Love's proper antidote
fiction
edward w pritchard
Thoughts and emotions routinely arise in us; we know that. Love, compassion and altruistic behavior are thought to be among the highest emotions and are praised as an end to be achieved; a highest order goal for developed mature individual, leading to a tranquil soul.
Negative emotions such as anger and hatred are thought to be curable by cultivation of our noble emotions, such as love, compassion and altruistic behavior toward strangers.
If one does not think philosophically that a force such as Karma or sin causes or rules our thinking and emotions, is there any justification that the positive emotions are of the highest order, as if it is a ranking, or as a value judgment among the emotions.
If emotions and thoughts in humans are dictated by survival and as a proper reaction to circumstance, are the positive emotions more sacred or more legitimate than the destructive ones?
Nietzsche might speculate that Love and Hatred are beyond value judgments and beyond good and evil. The middle way, to seek a balance between your anger and altruism, might be examined. The stoic would not try to be good, but to strike a balance within themselves between good and evil.
What then our intentions? Does nature have rules that if we follow them we will be in harmony and achieve a tranquil soul? And God; has he updated the rule book lately? Does our world have an order?
Love's proper antidote? Contemplate impermanence and time's fast flying arrow and adopt the universal perspective. Put your self interests aside; as long as there is enough rice and beans to fill our corn tacos, peace reigns.
end
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Time's not real it's only in the mind
Time's not real it's only in the mind
fiction
edward w pritchard
Time's not real it's only in the mind, a category, devised by us as thinking creatures to organize what we find around us. That seems to be the consensus, except when confused by the theories of physics.
What of God? Part of his supernatural nature is his being outside of time, part of eternity. The alpha and the omega. Is God's reality eternally the present moment. Does God experience duration? Can an omnipotent being, experience anything as partially realized or incomplete?
Now as for space, God obviously ...
to be continued
fiction
edward w pritchard
Time's not real it's only in the mind, a category, devised by us as thinking creatures to organize what we find around us. That seems to be the consensus, except when confused by the theories of physics.
What of God? Part of his supernatural nature is his being outside of time, part of eternity. The alpha and the omega. Is God's reality eternally the present moment. Does God experience duration? Can an omnipotent being, experience anything as partially realized or incomplete?
Now as for space, God obviously ...
to be continued
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
reflections of Juliet
reflections of Juliet
fiction
edward w pritchard
Juliet, the actress had played Juliet the heroine of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet on and off Broadway for eleven years; and she was tonight thoroughly weary of her role. Romeo's bad breathe, her nurse's trite advice and the predictable ending to the angst and pains of her love life were sapping her will to continue playing the role of Juliet.
Tonight, far off Broadway, in the theater district of Cleveland, Ohio, here called playhouse square, Juliet did the unthinkable. Juliet left the stage about twenty minutes before showtime and took a seat in the third row of the audience. Sitting in the best seats, among the well dressed theater patrons, Juliet relaxed and prepared to enjoy the play. To Juliet's surprise when the curtain rose, she was staring at a large mirror, running completely across the front of the stage. Apparently every theater patron would watch themselves and their reflected image during the complete performance of Romeo and Juliet. Startled, Juliet wondered if in fact, in all the performances she had appeared in as Juliet, for the last eleven years, if the audience had been indeed staring at a large mirror of their own reflection; instead of watching her inspired performances.
With a long sigh, Juliet returned backstage and prepared for her entrance as Juliet, tonight here in Cleveland.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Juliet, the actress had played Juliet the heroine of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet on and off Broadway for eleven years; and she was tonight thoroughly weary of her role. Romeo's bad breathe, her nurse's trite advice and the predictable ending to the angst and pains of her love life were sapping her will to continue playing the role of Juliet.
Tonight, far off Broadway, in the theater district of Cleveland, Ohio, here called playhouse square, Juliet did the unthinkable. Juliet left the stage about twenty minutes before showtime and took a seat in the third row of the audience. Sitting in the best seats, among the well dressed theater patrons, Juliet relaxed and prepared to enjoy the play. To Juliet's surprise when the curtain rose, she was staring at a large mirror, running completely across the front of the stage. Apparently every theater patron would watch themselves and their reflected image during the complete performance of Romeo and Juliet. Startled, Juliet wondered if in fact, in all the performances she had appeared in as Juliet, for the last eleven years, if the audience had been indeed staring at a large mirror of their own reflection; instead of watching her inspired performances.
