lady assistant principal at the school where he taught. I admit I was surprised by the type of woman he choose to replace me with. He had told me for years and years he preferred a demur lady, which I always was. His new friend was tall and broad and assertive and rather loud.
After my divorce for two years I went to gym and read Fitness and Prayer health magazine and followed the advice in the articles on how to build my muscles and body in a christian friendly way. For me however, my results were not what I wanted and certainly not up to the typical results achieved by other readers of Fitness and Prayer magazine.
In desperation and wishing a change I began to work around my neighbors farm with a spud bar. It's a six foot long crow bar used for prying out stumps. It weighs about 20 pounds and it gives a vigorous workout as one tries to remove stubborn stumps from the heavy soil. Over a summer I developed muscles like never before and I began to look like the female fitness models in Fitness and Prayer. Of course I continued to read Fitness and Prayer and to follow it's dietary recommendations and to ask God for his blessing with my health regime.
It wasn't until I began the spud bar routine that I began to make rapid progress as a bodybuilder and power lifter. Every other day, except Sunday, I would spend two or three hot and sweaty hours per day prying up stumps and fighting roots in the boiling sun. I would supplement my endeavor with the ladies three day weekly workout from Fitness and Prayer magazine. Twice per day I have a Moses power hour shake with bit of creatine. [see Maggi's diet, supplements and exercises and spud bar routine on line at Fitness and Prayer,, issue 89 September 2010] editor
I credit my success as a weight lifter to my work with a spud bar removing stumps/ Try it
Maggi Regozzi
Friday, June 18, 2010
unemployment
unemployment
fiction
edward w pritchard
No one expects to be sick unless they are sickly, which sometimes starts in childhood and it's sad if you know and care for someone who is sick a lot. If you are healthy and strong you jump off of small ledges and shake a stick at snakes on the trail and sometimes push your chin at a bully who threatens or intimidates others.
Companies now a days won't talk civilly to unemployed workers. They behave in a high handed way and hire special recruiters to not return phone calls and then obtusely only do hiring synthetically only over the internet.
Those same companies want and expect everyone to be their jolly old customers however. They sponsor a couple of little league teams, which is good, and then tramp around in their yellow tee shirts with their company name on it and carry a coffee mug with their company logo on it and everything is hunky dorry, they think.
That's not enough. Unemployed people are like sick people, at least temporarily, maybe for a few years. Companies if they expect all of us to be their loyal customers have to be above board, take the high road, at all times, and be responsible caring citizens. If companies are not, and you find out, stick your chin out at them and don't go to their stores. Support the army of the unemployed even if by the grace of God you aren't currently in their ranks.
Don't patronize a company who is crummy in it's hiring practices and tell others to shun and avoid them also. Ask not for whom the unemployment bell tolls, it tolls for thee. Solidarity and compassion.
fiction
edward w pritchard
No one expects to be sick unless they are sickly, which sometimes starts in childhood and it's sad if you know and care for someone who is sick a lot. If you are healthy and strong you jump off of small ledges and shake a stick at snakes on the trail and sometimes push your chin at a bully who threatens or intimidates others.
Companies now a days won't talk civilly to unemployed workers. They behave in a high handed way and hire special recruiters to not return phone calls and then obtusely only do hiring synthetically only over the internet.
Those same companies want and expect everyone to be their jolly old customers however. They sponsor a couple of little league teams, which is good, and then tramp around in their yellow tee shirts with their company name on it and carry a coffee mug with their company logo on it and everything is hunky dorry, they think.
That's not enough. Unemployed people are like sick people, at least temporarily, maybe for a few years. Companies if they expect all of us to be their loyal customers have to be above board, take the high road, at all times, and be responsible caring citizens. If companies are not, and you find out, stick your chin out at them and don't go to their stores. Support the army of the unemployed even if by the grace of God you aren't currently in their ranks.
Don't patronize a company who is crummy in it's hiring practices and tell others to shun and avoid them also. Ask not for whom the unemployment bell tolls, it tolls for thee. Solidarity and compassion.
Monday, June 14, 2010
six weeks in a balloon part 2
six weeks in a balloon part 2
fiction edward w pritchard
see part 1-[same as first paragraph]
Jersey spent six weeks peacefully floating along in her hot air balloon observing humanity as it went about it's daily rituals and routines. It was comfortable and safe in the basket and once Jersey acclimated herself to the minor inconveniences she began to enjoy watching the people below as they went about the scurrying of their lives.
the couple-preparing to carry on the species
The young man took his time at his fishing. He had set up the tools carefully on the picnic table near the lake and finally was prepared for the first cast. He had learned the technique as a young child and he was skillful at the casting and reeling. He was oblivious to the walkers behind him on the path along the Lake and the two young dawdling attractive women pushing the baby in a stroller didn't catch his eye.
His girl friend moved closer out of instinct and he handed her the pole. She cast carefully placing the lure skillfully into the water. She handed the rod back to him and stood about five feet away and watched him with the fishing. He glanced at her and smiled a little. She was dressed simply, in a too long of a pair of the Bermuda style shorts and tennis shoes and a modest shirt. Still she was beautiful through the face and eyes and the short red hair was professionally cut and styled. The girl watched the forearms and wrists as the man fished and sometimes carried something to him from the supplies that she reorganized occasionally.
In a few weeks the man would propose marriage and the young lady would accept and over a few years two or three healthy children would be born.
end part 2
fiction edward w pritchard
see part 1-[same as first paragraph]
Jersey spent six weeks peacefully floating along in her hot air balloon observing humanity as it went about it's daily rituals and routines. It was comfortable and safe in the basket and once Jersey acclimated herself to the minor inconveniences she began to enjoy watching the people below as they went about the scurrying of their lives.
the couple-preparing to carry on the species
The young man took his time at his fishing. He had set up the tools carefully on the picnic table near the lake and finally was prepared for the first cast. He had learned the technique as a young child and he was skillful at the casting and reeling. He was oblivious to the walkers behind him on the path along the Lake and the two young dawdling attractive women pushing the baby in a stroller didn't catch his eye.
His girl friend moved closer out of instinct and he handed her the pole. She cast carefully placing the lure skillfully into the water. She handed the rod back to him and stood about five feet away and watched him with the fishing. He glanced at her and smiled a little. She was dressed simply, in a too long of a pair of the Bermuda style shorts and tennis shoes and a modest shirt. Still she was beautiful through the face and eyes and the short red hair was professionally cut and styled. The girl watched the forearms and wrists as the man fished and sometimes carried something to him from the supplies that she reorganized occasionally.
In a few weeks the man would propose marriage and the young lady would accept and over a few years two or three healthy children would be born.
end part 2
6 weeks in a balloon
6 weeks in a balloon
fiction
edward w pritchard
Jersey spent six weeks peacefully floating along in her hot air balloon observing humanity as it went about it's daily rituals and routines. It was comfortable and safe in the basket and once Jersey acclimated herself to the minor inconveniences she began to enjoy watching the people below as they went about the scurrying of their lives.
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
Jersey spent six weeks peacefully floating along in her hot air balloon observing humanity as it went about it's daily rituals and routines. It was comfortable and safe in the basket and once Jersey acclimated herself to the minor inconveniences she began to enjoy watching the people below as they went about the scurrying of their lives.
end part 1
Saturday, June 12, 2010
portraits of women part 3
portraits of women part 3
fiction
edward w pritchard
see part 1 and 2 april 25,2010
old woman talking
The old woman was driving in the old car with her daughter. Her lower jaw seemed to unhinge unnaturally as she continued the tirade. Although I couldn't hear her, approaching opposite in my own car, she grew quickly tedious to my being; her daughter however patiently endured, at least that was my perception in our five second acquaintance.
fiction
edward w pritchard
see part 1 and 2 april 25,2010
old woman talking
The old woman was driving in the old car with her daughter. Her lower jaw seemed to unhinge unnaturally as she continued the tirade. Although I couldn't hear her, approaching opposite in my own car, she grew quickly tedious to my being; her daughter however patiently endured, at least that was my perception in our five second acquaintance.
Friday, June 11, 2010
the newspaper owner's wife
the newspaper owner's wife
fiction
edward w pritchard
The newspaper owners wife was very wealthy, had a good heart and liked to keep busy. Her charity work expanded as her fortune multiplied following her husband's death and to separate her time in her gardens and with her dogs from the day to day business of her charities and foundations she bought a building to house her charitable offices and staffs in. Being a good local booster she bought a white elephant style building that had been listed a long time and wouldn't sell. It was on campus but even the university wouldn't buy it with endowment funds. It was an old building previously owned by a 19th century fraternal civic group, who were a little eccentric in their time, and the building was now said to be haunted; at least that is what the listing agents said who couldn't sell it for so so long. If it was haunted it was the pipes and the electrical wiring for they were in sorry shape. The building did have it's amenities and one was a stage on the third floor previously used for initiation ceremonies by the fraternal organization.
In time spirits began to read newspaper clippings to the foundation founder as she watched the stage from the comfortable seats in the audience. Each ghost of the dead members of the long gone fraternal organization would enthusiastically but soto voce recite the news of one day from the long life of the founder, as she sat comfortably in the audience. Since she was nearly seventy there were a variety of newspaper clippings to hear and the actors on the stage although long dead, would each day give a spirited performance. Despite her attachment to her gardens and her dogs at home the wealthy woman enjoyed going to work every day and was sad when the readings from the stage ended for the day for the troupe of dead members of the fraternal organization were strict followers of the rules of the actors guild and only gave one performance per day.
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
The newspaper owners wife was very wealthy, had a good heart and liked to keep busy. Her charity work expanded as her fortune multiplied following her husband's death and to separate her time in her gardens and with her dogs from the day to day business of her charities and foundations she bought a building to house her charitable offices and staffs in. Being a good local booster she bought a white elephant style building that had been listed a long time and wouldn't sell. It was on campus but even the university wouldn't buy it with endowment funds. It was an old building previously owned by a 19th century fraternal civic group, who were a little eccentric in their time, and the building was now said to be haunted; at least that is what the listing agents said who couldn't sell it for so so long. If it was haunted it was the pipes and the electrical wiring for they were in sorry shape. The building did have it's amenities and one was a stage on the third floor previously used for initiation ceremonies by the fraternal organization.
In time spirits began to read newspaper clippings to the foundation founder as she watched the stage from the comfortable seats in the audience. Each ghost of the dead members of the long gone fraternal organization would enthusiastically but soto voce recite the news of one day from the long life of the founder, as she sat comfortably in the audience. Since she was nearly seventy there were a variety of newspaper clippings to hear and the actors on the stage although long dead, would each day give a spirited performance. Despite her attachment to her gardens and her dogs at home the wealthy woman enjoyed going to work every day and was sad when the readings from the stage ended for the day for the troupe of dead members of the fraternal organization were strict followers of the rules of the actors guild and only gave one performance per day.
end part 1
productivity
productivity
fiction
edward w pritchard
My daughter had moved away and her Mother and I had long since parted so I was driving home from my part time job as an adjunct professor at Kent State University to an empty house.
In a light rain I stopped and picked up a handsome couple hitch hiking near the entrance ramp about twenty miles from my exit.
I knew the tall young girl was related to my daughter as soon as she commented on my shoes. They were leather and she seemed incredulous that any one would kill an animal to make a pair of shoes. My daughter's a vegan and she politely censures me the same way for eating meat. I had a hunch about the girl as soon as she entered my car. Also the young girl is majestic in her person like other female relatives in my family.
It turns out the girl and her husband are from the future and she is my great great great grand daughter. They are here to ask me to give up a few years here at the end of my life so her son may live for ten or twelve more years. The boy is apparently sick and needs a very expensive medicine and to get it approved the powers that be in their time in the future are using a formula of age of death of past relatives and productivity and I am the obvious choice to sacrifice a few years so the boy may buy some time. The boy she says is a musical prodigy of sorts, like a Mozart or Chopin and like them is about to die young.
I have a few weeks to decide. Suddenly life seems very precious to me, even if my productivity is rather low. Still I believe extraordinary people should be helped and nurtured especially one's relatives. A quandary for me that's for sure.
For now I have been listening to classical music by you know who and also walking in the woods and enjoying the here and now. Before I choose anything I wanted to be sure I understood the issue entirely.
fiction
edward w pritchard
My daughter had moved away and her Mother and I had long since parted so I was driving home from my part time job as an adjunct professor at Kent State University to an empty house.
In a light rain I stopped and picked up a handsome couple hitch hiking near the entrance ramp about twenty miles from my exit.
I knew the tall young girl was related to my daughter as soon as she commented on my shoes. They were leather and she seemed incredulous that any one would kill an animal to make a pair of shoes. My daughter's a vegan and she politely censures me the same way for eating meat. I had a hunch about the girl as soon as she entered my car. Also the young girl is majestic in her person like other female relatives in my family.
It turns out the girl and her husband are from the future and she is my great great great grand daughter. They are here to ask me to give up a few years here at the end of my life so her son may live for ten or twelve more years. The boy is apparently sick and needs a very expensive medicine and to get it approved the powers that be in their time in the future are using a formula of age of death of past relatives and productivity and I am the obvious choice to sacrifice a few years so the boy may buy some time. The boy she says is a musical prodigy of sorts, like a Mozart or Chopin and like them is about to die young.
I have a few weeks to decide. Suddenly life seems very precious to me, even if my productivity is rather low. Still I believe extraordinary people should be helped and nurtured especially one's relatives. A quandary for me that's for sure.
For now I have been listening to classical music by you know who and also walking in the woods and enjoying the here and now. Before I choose anything I wanted to be sure I understood the issue entirely.
once in a while a screamer
once in a while a screamer
fiction
edward w pritchard
Once in a while a screamer would fly through the air when the conquering armies for sport shot their enemy against the mountain side. Sometimes the victim would pray and sometimes curse and swear. Rarely, only rarely a victim would shout out a number, and the soldiers would stop what they were doing and all eyes would watch the catapult as the flying numerologist prophesied. If it was Friday and payday for the soldiers that number that the flying terrified victim of the catapult screamed flying to his death against the mountain side would be bet over and over by the superstitious soldiers in their roulette or craps games.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Once in a while a screamer would fly through the air when the conquering armies for sport shot their enemy against the mountain side. Sometimes the victim would pray and sometimes curse and swear. Rarely, only rarely a victim would shout out a number, and the soldiers would stop what they were doing and all eyes would watch the catapult as the flying numerologist prophesied. If it was Friday and payday for the soldiers that number that the flying terrified victim of the catapult screamed flying to his death against the mountain side would be bet over and over by the superstitious soldiers in their roulette or craps games.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
paint ball tragedy/oil spill part 5
paint ball tragedy/oil spill part 5
fiction
edward w pritchard
I forget why I am walking sometimes. It's to see my two sons but after that I don't know why to go on.
We really messed up the environment. Even the financial community is having a hard time putting a positive spin on this. Things are shrinking quickly.
The oil storms causing multi-colored stones of oil to fall continue. They seem a little lighter. More like getting hit by a racquetball than a baseball. No longer lethal but there are more of them and they come more often. Apparently the entire planet is having them? That seems strange in a biblical way.
The landscape is no longer green anywhere. The colors of things are startling. It does look like hell I suppose. I am too tired today to speculate. Also I am very thirsty again and I have no water. Only luck will bring me some because none is available except by dishonesty.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
I forget why I am walking sometimes. It's to see my two sons but after that I don't know why to go on.
We really messed up the environment. Even the financial community is having a hard time putting a positive spin on this. Things are shrinking quickly.
The oil storms causing multi-colored stones of oil to fall continue. They seem a little lighter. More like getting hit by a racquetball than a baseball. No longer lethal but there are more of them and they come more often. Apparently the entire planet is having them? That seems strange in a biblical way.
The landscape is no longer green anywhere. The colors of things are startling. It does look like hell I suppose. I am too tired today to speculate. Also I am very thirsty again and I have no water. Only luck will bring me some because none is available except by dishonesty.
end
paint ball tragedy/oil spill part 4
paint ball tragedy/oil spill part 4
fiction
edward w pritchard
I am very depressed this morning. When I left my daughter's she gave me a Wall Street Journal from three days ago and I read up on the effect of the oil spill on the world. Too sad to talk about. There are no more beaches anymore.
end part 4
fiction
edward w pritchard
I am very depressed this morning. When I left my daughter's she gave me a Wall Street Journal from three days ago and I read up on the effect of the oil spill on the world. Too sad to talk about. There are no more beaches anymore.
end part 4
paintball tragedy/oil spill part 3
paintball tragedy/oil spill part 3
fiction
edward w pritchard
What a piece of luck. The cult of Vulcan [ Roman god of fire] has asked me to stay with them for a few days. They are a religious group and feel we are in apocalyptic times and they write down everything for posterity. They know of me through my earlier writing and I am one of the few people out walking who can think up new ways to describe the bizarre landscapes caused by the oil storms.
They have food and good water and one of the members, who used to be a surgeon, just like that fixed my left eye. He removed a few fragments and already I can see out of it again. He says it's interesting but I seem to be growing a membrane over my eyes like a frog and he told the leaders of their group that I am adapting to the new normal. I am feeling better and I seem to be one of the only survivors not complaining about the food or the new colors of everything.
The leader of the group here used to work with me in the mortgage business, named Paula then, and she is now a sort of priestess, although that's a misleading word. They are Luddites of a sort and believe that the oil storms are sent by God. I had carried a bible to give to my daughter and I gave it to her, Paula instead. She got so choked up, by my gift that she gave me a cold beer. Remarkable. They are developing techniques to keep things cold in the earth[ which is hot as fire anymore] and somehow she got a cold beer for me. That was fantastic.
The storms continue and I have took to wearing a pan on my head. I took off the handle and as I walk around Ohio I feel like the second Johnny Appleseed. It's not all fun and games however for the paintball storms are coming every two hours today and I am walking through a field of five feet high razor sharp purple grasses that are a new species, an adaptation to storms. Most other plants have died off. I have been eating the new purple grass. It tastes like the inside of an old rubber dodge ball and like the air, it smells of rubber and oil.
I am near my daughter's farm. It takes a strong effort but I can now travel three or more miles a day, and I think I am getting used to the bad air. My lungs have stopped hurting and other than my hands, which have no feeling, having adapted to all the hot surfaces by loosing their sense of touch, I am feeling very good. I seem to be one of the only people not loosing a lot of weight and I still have an appetite.
Life goes on I suppose.
End part 3
fiction
edward w pritchard
What a piece of luck. The cult of Vulcan [ Roman god of fire] has asked me to stay with them for a few days. They are a religious group and feel we are in apocalyptic times and they write down everything for posterity. They know of me through my earlier writing and I am one of the few people out walking who can think up new ways to describe the bizarre landscapes caused by the oil storms.
They have food and good water and one of the members, who used to be a surgeon, just like that fixed my left eye. He removed a few fragments and already I can see out of it again. He says it's interesting but I seem to be growing a membrane over my eyes like a frog and he told the leaders of their group that I am adapting to the new normal. I am feeling better and I seem to be one of the only survivors not complaining about the food or the new colors of everything.