With a long sigh, Juliet returned backstage and prepared for her entrance as Juliet, tonight here in Cleveland.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Christmas in the field
Christmas in the field
fiction
edward w pritchard
Le Generale is very strict with us about appropriating supplies from the locals. We have been in the field for four full months and a soldier tends to loose his extra baggage over time. I was cold and lonely starring up at the stars and feeling a little pensive. It's surprising how cold it gets out here in the desert at night.
I had just found the bright planet Jupiter in the sky when the three other Welshmen in the unit came over to cheer me up. Edwards brought me a blanket, Pritchard brought me some wood he had scrounged up and Williams brought me some chocolate for cocoa. Those Welshmen, they will do about anything for a friend.
A couple hours later I woke up warm by my little fire, and wrapped in my new blanket. I began to fret about the comfort of my three Welsh friends. I made that long trek over to C Company and found Edwards, Pritchard and Williams and spent about an hour reading to them from my Gospel of Saint Matthew. Williams and Edwards sang a couple of songs and even the Muslims in the unit joined in singing traditional Christmas songs.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Le Generale is very strict with us about appropriating supplies from the locals. We have been in the field for four full months and a soldier tends to loose his extra baggage over time. I was cold and lonely starring up at the stars and feeling a little pensive. It's surprising how cold it gets out here in the desert at night.
I had just found the bright planet Jupiter in the sky when the three other Welshmen in the unit came over to cheer me up. Edwards brought me a blanket, Pritchard brought me some wood he had scrounged up and Williams brought me some chocolate for cocoa. Those Welshmen, they will do about anything for a friend.
A couple hours later I woke up warm by my little fire, and wrapped in my new blanket. I began to fret about the comfort of my three Welsh friends. I made that long trek over to C Company and found Edwards, Pritchard and Williams and spent about an hour reading to them from my Gospel of Saint Matthew. Williams and Edwards sang a couple of songs and even the Muslims in the unit joined in singing traditional Christmas songs.
end
Friday, December 24, 2010
Christmas, December 25, 1683
Christmas, December 25, 1683
fiction
edward w pritchard
I am here to bless you my son said the Priest as he rolled the blanket down covering my nose and mouth. The Doctor had covered my face with the blanket, probably to keep me warm, after he deemed me too far gone to treat. For the last ten minutes despite my wounds and pain and the severe bleeding the thing that was bothering me was my treatment at the hands of the Doctor and his assistant. He is only a captain, I am a Colonel, imagine leaving a wool blanket over a man's mouth.
The Priest is no better. He's not even French, Spanish Basque I think. He has mistaken my attempts to communicate with religious fervor on my part. I cannot talk and my struggling to tell him about the Doctor's treatment has been misinterpreted by him as me trying to make amends with God. I can tell by the ridiculous look in his eyes. He's choking with glee.
Is this how I am to leave this world. The bleeding to death from three wounds is not so bad, our enemy were just doing their job, I have done the same many times
to others. It's the mistreatment and disrespect by your comrades that really hurts. Gods what a way to leave this world. I Henri, Leclerc deserve a better sendoff.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
I am here to bless you my son said the Priest as he rolled the blanket down covering my nose and mouth. The Doctor had covered my face with the blanket, probably to keep me warm, after he deemed me too far gone to treat. For the last ten minutes despite my wounds and pain and the severe bleeding the thing that was bothering me was my treatment at the hands of the Doctor and his assistant. He is only a captain, I am a Colonel, imagine leaving a wool blanket over a man's mouth.
The Priest is no better. He's not even French, Spanish Basque I think. He has mistaken my attempts to communicate with religious fervor on my part. I cannot talk and my struggling to tell him about the Doctor's treatment has been misinterpreted by him as me trying to make amends with God. I can tell by the ridiculous look in his eyes. He's choking with glee.