The leader of the group here used to work with me in the mortgage business, named Paula then, and she is now a sort of priestess, although that's a misleading word. They are Luddites of a sort and believe that the oil storms are sent by God. I had carried a bible to give to my daughter and I gave it to her, Paula instead. She got so choked up, by my gift that she gave me a cold beer. Remarkable. They are developing techniques to keep things cold in the earth[ which is hot as fire anymore] and somehow she got a cold beer for me. That was fantastic.
The storms continue and I have took to wearing a pan on my head. I took off the handle and as I walk around Ohio I feel like the second Johnny Appleseed. It's not all fun and games however for the paintball storms are coming every two hours today and I am walking through a field of five feet high razor sharp purple grasses that are a new species, an adaptation to storms. Most other plants have died off. I have been eating the new purple grass. It tastes like the inside of an old rubber dodge ball and like the air, it smells of rubber and oil.
I am near my daughter's farm. It takes a strong effort but I can now travel three or more miles a day, and I think I am getting used to the bad air. My lungs have stopped hurting and other than my hands, which have no feeling, having adapted to all the hot surfaces by loosing their sense of touch, I am feeling very good. I seem to be one of the only people not loosing a lot of weight and I still have an appetite.
Life goes on I suppose.
End part 3
Dear Dad part 2
Dear Dad part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dear Adrian:
Bring the young lady by I would like to meet her. If you prefer I can take the two of you to dinner. I promise not to embarrass you.
I looked at the investment you made. I enclose a book on ratio analysis. You might want to check the cash the company has. It looks to me like the company CEO has just about enough money to take himself to lunch for a quarter or two if he doesn't leave a large tip. Just kidding. My first investment was in a horse. I lost the two dollars but had a nice time at the track with my brothers.
If you balk at bringing your new friend over stop yourself. We can watch a game together.
dad
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dear Adrian:
Bring the young lady by I would like to meet her. If you prefer I can take the two of you to dinner. I promise not to embarrass you.
I looked at the investment you made. I enclose a book on ratio analysis. You might want to check the cash the company has. It looks to me like the company CEO has just about enough money to take himself to lunch for a quarter or two if he doesn't leave a large tip. Just kidding. My first investment was in a horse. I lost the two dollars but had a nice time at the track with my brothers.
If you balk at bringing your new friend over stop yourself. We can watch a game together.
dad
Dear Dad:
Dear Dad:
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dear Dad:
Her name is Linda and I have been seeing her for about 4 months. I didn't try to not tell the family about her, I was going to tell you the next time you and I got together.
The investment I made is in a kind of camera film that after you take a picture of someone it ages as they do. For example, suppose you take a picture of your niece who is 8 years old and then don't see her again for 15 years. The picture will continue to age as the niece does. At least she will age in the picture based on a composite of how someone who looked like her when she was 8 would age. I know that's sounds a little hokey but I think there will be a lot military applications to the technology. Anyway I bought 5,000 shares at 37 cents with the money grandma left me. Life's a gamble'
I miss you too
Love Adrian
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dear Dad:
Her name is Linda and I have been seeing her for about 4 months. I didn't try to not tell the family about her, I was going to tell you the next time you and I got together.
The investment I made is in a kind of camera film that after you take a picture of someone it ages as they do. For example, suppose you take a picture of your niece who is 8 years old and then don't see her again for 15 years. The picture will continue to age as the niece does. At least she will age in the picture based on a composite of how someone who looked like her when she was 8 would age. I know that's sounds a little hokey but I think there will be a lot military applications to the technology. Anyway I bought 5,000 shares at 37 cents with the money grandma left me. Life's a gamble'
I miss you too
Love Adrian
paintball tragedy/oil spill part 2
paintball tragedy/oil spill part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
I hate to cheat people, always have. I stopped at a house that hadn't burned and a woman was living there. She was cleaning the house just like people used to do as if nothing had happened. She wanted to buy my cell phone.
I tried to explain to her that sunspots caused the volcanic eruptions that drove the original oil storms but she wouldn't listen. Common wisdom is electronic communications will take years and years to return. She had to have the cell phone. She gave me three bottles of water. The battery in the cell is worth something; but uncontaminated water is already pretty much priceless.
I was stupid. I should have asked my oldest son to see my other son for me over at Kent State. I guess I wasn't thinking clearly when I saw my oldest son. I have been stressed from the state of nature like everyone else. I'll just have to get to Kent State after I see my other son and daughter. I worry about my son over there because the campus has to be unstable with the changes caused by the oil storm.
No sense thinking or worrying anymore. It's beautiful as I walk down through this area. No one is outside. Most of the houses are gone and the farms down through here look like they were painted by Dr. Seuss to look like something out of Alice in wonderland. The colors are surrealistic and I like that. I have water and food and we haven't had a paintball storm in three or four hours. Life's not all that bad today.
end part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
I hate to cheat people, always have. I stopped at a house that hadn't burned and a woman was living there. She was cleaning the house just like people used to do as if nothing had happened. She wanted to buy my cell phone.
I tried to explain to her that sunspots caused the volcanic eruptions that drove the original oil storms but she wouldn't listen. Common wisdom is electronic communications will take years and years to return. She had to have the cell phone. She gave me three bottles of water. The battery in the cell is worth something; but uncontaminated water is already pretty much priceless.
I was stupid. I should have asked my oldest son to see my other son for me over at Kent State. I guess I wasn't thinking clearly when I saw my oldest son. I have been stressed from the state of nature like everyone else. I'll just have to get to Kent State after I see my other son and daughter. I worry about my son over there because the campus has to be unstable with the changes caused by the oil storm.
No sense thinking or worrying anymore. It's beautiful as I walk down through this area. No one is outside. Most of the houses are gone and the farms down through here look like they were painted by Dr. Seuss to look like something out of Alice in wonderland. The colors are surrealistic and I like that. I have water and food and we haven't had a paintball storm in three or four hours. Life's not all that bad today.
end part 2
paint ball tragedy/oil spill
paint ball tragedy/oil spill
fiction
edward w pritchard
For the first time in my life my will became Herculean, as I struggled and schemed to just see my four children one more time.
The oil spill had unintended consequences. Nature responded to the prolonged leaking of oil from a deep fissure on the sea floor caused by drilling by sporadic volcanic activity and strange weather patterns. The oily "paint balls" rain from the sky regularly but randomly pretty much worldwide and everyday life is severely disrupted.There are many deaths in localized storms as well. The oil balls harden as they fall from great heights and it's like being hit by a baseball thrown at about 70 miles an hour, over and over again. It's not a pleasant experience.
The sky has a purplish glow before an attack and where I live the incidents always come from a Southerly sky. Something in the mixture of the oily residue, volcanic influences, and unstable air cause the oil balls to assume many strange and bizarre colors, hence the nickname paint balls. Most of the deaths occur from fatigue or greed because it is nearly impossible to struggle through the pain of an open air bombardment, and people where I live are out in the open air because they are trying to protect their possessions. When the paint balls hit they leave a heavy residue that destroys pretty much everything man made. Nature and trees and things should be OK in a few hundred years or so, at least that's what scientists say. For now however there isn't much green left in the landscaped anymore.
It hasn't been all that bad for me. I avoided most other people because of the risk of infection from the miasma, that's what we call the lung disease caused by the bad air and I have been desperately trying to walk the 20 or more miles from where I used to live to see my four children who live in different locations to the east of me. My house burned down early, in the first firestorm of hot oil falling from the Southern sky.
My left eye is gone. I got hit in the side of the face one day. I was trying to help a woman and her child and a paintball bounced and got me solidly in the face. Since I have learned better how to roll with the hits and I have a strong capacity for pain anyway. Basically i just keep trudging eastward and try not to think of anything but the walking. I am carrying almost nothing so the risk of robbery is minimal and anyone outside, such as me, is usually left alone. It's the settled people trying to hole up and wait out the bombardments that the looters target.
I was very proud of my oldest son. He lived close to me in an apartment. The apartment building burned early, like my house. The shell of the apartment building is beautiful in a multicolored collapse, like an impressionist painting by Cezanne. The paint balls burn in weird colors and the residuals that doesn't burn harden to substance like a melted crayon. Beautiful, in a hellish way.
My son hugged me once and said he had to take off to see his daughter again. She lives about fifteen miles northeast. I gave him my compass that was one of the few things I had took from my house when I left, just before it burned down. The compass still works, but the magnetic poles are apparently shifting. I hope to be able to see my oldest son and my grand daughter again before my lungs give out but that not very realistic. My will is very strong but we must be realistic with our plans these days.
I have survived three fierce storms on the walk to my daughter's house. I am a little bruised and sore but I found a small rock to lay by in the last oil ball storm and somehow most of the hot oil balls missed me. It's hard to breathe and there's is no wind. Maybe it will rain again. Even the black rain would be welcome as long as it's not burning as it falls.
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
For the first time in my life my will became Herculean, as I struggled and schemed to just see my four children one more time.
The oil spill had unintended consequences. Nature responded to the prolonged leaking of oil from a deep fissure on the sea floor caused by drilling by sporadic volcanic activity and strange weather patterns. The oily "paint balls" rain from the sky regularly but randomly pretty much worldwide and everyday life is severely disrupted.There are many deaths in localized storms as well. The oil balls harden as they fall from great heights and it's like being hit by a baseball thrown at about 70 miles an hour, over and over again. It's not a pleasant experience.
The sky has a purplish glow before an attack and where I live the incidents always come from a Southerly sky. Something in the mixture of the oily residue, volcanic influences, and unstable air cause the oil balls to assume many strange and bizarre colors, hence the nickname paint balls. Most of the deaths occur from fatigue or greed because it is nearly impossible to struggle through the pain of an open air bombardment, and people where I live are out in the open air because they are trying to protect their possessions. When the paint balls hit they leave a heavy residue that destroys pretty much everything man made. Nature and trees and things should be OK in a few hundred years or so, at least that's what scientists say. For now however there isn't much green left in the landscaped anymore.
It hasn't been all that bad for me. I avoided most other people because of the risk of infection from the miasma, that's what we call the lung disease caused by the bad air and I have been desperately trying to walk the 20 or more miles from where I used to live to see my four children who live in different locations to the east of me. My house burned down early, in the first firestorm of hot oil falling from the Southern sky.
My left eye is gone. I got hit in the side of the face one day. I was trying to help a woman and her child and a paintball bounced and got me solidly in the face. Since I have learned better how to roll with the hits and I have a strong capacity for pain anyway. Basically i just keep trudging eastward and try not to think of anything but the walking. I am carrying almost nothing so the risk of robbery is minimal and anyone outside, such as me, is usually left alone. It's the settled people trying to hole up and wait out the bombardments that the looters target.
I was very proud of my oldest son. He lived close to me in an apartment. The apartment building burned early, like my house. The shell of the apartment building is beautiful in a multicolored collapse, like an impressionist painting by Cezanne. The paint balls burn in weird colors and the residuals that doesn't burn harden to substance like a melted crayon. Beautiful, in a hellish way.
My son hugged me once and said he had to take off to see his daughter again. She lives about fifteen miles northeast. I gave him my compass that was one of the few things I had took from my house when I left, just before it burned down. The compass still works, but the magnetic poles are apparently shifting. I hope to be able to see my oldest son and my grand daughter again before my lungs give out but that not very realistic. My will is very strong but we must be realistic with our plans these days.
I have survived three fierce storms on the walk to my daughter's house. I am a little bruised and sore but I found a small rock to lay by in the last oil ball storm and somehow most of the hot oil balls missed me. It's hard to breathe and there's is no wind. Maybe it will rain again. Even the black rain would be welcome as long as it's not burning as it falls.
end part 1
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
the flower arranger
the flower arranger
fiction
edward w pritchard
As charity work, being a religious woman, Mrs Lemat, florist took flowers to the patients at the hospital at Arles. She came on the painter of sunflowers in the hospital having quarreled with a fellow artist and later cutting off a piece of his own ear. Mrs. Lemat remembered the painter because she had as a commission for the artist a few months ago supplied and arranged twelve sunflowers and a vase that the artist had spent several days painting. The patient who could be amiable at times [ despite his reputation] spent several minutes talking to Mrs. Lemat, as she delivered to him several sunflowers in a small vase, about the differences in color between the commission vase and flowers she had supplied earlier and the one's she delivered to him now as charity.
As she left the hospital, feeling sad for the fate of the sick painter, Mrs. Lemat wondered if the painter's being in the hospital was influencing the way he saw the colors of the two sets of sunflowers, for in truth they looked the same to her.
fiction
edward w pritchard
As charity work, being a religious woman, Mrs Lemat, florist took flowers to the patients at the hospital at Arles. She came on the painter of sunflowers in the hospital having quarreled with a fellow artist and later cutting off a piece of his own ear. Mrs. Lemat remembered the painter because she had as a commission for the artist a few months ago supplied and arranged twelve sunflowers and a vase that the artist had spent several days painting. The patient who could be amiable at times [ despite his reputation] spent several minutes talking to Mrs. Lemat, as she delivered to him several sunflowers in a small vase, about the differences in color between the commission vase and flowers she had supplied earlier and the one's she delivered to him now as charity.
As she left the hospital, feeling sad for the fate of the sick painter, Mrs. Lemat wondered if the painter's being in the hospital was influencing the way he saw the colors of the two sets of sunflowers, for in truth they looked the same to her.
a proper cheap shirt
a proper cheap shirt
fiction
edward w pritchard
I shop at the local deep deep discount store for a new proper cheap shirt for Summer.
I shouldn't expect too much for less than 4 dollars,; but as usual I am pleasantly surprised by the quality of the offerings at less than five dollars for a shirt.
Shopping carefully I narrow down the shopping to two choices of a similar shirt one from Pakistan and one from Vietnam. Both have consistent workmanship in shirts, as I know from past purchases, and both compare with the more expensive shirts made in India or and I am going back a few years in my purchasing ability, both compare favorably with fine purchases I made previously from shirts made in the hill towns of Italy.
At last the choice becomes a political one for quality is very similar and price is identical at $3.99. Color is mauroon with my preference giving a very slight edge to the Pakistany shirt which is a lighter shade of mauroon.
Vietnam was the enemy of my youth of our country. At least half an enemy. Pakistan is the scene of fighting now however, we are chasing our enemies there, but I am not sure why or who the enemies are.
In the end, I choose the nearly identical shirt from Pakistan based on color preference and am thankful that they took time out from the fighting and running over there to make an excellent shirt for $3.99.
Thankfully i never got to go to Vietnam as a young man but I would love to go now. Hopefully, our young men now will come home from Pakistan soon, although it is a lovely Country and as I said they make a quality shirt for $3.99. Maybe if the fighting stops I can someday go to Pakistan if I ever come into money again.
fiction
edward w pritchard
I shop at the local deep deep discount store for a new proper cheap shirt for Summer.
I shouldn't expect too much for less than 4 dollars,; but as usual I am pleasantly surprised by the quality of the offerings at less than five dollars for a shirt.
Shopping carefully I narrow down the shopping to two choices of a similar shirt one from Pakistan and one from Vietnam. Both have consistent workmanship in shirts, as I know from past purchases, and both compare with the more expensive shirts made in India or and I am going back a few years in my purchasing ability, both compare favorably with fine purchases I made previously from shirts made in the hill towns of Italy.
At last the choice becomes a political one for quality is very similar and price is identical at $3.99. Color is mauroon with my preference giving a very slight edge to the Pakistany shirt which is a lighter shade of mauroon.
Vietnam was the enemy of my youth of our country. At least half an enemy. Pakistan is the scene of fighting now however, we are chasing our enemies there, but I am not sure why or who the enemies are.
In the end, I choose the nearly identical shirt from Pakistan based on color preference and am thankful that they took time out from the fighting and running over there to make an excellent shirt for $3.99.
Thankfully i never got to go to Vietnam as a young man but I would love to go now. Hopefully, our young men now will come home from Pakistan soon, although it is a lovely Country and as I said they make a quality shirt for $3.99. Maybe if the fighting stops I can someday go to Pakistan if I ever come into money again.
Willie tucker's blues
willie tucker's blues
fiction
edward w pritchard
see 10 year sentence part one through finale
Class you will have a substitute tomorrow as I will be taking my daughter to the ear Doctor. I expect you all to be on your best behavior and portray a positive image of Seiberling Junior High. Read and enjoy Willie Tucker's blues on the worksheet and then write a short poem [at least 5 lines] yourself. Notice and feel how Mr. Tucker reacted to the isolation on the moons of Jupiter and how it effected his art.
Miss Donaldson
Ten year sentence
Willie Tucker
I didn't cheat so I was cheated
I didn't meet so I wasn't met
exposed to invisible forces
I lost my reason, driven irrational
I didn't think, trying to feel
I didn't understand, chased by dreams
I hid from my myself, then I died
alone, crushed by volcano's
nature's vindicator, volcano's and
nature ended abruptly my
Two and a half years of a ten year sentence
on Jupiter's inconsequential moons.
Remnants of me pulverized into dust
properly mixed with Europa's primordial debris
shot into orbit around Jupiter
conscious, but no longer moribund
I circle the planet and long to decay my orbit
and drift toward earth
and fertilize the rain forests and lotus ponds
and briefly re-bloom as a red and yellow water lily.
fiction
edward w pritchard
see 10 year sentence part one through finale
Class you will have a substitute tomorrow as I will be taking my daughter to the ear Doctor. I expect you all to be on your best behavior and portray a positive image of Seiberling Junior High. Read and enjoy Willie Tucker's blues on the worksheet and then write a short poem [at least 5 lines] yourself. Notice and feel how Mr. Tucker reacted to the isolation on the moons of Jupiter and how it effected his art.
Miss Donaldson
Ten year sentence
Willie Tucker
I didn't cheat so I was cheated
I didn't meet so I wasn't met
exposed to invisible forces
I lost my reason, driven irrational
I didn't think, trying to feel
I didn't understand, chased by dreams
I hid from my myself, then I died
alone, crushed by volcano's
nature's vindicator, volcano's and
nature ended abruptly my
Two and a half years of a ten year sentence
on Jupiter's inconsequential moons.
Remnants of me pulverized into dust
properly mixed with Europa's primordial debris
shot into orbit around Jupiter
conscious, but no longer moribund
I circle the planet and long to decay my orbit
and drift toward earth
and fertilize the rain forests and lotus ponds
and briefly re-bloom as a red and yellow water lily.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
nature's proper high
nature's proper high
fiction
edward w pritchard
I hear that people now are experimenting again with the green lady and although I am long dead I have to say a few things pertinent to the matter and issue a warning to the present generation of thrill seekers concerning nature's proper high.
Stay away from improper addictions but especially avoid Absinthe, the green lady.
The cloudy liquid is treacherous. You start out tasting the candy flavor and may pleasantly proceed to listening to the mathematical precision of JS Bach as you mellow in the lull of the green lady's spell. Maybe you look at Italian Renaissance art in a new way for the green lady is an intellectual high. Spend a few hours pleasantly with a lady friend tacitly exploring.