Is this how I am to leave this world. The bleeding to death from three wounds is not so bad, our enemy were just doing their job, I have done the same many times
to others. It's the mistreatment and disrespect by your comrades that really hurts. Gods what a way to leave this world. I Henri, Leclerc deserve a better sendoff.
end
Just a clerk at the convenience store
just a clerk at the convenience store
fiction
edward w pritchard
It was that special hour for those of us on the over-night shift. After the late late bar traffic finally somehow got home and before the old people started their day; 3:25AM to 4:25AM. Darci, a convenience store clerk after the hustle and bustle and constant stream of weird and sad people who inhabited the over night hours in Queens New York, looked forward to her hour of well deserved solitude.
A dozen people had stopped for directions, and five or six sneaked in to try to sell Darci valuable watches, for only five dollars each, from a display inside of the right side of their over coats. Darci was glad it was bitter cold tonight, it would drive the good people inside.
Sitting down, Darci had just began to thumb through one of the convenient stores magazines when a drunk and dis-shoveled man stumbled in about 3;30AM. He didn't look dangerous but he had been fighting, he had the remnants of a bloody nose and his army jacket was torn, as if some-one had held one side of it and thrown and twirled the man, presumably to the ground for his blue jeans were torn and dirty at the seat and knees. His wire rim glasses were bent and cracked.
The man wanted rum, coke and scotch. At least she surmised he did for he had a heavy British accent and was drunk and irritable. Every other thing he said was sarcastic and he made a lot of odd comments. He was a little unsure where he was, although he looked to be in his thirties, and kept joking about the date, December 23,1973. He kept saying it should be 1963.
There was no scotch so he asked for wine, Beaujolais 62, an inside joke he said. Finally he bought a few dollars worth of mints and candy bars and tried to pay with a hundred dollar bill. Rather he tried to pay with eleven hundred dollar bills because they came tumbling out of his pocket when he tried to find his wallet. Actually 2200 dollars in hundreds came out of the man's pocket in total, just before Darci got him to lay down for a few minutes in "her office", the small room behind the cash register at the convenience store there in Queens. She took the man's car keys out of habit for Darci had a lot of friends who drank a lot too, like this man, a mean drunk, and she wanted to protect him. Dropping hundred dollar bills wasn't safe in this neighborhood and the police would put him in the tank if they found him like this.
Darci had to move the car. A 1972 Chrysler Station Wagon. He had said there was a five in the glove box so Darci looked in. Three rolls of hundred dollar bills greeted her in the glove box. Each roll said 400 times 100, three rolls times $40,000 that's $120,000, he had $120,000 in his car. A to do list in the glove box said 1974 goals. There were three. Reconnect with true friends, Begin to write music again, and cut back on the drinking. A business card said John Lennon, ex-Beatle of New York and Liverpool. Darci hadn't recognized him.
Darci awoke Mr. Lennon about twenty minutes before the end of her shift, She helped him clean up his face a little and politely refused a few of the hundreds he tried to give her. Darci just a convenience store clerk was a fan and merely said take good care of yourself John, then he left.
Darci only visited once the Strawberry Fields Memorial to John Lennon in Central Park, New York, about a year after his death and continues to enjoy his music although she no longer works at a convenience store.
fiction
edward w pritchard
It was that special hour for those of us on the over-night shift. After the late late bar traffic finally somehow got home and before the old people started their day; 3:25AM to 4:25AM. Darci, a convenience store clerk after the hustle and bustle and constant stream of weird and sad people who inhabited the over night hours in Queens New York, looked forward to her hour of well deserved solitude.
A dozen people had stopped for directions, and five or six sneaked in to try to sell Darci valuable watches, for only five dollars each, from a display inside of the right side of their over coats. Darci was glad it was bitter cold tonight, it would drive the good people inside.
Sitting down, Darci had just began to thumb through one of the convenient stores magazines when a drunk and dis-shoveled man stumbled in about 3;30AM. He didn't look dangerous but he had been fighting, he had the remnants of a bloody nose and his army jacket was torn, as if some-one had held one side of it and thrown and twirled the man, presumably to the ground for his blue jeans were torn and dirty at the seat and knees. His wire rim glasses were bent and cracked.