Eventually however, the walls melt toward you and the ceiling becomes the floor as you are now under the insidious influence of the absinthe. Like others before you begin to doubt what is sanity. The art you now see is inspired by William Blake and is everyday things grown menacing and the music is the voice of the devil. Your fears are magnified and there is no one to talk you down. Hours and time crawl at you and small noises refuse to recede from your senses. Your senses lose their ability to filter and you are bombarded by unpleasantries.
I am long dead but heed my warning don't dance with the green lady and don't accept the introduction to her or have the conversation with her and avoid her clutches.
fiction
edward w pritchard
I hear that people now are experimenting again with the green lady and although I am long dead I have to say a few things pertinent to the matter and issue a warning to the present generation of thrill seekers concerning nature's proper high.
Stay away from improper addictions but especially avoid Absinthe, the green lady.
The cloudy liquid is treacherous. You start out tasting the candy flavor and may pleasantly proceed to listening to the mathematical precision of JS Bach as you mellow in the lull of the green lady's spell. Maybe you look at Italian Renaissance art in a new way for the green lady is an intellectual high. Spend a few hours pleasantly with a lady friend tacitly exploring.
Eventually however, the walls melt toward you and the ceiling becomes the floor as you are now under the insidious influence of the absinthe. Like others before you begin to doubt what is sanity. The art you now see is inspired by William Blake and is everyday things grown menacing and the music is the voice of the devil. Your fears are magnified and there is no one to talk you down. Hours and time crawl at you and small noises refuse to recede from your senses. Your senses lose their ability to filter and you are bombarded by unpleasantries.
I am long dead but heed my warning don't dance with the green lady and don't accept the introduction to her or have the conversation with her and avoid her clutches.
the photo op
the photo op
fiction
edward w pritchard
For his wife's birthday the President of the United States decided to surprise her with a photo of the 100,000 most important celebrities alive in the year 2010 and naturally he wanted the picture taken at the Hollywood bowl. Embarrassingly the plans were in progress before one of the Presidents staff informed him the bowl would only seat 17,500. Rather than move the photo op the President reluctantly agreed to cut the number of celebrities invited.
Of course arguments and posturing followed of who would be the most important living celebrities. A furor followed and national interest and normal business was pleasantly forgotten as the claws came out among the famous to have their picture taken at the Hollywood bowl.
Should a musician who had made one great song in 1954 be asked to the event? How about a baseball player who pitched one perfect game in 1965? What about a famous evangelist who had retired without scandal? How about a politician who hadn't written a book?
Eventually categories of fame and fortune and stardom were devised and in good time the 17,500 celebrities were gathered and the picture was taken.
Sadly because of pressing concerns the President was unable to make it to the photo op. His wife was Ok with that because she never really liked the picture as the smiles seemed a little contrived.
fiction
edward w pritchard
For his wife's birthday the President of the United States decided to surprise her with a photo of the 100,000 most important celebrities alive in the year 2010 and naturally he wanted the picture taken at the Hollywood bowl. Embarrassingly the plans were in progress before one of the Presidents staff informed him the bowl would only seat 17,500. Rather than move the photo op the President reluctantly agreed to cut the number of celebrities invited.
Of course arguments and posturing followed of who would be the most important living celebrities. A furor followed and national interest and normal business was pleasantly forgotten as the claws came out among the famous to have their picture taken at the Hollywood bowl.
Should a musician who had made one great song in 1954 be asked to the event? How about a baseball player who pitched one perfect game in 1965? What about a famous evangelist who had retired without scandal? How about a politician who hadn't written a book?
Eventually categories of fame and fortune and stardom were devised and in good time the 17,500 celebrities were gathered and the picture was taken.
Sadly because of pressing concerns the President was unable to make it to the photo op. His wife was Ok with that because she never really liked the picture as the smiles seemed a little contrived.
ten year sentence- finale
ten year sentence- finale
fiction
edward w pritchard
note see willie tucker's blues June blog
To Sharon Evans
Seven Stories West Apt #78
9782 Michigan Ave.
Chicago, Illinois 009009876
Dear Ms. Evans:
We regret to inform you of the death of your friend patriot and space explorer William Tucker on the moon Europa, a satellite of Jupiter. Willie was doing top secret work and was killed in volcanic activity caused by a storm on nearby Jupiter.
Please accept your countries sympathies and gratitude as you mourn his passing.
Enclosed is the proceeds of Mr. Tucker's life insurance proceeds of which you are the sole beneficiary. Mr.Tucker's personal effects should arrive for you from Europa in about six months.
You can be proud of Willie, Ms. Evans for the work he was involved in is critical to future space exploration and as his section head we will miss Willie's willingness to do what it took to get the job done here on Europa.
Solace and Peace be with you,
Antonio Craventz
section head
Europa exploration unit 24
END
fiction
edward w pritchard
note see willie tucker's blues June blog
To Sharon Evans
Seven Stories West Apt #78
9782 Michigan Ave.
Chicago, Illinois 009009876
Dear Ms. Evans:
We regret to inform you of the death of your friend patriot and space explorer William Tucker on the moon Europa, a satellite of Jupiter. Willie was doing top secret work and was killed in volcanic activity caused by a storm on nearby Jupiter.
Please accept your countries sympathies and gratitude as you mourn his passing.
Enclosed is the proceeds of Mr. Tucker's life insurance proceeds of which you are the sole beneficiary. Mr.Tucker's personal effects should arrive for you from Europa in about six months.
You can be proud of Willie, Ms. Evans for the work he was involved in is critical to future space exploration and as his section head we will miss Willie's willingness to do what it took to get the job done here on Europa.
Solace and Peace be with you,
Antonio Craventz
section head
Europa exploration unit 24
END
ten year sentence part 8
ten year sentence part 8
fiction
edward w pritchard
There is no water on Europa as far as I can see. Still we toil on digging the tunnels to divert water from the source to the base camp, should water ever be found. Money is flowing in from the earth because of the IPO's. Over 15 trillion dollars have been raised. We dig and plan for the water to support the large colonies and the investors bid up and up the IPO's based on water that may not exist. The work is excruciating and very dangerous. Europa is unstable geologically and there have been several deaths.
It was a minor quake that killed my three friends of the crew of the India team. All were killed a few weeks ago when a shaft collapsed. I was on the surface driving a debris removal vehicle and was injured but after twenty five stitches I am fine. My friends are gone however and now I am stuck alone on Europa and have been reassigned to the Italian crew.
I have started to write and sing the blues again in my bunk on my day off. I think Europa is worse than Io, if that's possible. Sometimes I remember how Lalia looked in that leotard. Shuim and Poj are gone too of course. An interesting phenomena about Europa is that my harmonica has a very soulful echo when I play the blues here. It's probably because of the winds caused by the gravitational irregularities because of proximity to Jupiter.
fiction
edward w pritchard
There is no water on Europa as far as I can see. Still we toil on digging the tunnels to divert water from the source to the base camp, should water ever be found. Money is flowing in from the earth because of the IPO's. Over 15 trillion dollars have been raised. We dig and plan for the water to support the large colonies and the investors bid up and up the IPO's based on water that may not exist. The work is excruciating and very dangerous. Europa is unstable geologically and there have been several deaths.
It was a minor quake that killed my three friends of the crew of the India team. All were killed a few weeks ago when a shaft collapsed. I was on the surface driving a debris removal vehicle and was injured but after twenty five stitches I am fine. My friends are gone however and now I am stuck alone on Europa and have been reassigned to the Italian crew.
I have started to write and sing the blues again in my bunk on my day off. I think Europa is worse than Io, if that's possible. Sometimes I remember how Lalia looked in that leotard. Shuim and Poj are gone too of course. An interesting phenomena about Europa is that my harmonica has a very soulful echo when I play the blues here. It's probably because of the winds caused by the gravitational irregularities because of proximity to Jupiter.
ten year sentence part 7
ten year sentence part 7
fiction
edward w pritchard
The team is intact and in a few hours we will be landing on Europa. The company enticed Lalie to come to Europa by making her project head of our section. Shuim was told if he spends three months helping set things up on Europa he will get the remainder of his ten years as accelerated credit. He jumped at that, his chance to get out of the hell of Io, and get back to earth. Once we got on the ship however, Shuim is having forebodings that we will all die on Europa. I continue to have the dreams about the volcano at Pompeii in 79AD back on earth. However, we all have got a huge raise and Lalie calls the water project on Europa the most important engineering project since the Roman aqueducts. That's an interesting choice of imagery given my dreams of Pompeii.
end part 7
fiction
edward w pritchard
The team is intact and in a few hours we will be landing on Europa. The company enticed Lalie to come to Europa by making her project head of our section. Shuim was told if he spends three months helping set things up on Europa he will get the remainder of his ten years as accelerated credit. He jumped at that, his chance to get out of the hell of Io, and get back to earth. Once we got on the ship however, Shuim is having forebodings that we will all die on Europa. I continue to have the dreams about the volcano at Pompeii in 79AD back on earth. However, we all have got a huge raise and Lalie calls the water project on Europa the most important engineering project since the Roman aqueducts. That's an interesting choice of imagery given my dreams of Pompeii.
end part 7
ten year sentence part 6
ten year sentence part 6
fiction
edward w pritchard
There is no confirmed water yet on Io. Io is the trial run for later projects on Europa which is going to be more expensive by a multiple of 100 to excavate and lay the pipes and set the reservoir. The work we do on Io is training for the Europa project, training in the similar weird relationship that the moons of Jupiter have with the gravity of the gigantic planet, which causes the thermal tides and volcanic activity. Our team has been approached to go to Europa. I will go of course for the more money as will Poj. Lalie might go, depending on the project description, and Shuim says he will not go to Europa under no circumstances. Shuim says Europa is more unstable than Io, he expects any projects there to be blown apart by volcanic activity. However, as Poj says, the futures markets on earth value the potential for water on Europa at 30 times what it is on Io, and that's where the money is going. Unless I want to go back to excavating rocks again at the home base here, I am going to Europa.
end part 6
fiction
edward w pritchard
There is no confirmed water yet on Io. Io is the trial run for later projects on Europa which is going to be more expensive by a multiple of 100 to excavate and lay the pipes and set the reservoir. The work we do on Io is training for the Europa project, training in the similar weird relationship that the moons of Jupiter have with the gravity of the gigantic planet, which causes the thermal tides and volcanic activity. Our team has been approached to go to Europa. I will go of course for the more money as will Poj. Lalie might go, depending on the project description, and Shuim says he will not go to Europa under no circumstances. Shuim says Europa is more unstable than Io, he expects any projects there to be blown apart by volcanic activity. However, as Poj says, the futures markets on earth value the potential for water on Europa at 30 times what it is on Io, and that's where the money is going. Unless I want to go back to excavating rocks again at the home base here, I am going to Europa.
end part 6
ten year sentence part 5
ten year sentence part 5
fiction
edward w pritchard
I have been having lucid reoccurring dreams about Pompeii back on earth and how Mount Vesuvius destroyed the towns around the volcano in 79AD. I think the dreams our prophetic. They had aqueducts back in Roman Italy that supported life in waterless places and allowed Pompeii and the other towns around the bay of Neapolis to grow to large populations. The dreams started after Poj introduced me to speculating on the water futures here. There is an incredible amount of money to be made and information about water prospects here is very valuable. Of course its illegal for us workers to trade on inside information, but many do including Poj. The dreams i am having are, I think, my internal conflict caused by the money to be made versus following the rules.
There are lots and lots of new people coming to Io. Prices are skyrocketing and my salary is not keeping up with price increases here. The other crew members have been subsidizing me. They buy lots of the food we eat which is very expensive because they try to have non processed items, extremely difficult in space, even just back on the earth's moon. I haven't been saving money having forgotten about Sharon more or less. I had a date of sorts with Lalie. She read to me from the Upandishads in ancient hindu and then translated into English, and I wrote a blues song about it. She says that intelligence of the type she has is common but I have a talent for originality which is uncoventional. She wore blue jeans and a sweat shirt on our date and I think I like her better in that than in her colorful clothes, but thats too close to call.
Work here is awful. It's cut throat and the regulations cannot be met collectively but individually now and then someone has to take a fall to maintain the illusion of order and stability. The water project is generating an incredible amount of speculative interest back on earth. There are lots of Wall Street business types looking around while we work in the field. Some guys from the commodity exchanges in Chicago gave me some pizza from home when they learned I was from Chicago. Man that was good. I was offered $250 for a slice at the poker game but I shared it with our crew instead and ate the other whole piece myself.
These dreams about Roman Pompeii are interesting. I think I am intuiting things I have never heard of or read. Pompeii according to my dreams was a hot bed of business speculation and corruption just before the erruption in 79AD. I see in my dreams things in Pompeii that are similar to here. The water project and the aqueducts are parellels and the erruption of the volcano and the suffering it caused might have a prophetic interpetation here.
Poj has been smuggling information back to earth in the programming about the water projects that he compiles for the company. Apparently the water project is so valuable because we are the prototype for all future space stations and some intangible value from each future project throughout the solar system must be factored into our possible outcomes. I have a lot to learn and I have been skipping sleep and reading and studying to educate myself. Skipping sleep also cuts down on the dreams which are quite disturbing.
end part 5
fiction
edward w pritchard
I have been having lucid reoccurring dreams about Pompeii back on earth and how Mount Vesuvius destroyed the towns around the volcano in 79AD. I think the dreams our prophetic. They had aqueducts back in Roman Italy that supported life in waterless places and allowed Pompeii and the other towns around the bay of Neapolis to grow to large populations. The dreams started after Poj introduced me to speculating on the water futures here. There is an incredible amount of money to be made and information about water prospects here is very valuable. Of course its illegal for us workers to trade on inside information, but many do including Poj. The dreams i am having are, I think, my internal conflict caused by the money to be made versus following the rules.
There are lots and lots of new people coming to Io. Prices are skyrocketing and my salary is not keeping up with price increases here. The other crew members have been subsidizing me. They buy lots of the food we eat which is very expensive because they try to have non processed items, extremely difficult in space, even just back on the earth's moon. I haven't been saving money having forgotten about Sharon more or less. I had a date of sorts with Lalie. She read to me from the Upandishads in ancient hindu and then translated into English, and I wrote a blues song about it. She says that intelligence of the type she has is common but I have a talent for originality which is uncoventional. She wore blue jeans and a sweat shirt on our date and I think I like her better in that than in her colorful clothes, but thats too close to call.
Work here is awful. It's cut throat and the regulations cannot be met collectively but individually now and then someone has to take a fall to maintain the illusion of order and stability. The water project is generating an incredible amount of speculative interest back on earth. There are lots of Wall Street business types looking around while we work in the field. Some guys from the commodity exchanges in Chicago gave me some pizza from home when they learned I was from Chicago. Man that was good. I was offered $250 for a slice at the poker game but I shared it with our crew instead and ate the other whole piece myself.
These dreams about Roman Pompeii are interesting. I think I am intuiting things I have never heard of or read. Pompeii according to my dreams was a hot bed of business speculation and corruption just before the erruption in 79AD. I see in my dreams things in Pompeii that are similar to here. The water project and the aqueducts are parellels and the erruption of the volcano and the suffering it caused might have a prophetic interpetation here.
Poj has been smuggling information back to earth in the programming about the water projects that he compiles for the company. Apparently the water project is so valuable because we are the prototype for all future space stations and some intangible value from each future project throughout the solar system must be factored into our possible outcomes. I have a lot to learn and I have been skipping sleep and reading and studying to educate myself. Skipping sleep also cuts down on the dreams which are quite disturbing.
end part 5
ten year sentence part 4
ten year sentence part 4
fiction
edward w pritchard
Every 50 miles on the water line there is a respite station. I have been filling in and training with a crew from India. Countries on earth each have a small portion of the water line assigned to them to dig and maintain. The nationalities are fiercely jingoistic and it was a miracle that me as an American was accepted on the four man team from India. We were in the respite area having a drink and a Scottish team was making sexual remarks against Lalie one of the team and I lost my temper and threatened them. Those guys are intimidating, they play rugby back at the Station on the cement floors where I worked before and they are always lifting weights. Fighting is very expensive here if you are caught but it was more like the posturing that animals do. Sometimes I don't think first and I won the crew from India's respect and they ask me to be on the team. They are the intellectuals of the crews and I am a little lost with their conversations but they look out for me now that I am one of them.
I have been fantasizing about Lalie. She wears a lot of flowing clothes very brightly colored. Her family on earth is very wealthy and she is here just for one year. She is a management trainee of sorts and is spending the six months on the water line so she can apply the techniques to other planets and moons in the solar system.
When we were changing into our suits to work outside on the line, Lalie changed in front of me wearing only a leotard. I can't get that image out of my mind. Shuim one of the other members of our team says its the effect on my nervous system of the winds, which are very strong. I think it's just I haven't seen many women in the last twenty six months. The few women of the assertive management types of females here don't interest me. Lalie talks very softly, and is intelligent and ladylike. She gave me two plums for helping her. They are priceless here. I enjoyed them and later found out they were grown on the last transport from earth hydroponically in an experiment to later produce food on the moons of Saturn, which is Lalie's next assignment.
Shuim has been teaching me Chinese karate. He used to be a psychological examiner before he cracked up one day and now is finishing out his ten year term working on the water crew. He is extremely bright and we are now friends although I call him Schopenhauer like the philosopher from earth because of his pessimism. He calls Io hell. He is coaching me on how to pass my next psychological exam. He says life is an illusion and I am just adapting to my environment here by having odd thoughts. Shuim says when he arrived here nine years ago fifty percent of the crews went home because of the volcanic activity which exacerbated the effect of the rocks on the emotions and intellect and the winds on the nervous system. He said he had some bizarre dreams for years after the volcano's stopped. Now he just wants to finish his ten years.
The fourth member of the team from India is Poj. He is a gambler and we have went to some of the games at the respite stations together. More on that later.
end part 4
fiction
edward w pritchard
Every 50 miles on the water line there is a respite station. I have been filling in and training with a crew from India. Countries on earth each have a small portion of the water line assigned to them to dig and maintain. The nationalities are fiercely jingoistic and it was a miracle that me as an American was accepted on the four man team from India. We were in the respite area having a drink and a Scottish team was making sexual remarks against Lalie one of the team and I lost my temper and threatened them. Those guys are intimidating, they play rugby back at the Station on the cement floors where I worked before and they are always lifting weights. Fighting is very expensive here if you are caught but it was more like the posturing that animals do. Sometimes I don't think first and I won the crew from India's respect and they ask me to be on the team. They are the intellectuals of the crews and I am a little lost with their conversations but they look out for me now that I am one of them.
I have been fantasizing about Lalie. She wears a lot of flowing clothes very brightly colored. Her family on earth is very wealthy and she is here just for one year. She is a management trainee of sorts and is spending the six months on the water line so she can apply the techniques to other planets and moons in the solar system.