The man wanted rum, coke and scotch. At least she surmised he did for he had a heavy British accent and was drunk and irritable. Every other thing he said was sarcastic and he made a lot of odd comments. He was a little unsure where he was, although he looked to be in his thirties, and kept joking about the date, December 23,1973. He kept saying it should be 1963.
There was no scotch so he asked for wine, Beaujolais 62, an inside joke he said. Finally he bought a few dollars worth of mints and candy bars and tried to pay with a hundred dollar bill. Rather he tried to pay with eleven hundred dollar bills because they came tumbling out of his pocket when he tried to find his wallet. Actually 2200 dollars in hundreds came out of the man's pocket in total, just before Darci got him to lay down for a few minutes in "her office", the small room behind the cash register at the convenience store there in Queens. She took the man's car keys out of habit for Darci had a lot of friends who drank a lot too, like this man, a mean drunk, and she wanted to protect him. Dropping hundred dollar bills wasn't safe in this neighborhood and the police would put him in the tank if they found him like this.
Darci had to move the car. A 1972 Chrysler Station Wagon. He had said there was a five in the glove box so Darci looked in. Three rolls of hundred dollar bills greeted her in the glove box. Each roll said 400 times 100, three rolls times $40,000 that's $120,000, he had $120,000 in his car. A to do list in the glove box said 1974 goals. There were three. Reconnect with true friends, Begin to write music again, and cut back on the drinking. A business card said John Lennon, ex-Beatle of New York and Liverpool. Darci hadn't recognized him.
Darci awoke Mr. Lennon about twenty minutes before the end of her shift, She helped him clean up his face a little and politely refused a few of the hundreds he tried to give her. Darci just a convenience store clerk was a fan and merely said take good care of yourself John, then he left.
Darci only visited once the Strawberry Fields Memorial to John Lennon in Central Park, New York, about a year after his death and continues to enjoy his music although she no longer works at a convenience store.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Frank and Joe Hardy plan to kill their friend Chet Morton
Frank and Joe Hardy plan to kill their friend Chet Morton
fiction
edward w pritchard
the following is a brief critical analysis of a certain genre of stories for boys, names and relationship are used solely as example, for literary criticism
Frank and Joe Hardy were planning how to kill their chums. Working feverishly in the 3rd floor kitchen, over the garage behind the house, and consulting their father's, the internationally known chef, Lorenzo's famous secret cook book, they planned revenge on the fat man, Chet Morton for going too far and his sneaky friend Italian Tony as well.
Chet had plans of his own. He and Tony swam underwater and entered the Frank and Joe's families mausoleum/boathouse and working in the freezing water began to remove most of the screws and nails holding the high powered boat together. Chuckling as he worked the good natured but fiendish Chet thought back on all the insults the two Hardy hooligans had laid on him. Many times his strong arms had saved those two when one or the other toppled over the rail into space but still they continued to dis- him. Let them try to race in this boat now, the "Sleuth" will disintegrate in mid race, Tony thought and laughed demonically as Italian's were wont to do especially, when working underwater.
Joe added the fifth layer of high calorie icing to the fat kids surprise cake and wondered how many slices it would take to kill the fiendish joker Chet Morton of hyper tension. No matter he would eat all the cake as usual. Hurry Joe, Frank exclaimed, we have to get to the boathouse before we go to the caves, and then the old mill and then the underground reservoir to find poison mushrooms for Chet's soup.
Chet and Tony's work was finished so Chet wrapped a large fish in Frank's football Jersey and headed for the high school in his prized jalopy the Queen, even though it had no transmission or rear wheels because it was as usual "all over the garage". As he drove Chet noticed proudly all the real estate for sale signs in the yards that bore his father's, the real estate broker's moniker. Maybe his Dad could get him a deal on plots for Frank and Joe to be buried in after he killed them, Chet thought.
Joe and Frank likewise headed for the high school with the cake for their obese chum. Joe carried the cake and Frank grabbed a shotgun to shoot Chet and Tony with in case their overly elaborate plan with the cake didn't work. Both drove a high powered motorcycle with one hand, Joe carrying a cake and Frank a shotgun, and so they waved only briefly to their favorite two chicks, pretty but demur Iola, Chet's sister, and the other girl Callie, Frank's chick,who were walking along the roadway, and taking chicken soup to a poor but deserving elderly citizen, They also saw a third older woman Aunt Gertrude heading out to meet the truck drivers at the no tell motel. As they rode background music played easy rider. As he rode Joe's cell rang and it was his dutiful and diminutive Mother, Laura reminding the lads that a delicious dinner would be late because their Father Lorenzo had been kidnapped again. Driving along, Joe said to Frank, its neat we got these motorcycles for coming up with a cure for cancer and riding along looking out at the gentle green ocean both chaps agreed that life was grand here in Bayport and life here was as it always should be.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
the following is a brief critical analysis of a certain genre of stories for boys, names and relationship are used solely as example, for literary criticism
Frank and Joe Hardy were planning how to kill their chums. Working feverishly in the 3rd floor kitchen, over the garage behind the house, and consulting their father's, the internationally known chef, Lorenzo's famous secret cook book, they planned revenge on the fat man, Chet Morton for going too far and his sneaky friend Italian Tony as well.
Chet had plans of his own. He and Tony swam underwater and entered the Frank and Joe's families mausoleum/boathouse and working in the freezing water began to remove most of the screws and nails holding the high powered boat together. Chuckling as he worked the good natured but fiendish Chet thought back on all the insults the two Hardy hooligans had laid on him. Many times his strong arms had saved those two when one or the other toppled over the rail into space but still they continued to dis- him. Let them try to race in this boat now, the "Sleuth" will disintegrate in mid race, Tony thought and laughed demonically as Italian's were wont to do especially, when working underwater.
Joe added the fifth layer of high calorie icing to the fat kids surprise cake and wondered how many slices it would take to kill the fiendish joker Chet Morton of hyper tension. No matter he would eat all the cake as usual. Hurry Joe, Frank exclaimed, we have to get to the boathouse before we go to the caves, and then the old mill and then the underground reservoir to find poison mushrooms for Chet's soup.
Chet and Tony's work was finished so Chet wrapped a large fish in Frank's football Jersey and headed for the high school in his prized jalopy the Queen, even though it had no transmission or rear wheels because it was as usual "all over the garage". As he drove Chet noticed proudly all the real estate for sale signs in the yards that bore his father's, the real estate broker's moniker. Maybe his Dad could get him a deal on plots for Frank and Joe to be buried in after he killed them, Chet thought.
Joe and Frank likewise headed for the high school with the cake for their obese chum. Joe carried the cake and Frank grabbed a shotgun to shoot Chet and Tony with in case their overly elaborate plan with the cake didn't work. Both drove a high powered motorcycle with one hand, Joe carrying a cake and Frank a shotgun, and so they waved only briefly to their favorite two chicks, pretty but demur Iola, Chet's sister, and the other girl Callie, Frank's chick,who were walking along the roadway, and taking chicken soup to a poor but deserving elderly citizen, They also saw a third older woman Aunt Gertrude heading out to meet the truck drivers at the no tell motel. As they rode background music played easy rider. As he rode Joe's cell rang and it was his dutiful and diminutive Mother, Laura reminding the lads that a delicious dinner would be late because their Father Lorenzo had been kidnapped again. Driving along, Joe said to Frank, its neat we got these motorcycles for coming up with a cure for cancer and riding along looking out at the gentle green ocean both chaps agreed that life was grand here in Bayport and life here was as it always should be.
end
Ginger achieves fame and fortune/ a porno tale
Ginger achieves fame and fortune/ a porno tale
another irreverent and somewhat perverse story, read on with caution
fiction
edward w pritchard
an existential dilemma
Two days after Christmas all the presents had been opened, returns and exchanges completed, and a tired sadness filled the mall where Ginger worked part-time. It was after work for Ginger and she was slowly heading toward her car, far out in the employees section of the parking lot. As Ginger exited the mall, one final red charity kettle hung by three gold painted chains from a three legged stand. A diminutive but authentic looking Santa was ringing a bell and heartily smiled at a tired Ginger as she walked past. Out of instinct, Ginger dropped a few coins from her pocket into the kettle, the coins falling in with a crisp clink.