When we were changing into our suits to work outside on the line, Lalie changed in front of me wearing only a leotard. I can't get that image out of my mind. Shuim one of the other members of our team says its the effect on my nervous system of the winds, which are very strong. I think it's just I haven't seen many women in the last twenty six months. The few women of the assertive management types of females here don't interest me. Lalie talks very softly, and is intelligent and ladylike. She gave me two plums for helping her. They are priceless here. I enjoyed them and later found out they were grown on the last transport from earth hydroponically in an experiment to later produce food on the moons of Saturn, which is Lalie's next assignment.
Shuim has been teaching me Chinese karate. He used to be a psychological examiner before he cracked up one day and now is finishing out his ten year term working on the water crew. He is extremely bright and we are now friends although I call him Schopenhauer like the philosopher from earth because of his pessimism. He calls Io hell. He is coaching me on how to pass my next psychological exam. He says life is an illusion and I am just adapting to my environment here by having odd thoughts. Shuim says when he arrived here nine years ago fifty percent of the crews went home because of the volcanic activity which exacerbated the effect of the rocks on the emotions and intellect and the winds on the nervous system. He said he had some bizarre dreams for years after the volcano's stopped. Now he just wants to finish his ten years.
The fourth member of the team from India is Poj. He is a gambler and we have went to some of the games at the respite stations together. More on that later.
end part 4
ten year sentence part 3
ten year sentence part 3
fiction
edward w pritchard
Things come out different than you expect. I didn't have to pay half for the broken blade. It was not properly maintained. Titanium here is effected by the gravity of Jupiter like everything else and the blade was past it's useful life.
While I was at the hearing I was asked to work on the water project. Top secret but it involves digging a long underground tunnel to bring water from the source to here at the base. The pay is better and it would get me out of here for a while. Maximum term is six months because of the winds which they say effect the nervous system. I said I was interested if the money was right.
While at the hearing the investigator gave me a whole pad of paper. That's very valuable. I told him I like Delta blues and he just gave me the paper and said I should write a song about what it's like here. He has been here seven years and he told me he didn't know if he would be able to finish his ten.
end part 3
fiction
edward w pritchard
Things come out different than you expect. I didn't have to pay half for the broken blade. It was not properly maintained. Titanium here is effected by the gravity of Jupiter like everything else and the blade was past it's useful life.
While I was at the hearing I was asked to work on the water project. Top secret but it involves digging a long underground tunnel to bring water from the source to here at the base. The pay is better and it would get me out of here for a while. Maximum term is six months because of the winds which they say effect the nervous system. I said I was interested if the money was right.
While at the hearing the investigator gave me a whole pad of paper. That's very valuable. I told him I like Delta blues and he just gave me the paper and said I should write a song about what it's like here. He has been here seven years and he told me he didn't know if he would be able to finish his ten.
end part 3
Monday, June 7, 2010
ten year sentence part 2
ten year sentence part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's morning now and the things I wrote yesterday on my day off make me seem a little off. I was just lonely. Today I am starting off with grapefruit I won in a poker game. It's worth $75 here and I am having it for breakfast today with real sugar.
Sharon would never leave me. We have a plan. Ten years, 8 to go, I will only be twenty nine then and I will have made as much as most people make in thirty or forty years if they have a good steady job, which who does anymore back on earth.
I drive a loader here. It's difficult work because of the gravity from Jupiter. Ten hours on and then 8 off and then ten on for 6 days. Then 24 earth hours off. On my break today I am going to write down the blues song I composed last night. I now have written four songs. Some of the others guys say they are pretty good. The company doesn't mind blues as long as they are not political or anti management.
Today I broke a blade. That not good. Sometimes we have to pay half. My supervisor will let me know tomorrow. Jupiter is beautiful today. I can see the storms on the surface. Sometimes I feel like I can tell when a storm is going to happen on Jupiter based on the color of the sky. It's has a strange pinkish glow to the east today.
end part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's morning now and the things I wrote yesterday on my day off make me seem a little off. I was just lonely. Today I am starting off with grapefruit I won in a poker game. It's worth $75 here and I am having it for breakfast today with real sugar.
Sharon would never leave me. We have a plan. Ten years, 8 to go, I will only be twenty nine then and I will have made as much as most people make in thirty or forty years if they have a good steady job, which who does anymore back on earth.
I drive a loader here. It's difficult work because of the gravity from Jupiter. Ten hours on and then 8 off and then ten on for 6 days. Then 24 earth hours off. On my break today I am going to write down the blues song I composed last night. I now have written four songs. Some of the others guys say they are pretty good. The company doesn't mind blues as long as they are not political or anti management.
Today I broke a blade. That not good. Sometimes we have to pay half. My supervisor will let me know tomorrow. Jupiter is beautiful today. I can see the storms on the surface. Sometimes I feel like I can tell when a storm is going to happen on Jupiter based on the color of the sky. It's has a strange pinkish glow to the east today.
end part 2
10 year sentence
10 year sentence
fiction
edward w pritchard
To raise money I am doing a ten year stint here on Io, a Moon of Jupiter, at the mining company Styler and Meserow.
I have been here on Io for two years and the money is very good but the days seem like weeks and relations with company management are very bad.
I worry about Sharon my girl back on earth. I worry that I will end up sterile from the rocks we mine day in and out. The rocks also can make you crazy because of the high frequency waves they emit. Sometimes when I write blues song on my day off I think that the waves are influencing my thoughts and the words I write. I never had a problem like this, with my mind, and of course it could just be the loneliness and isolation, or the intense stress and danger of the mining job I do, or the labor management problems here, or like some of my fellow workers say it could be the waves emitted from the rocks we mine. I am afraid at times I am going crazy.
To save money today on my one day off out of seven I am mostly staying in my bunk. Because of the intense gravity from Jupiter it costs extra to move about the complex other than for work duties. I am trying to save money so I am laying on my bunk, composing blues songs and playing my harmonica. My father was black back on earth and my relatives down in Mississippi on the Delta where a long time ago my relatives brought the blues to Chicago where I was born.
I can lay here on my bunk lonely for Sharon and get into my inner blues. I haven't been drinking tonight which is rare for a day off. I miss Sharon and worry that she will find someone else. Two years and twenty days since I saw her and my groin hurts from the rocks we mine more than it does from missing her. Sometimes I worry I will crack up like others do here regularly. I have my next physical and psychological in 5 weeks. If I don't pass it I get shipped back to earth with a penalty passage fee. That would wipe out about a third of what I have made here so far.
I need the money because jobs are so difficult to get on earth and taxes are outrageous. If I am going to support Sharon in the style she is accustomed to I have to at least make it to the five year mark here; 10,855 days till that. I am working on a song called five year blues now. Sometimes I feel like Sharon can hear my songs that I sing while I lay in my bunk and play my harmonica. No recording devices or radio signals can be sent from Io because of the waves emitted by the rocks we mine. So if that was true that she could hear my songs to her that would be OK, but I have to remind myself not to ever mention that when I take the company physical and psychological.
This job is lousy but I know I can make it five years, maybe ten long years, others have. The money is good here and if I can make it five years I can accomplish some of my goals concerning me and Sharon my girl back on Earth.
end Part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
To raise money I am doing a ten year stint here on Io, a Moon of Jupiter, at the mining company Styler and Meserow.
I have been here on Io for two years and the money is very good but the days seem like weeks and relations with company management are very bad.
I worry about Sharon my girl back on earth. I worry that I will end up sterile from the rocks we mine day in and out. The rocks also can make you crazy because of the high frequency waves they emit. Sometimes when I write blues song on my day off I think that the waves are influencing my thoughts and the words I write. I never had a problem like this, with my mind, and of course it could just be the loneliness and isolation, or the intense stress and danger of the mining job I do, or the labor management problems here, or like some of my fellow workers say it could be the waves emitted from the rocks we mine. I am afraid at times I am going crazy.
To save money today on my one day off out of seven I am mostly staying in my bunk. Because of the intense gravity from Jupiter it costs extra to move about the complex other than for work duties. I am trying to save money so I am laying on my bunk, composing blues songs and playing my harmonica. My father was black back on earth and my relatives down in Mississippi on the Delta where a long time ago my relatives brought the blues to Chicago where I was born.
I can lay here on my bunk lonely for Sharon and get into my inner blues. I haven't been drinking tonight which is rare for a day off. I miss Sharon and worry that she will find someone else. Two years and twenty days since I saw her and my groin hurts from the rocks we mine more than it does from missing her. Sometimes I worry I will crack up like others do here regularly. I have my next physical and psychological in 5 weeks. If I don't pass it I get shipped back to earth with a penalty passage fee. That would wipe out about a third of what I have made here so far.
I need the money because jobs are so difficult to get on earth and taxes are outrageous. If I am going to support Sharon in the style she is accustomed to I have to at least make it to the five year mark here; 10,855 days till that. I am working on a song called five year blues now. Sometimes I feel like Sharon can hear my songs that I sing while I lay in my bunk and play my harmonica. No recording devices or radio signals can be sent from Io because of the waves emitted by the rocks we mine. So if that was true that she could hear my songs to her that would be OK, but I have to remind myself not to ever mention that when I take the company physical and psychological.
This job is lousy but I know I can make it five years, maybe ten long years, others have. The money is good here and if I can make it five years I can accomplish some of my goals concerning me and Sharon my girl back on Earth.
end Part 1
Thursday, June 3, 2010
baseball the blown perfect game
baseball, the blown perfect game
fiction
edward w pritchard
Baseball stands for something uniquely American. No matter what happens there's another game and another chance tomorrow. People make mistakes, in the game of baseball; they are called errors unless they are made by the first base umpire and then it's a bad judgment call. The first base umpire made a bad call and it cost the pitcher his once in a career perfect game. The pitcher took it in stride. Maybe he can pitch another perfect game some time in the future. The umpire made a wrong call and the pitcher had to live with it.
Baseball monitors and fixes it's mistakes. There's another game tomorrow and there's no time for recriminations.
It does a heart good to see baseball move on after a bad call. Mistakes were made, let's play ball, have a beer, it's six dollars a glass now but at the stadium that's OK.
The pitcher who lost the perfect game and the umpire shake hands and another pitcher takes the mound for today's game and the umpire gets back to his duties.
Baseball is an American institution. Other American businesses could learn something from baseball.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Baseball stands for something uniquely American. No matter what happens there's another game and another chance tomorrow. People make mistakes, in the game of baseball; they are called errors unless they are made by the first base umpire and then it's a bad judgment call. The first base umpire made a bad call and it cost the pitcher his once in a career perfect game. The pitcher took it in stride. Maybe he can pitch another perfect game some time in the future. The umpire made a wrong call and the pitcher had to live with it.
Baseball monitors and fixes it's mistakes. There's another game tomorrow and there's no time for recriminations.
It does a heart good to see baseball move on after a bad call. Mistakes were made, let's play ball, have a beer, it's six dollars a glass now but at the stadium that's OK.
The pitcher who lost the perfect game and the umpire shake hands and another pitcher takes the mound for today's game and the umpire gets back to his duties.
Baseball is an American institution. Other American businesses could learn something from baseball.
hell and heaven part 4
hell and heaven part 4
fiction
edward w pritchard
Word spread quickly that an insatiable young woman was now working in the second floor rooms over the old saloon. Violet was driven by ancient urgings and she became very busy in her work. Whalers on shore leave spent hours waiting specifically for the young woman and the management of the rooms over the saloon had difficulty in maintaining order. The other girls going about their duties in a normal fashion discussed in earnest killing the new girl for she was speeding up the line and disrupting their routine.
Out at sea men began to plan how to spend time in those rooms over the saloon and meet the new girl face to face.
A volatile situation was developing and as Violet's uncle entered the seaport looking for his niece, chaos was the likely outcome of his confrontation with the men of the whaling crews waiting to visit his niece in the rooms over the saloon.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Word spread quickly that an insatiable young woman was now working in the second floor rooms over the old saloon. Violet was driven by ancient urgings and she became very busy in her work. Whalers on shore leave spent hours waiting specifically for the young woman and the management of the rooms over the saloon had difficulty in maintaining order. The other girls going about their duties in a normal fashion discussed in earnest killing the new girl for she was speeding up the line and disrupting their routine.
Out at sea men began to plan how to spend time in those rooms over the saloon and meet the new girl face to face.
A volatile situation was developing and as Violet's uncle entered the seaport looking for his niece, chaos was the likely outcome of his confrontation with the men of the whaling crews waiting to visit his niece in the rooms over the saloon.
toiling alone for the god's glory
toiling alone for the god's glory
fiction
edward w pritchard
Toiling alone for God's glory a lone Indian worked in front of the ancient vacant cliff dwelling piecing together rocks to form symbols known only to the tribe that he was now the last living member of. The work was hard and very hot and since there was no water he often drank the bitter juice of the dessert cactus to maintain his strength. He needed his strength because the task at hand was monumental and he wanted to finish the project and message to God before he collapsed from exhaustion at his toil.
Spanish conquistadors came on the old withered man and were set to kill him when they found he had no gold or accumulated wealth. It happened by chance that one of the Spanish soldiers was in addition to be an adventurer and searcher of fortune; also had been a man of God in his youth. That soldier stopped his fellow conquistadors from killing the toiling Indian, who the soldier saw was a holy man working alone for God's glory.
Although they couldn't read the symbols of the tribe, for a few days before they left in the search for gold and wealth, the members of the small Spanish party helped the old Indian finish his secret message to God. When the project was finished the Conquistadors held a small funeral ceremony for the old Indian who died as soon as his labors in competing the message was finished.
Later when the Spanish party returned to Spain, the soldier who had intervened to save the Indian was curious to what the message had said and sometimes speculated in his old age on what would be so important to say that the tired Indian back near the cliff dwellings would toil and sweat alone in a race to finish the message before his death.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Toiling alone for God's glory a lone Indian worked in front of the ancient vacant cliff dwelling piecing together rocks to form symbols known only to the tribe that he was now the last living member of. The work was hard and very hot and since there was no water he often drank the bitter juice of the dessert cactus to maintain his strength. He needed his strength because the task at hand was monumental and he wanted to finish the project and message to God before he collapsed from exhaustion at his toil.
Spanish conquistadors came on the old withered man and were set to kill him when they found he had no gold or accumulated wealth. It happened by chance that one of the Spanish soldiers was in addition to be an adventurer and searcher of fortune; also had been a man of God in his youth. That soldier stopped his fellow conquistadors from killing the toiling Indian, who the soldier saw was a holy man working alone for God's glory.
Although they couldn't read the symbols of the tribe, for a few days before they left in the search for gold and wealth, the members of the small Spanish party helped the old Indian finish his secret message to God. When the project was finished the Conquistadors held a small funeral ceremony for the old Indian who died as soon as his labors in competing the message was finished.
Later when the Spanish party returned to Spain, the soldier who had intervened to save the Indian was curious to what the message had said and sometimes speculated in his old age on what would be so important to say that the tired Indian back near the cliff dwellings would toil and sweat alone in a race to finish the message before his death.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
A breed apart
A breed apart
fiction
edward w pritchard
Arto was one of a very few of that rare breed of Black American cowboys back in the old West. He lived up in the Dakota's near ole Deadwood and rode and roped and slowly chased and followed herds of cows like the other cowboys. He usually was short of money like the other cowboys and sometimes like the other cowboys got real mad. Using the ole cowboy quick draw, Arto might after drinking a bit too much; put a bullet hole through a gent who had insulted him or said something against his home State of Kentucky.
Two things that Arto, the Black American cowboy didn't follow convention on was how he treated the Indians and how he treated that special girl in his life that he had left behind way back there in Kentucky.
Once in a while Arto was discriminated against a little because he was a black American cowboy. If he went far South when riding and riding he might have to high tail it North suddenly for a variety of complicated reasons back in the 1870's. Because of that discrimination he had trouble being just plain ornery with the American Indians. He admired their way of life and sometimes Arto just wanted to drift off into one of their villages before it was all gone for them, and hunt and fish and ride horses and have a daughter or two and a kind wife and sit around the fire at night and watch the stars. Sadly, as he watched how other cowboys and soldiers treated the tribes people he was glad he wasn't one of them.
Arto's other cowboy convention that he had trouble following was he kept forgetting the name of the beautiful, faithful, little woman he had left behind as he had rode off into the Western sunset back in Kentucky, headed for the wide Dakota range. Once when with a lady of the evening in Deadwood, when he was feeling melancholy, waking up on a Sunday morning after a night of revelry, Arto told that fine lady about his problem of often forgetting the girl he left back in Kentucky's name. That Deadwood lady, who was experienced in these type of matters, suggested he carry a picture of his love with her name and look at it once in a while, when riding and riding the ranges alone. Arto took that advice to heart and vowed if he ever gets back to Kentucky he plans on seeing his lost love and getting a good picture of her and having her sign her name and a nice sentiment on the back of the picture.
Arto the Black American cowboy rode the ranges of the old West just like the other cowboys until one Sunday morning he got down off his horse, feeling peculiar that day, and stopped in a town and got a job and then did the same thing over and over; and thereafter disappeared from the historical record.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Arto was one of a very few of that rare breed of Black American cowboys back in the old West. He lived up in the Dakota's near ole Deadwood and rode and roped and slowly chased and followed herds of cows like the other cowboys. He usually was short of money like the other cowboys and sometimes like the other cowboys got real mad. Using the ole cowboy quick draw, Arto might after drinking a bit too much; put a bullet hole through a gent who had insulted him or said something against his home State of Kentucky.
Two things that Arto, the Black American cowboy didn't follow convention on was how he treated the Indians and how he treated that special girl in his life that he had left behind way back there in Kentucky.
Once in a while Arto was discriminated against a little because he was a black American cowboy. If he went far South when riding and riding he might have to high tail it North suddenly for a variety of complicated reasons back in the 1870's. Because of that discrimination he had trouble being just plain ornery with the American Indians. He admired their way of life and sometimes Arto just wanted to drift off into one of their villages before it was all gone for them, and hunt and fish and ride horses and have a daughter or two and a kind wife and sit around the fire at night and watch the stars. Sadly, as he watched how other cowboys and soldiers treated the tribes people he was glad he wasn't one of them.
Arto's other cowboy convention that he had trouble following was he kept forgetting the name of the beautiful, faithful, little woman he had left behind as he had rode off into the Western sunset back in Kentucky, headed for the wide Dakota range. Once when with a lady of the evening in Deadwood, when he was feeling melancholy, waking up on a Sunday morning after a night of revelry, Arto told that fine lady about his problem of often forgetting the girl he left back in Kentucky's name. That Deadwood lady, who was experienced in these type of matters, suggested he carry a picture of his love with her name and look at it once in a while, when riding and riding the ranges alone. Arto took that advice to heart and vowed if he ever gets back to Kentucky he plans on seeing his lost love and getting a good picture of her and having her sign her name and a nice sentiment on the back of the picture.
Arto the Black American cowboy rode the ranges of the old West just like the other cowboys until one Sunday morning he got down off his horse, feeling peculiar that day, and stopped in a town and got a job and then did the same thing over and over; and thereafter disappeared from the historical record.
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