Santa held out a small but powerful left hand and firmly squeezed Ginger's left hand and told her to make a wish. Surprised forty year old Ginger asked for fame and fortune.
The next morning when she applied her make-up Ginger noticed that two gold coins now were firmly permanently affixed to her breasts. The coins were double eagle twenty dollar gold pieces dated 1891 and across the front; one coin was labeled fame and the other fortune. The coins were regal and splendid looking and enhanced the appearance of her attractive breasts.
Bewildered Ginger laid back down for twenty minutes hoping the incident just a bad dream. Alas, on waking Ginger found it was no dream and began to deal with the repercussions from the new additions to her body.
end part 1
another irreverent and somewhat perverse story, read on with caution
fiction
edward w pritchard
an existential dilemma
Two days after Christmas all the presents had been opened, returns and exchanges completed, and a tired sadness filled the mall where Ginger worked part-time. It was after work for Ginger and she was slowly heading toward her car, far out in the employees section of the parking lot. As Ginger exited the mall, one final red charity kettle hung by three gold painted chains from a three legged stand. A diminutive but authentic looking Santa was ringing a bell and heartily smiled at a tired Ginger as she walked past. Out of instinct, Ginger dropped a few coins from her pocket into the kettle, the coins falling in with a crisp clink.
Santa held out a small but powerful left hand and firmly squeezed Ginger's left hand and told her to make a wish. Surprised forty year old Ginger asked for fame and fortune.
The next morning when she applied her make-up Ginger noticed that two gold coins now were firmly permanently affixed to her breasts. The coins were double eagle twenty dollar gold pieces dated 1891 and across the front; one coin was labeled fame and the other fortune. The coins were regal and splendid looking and enhanced the appearance of her attractive breasts.
Bewildered Ginger laid back down for twenty minutes hoping the incident just a bad dream. Alas, on waking Ginger found it was no dream and began to deal with the repercussions from the new additions to her body.
end part 1
The Ghats of West Virginia
The Ghats of West Virginia-part 1
note - this story is irreverent and not for the squeamish, read on at own risk
fiction
edward w pritchard
The telemarketing industry in Akron, Ohio was in a slump and Bihar, a supervisor was laid off. Unemployed in America, a devout Hindu, and still wanting to send money home to his family in India, after a few weeks of idleness and without pay; Bihar became desperate for work.
Back in India, near Vasari, on the sacred Ganges Ma, Bihar's family had worked in the preparation of bodies for final termination in the waters of the sacred Ganges River for hundreds of years. Human corpses burned and smoldered on top of funeral pyres at the banks of the Ganges, at a ghat, a platform at Rivers edge, usually used for bathing but also used for final separation of the dear departed. Bihar had learned the techniques of final termination of bodies as a boy, tending the fires or working as needed about the Ghat.
Like many people when unemployment strike, Bihar when laid off as a supervisor in telemarketing applied for unemployment compensation in America; and in the course of the eligibility interview he was deemed most qualified to work again in the preparation of deceased bodies for final termination.
Bihar could find no employment in the typical American funeral industry and eventually in desperation to find work put an add in several newspapers around Akron to furnish a Hindu style burial and cremation for the dear departed deceased of Hindu ancestry. Although a legal outcry ensued, against instituting Hindu style funeral practices in America, an unmet demand existed because of recent immigration of Hindu's to America, and the law was properly bent and a loophole found to allow that demand to be met.
Thus one warm Summer day Bihar found himself pushing a corpse down several small creeks in Columbia County of Ohio headed for the mighty Ohio River. He was going to a newly constructed ghat in Newell, West Virginia where he would preform the sacred funeral rites. In the meantime he gently guided a pasty body with a long pole and lead it slowly toward the Ohio River, through the basin of the Ohio River Floodplain. Bihar was glad to be working again and was not entirely unhappy in his new job.
end part 1
note - this story is irreverent and not for the squeamish, read on at own risk
fiction
edward w pritchard
The telemarketing industry in Akron, Ohio was in a slump and Bihar, a supervisor was laid off. Unemployed in America, a devout Hindu, and still wanting to send money home to his family in India, after a few weeks of idleness and without pay; Bihar became desperate for work.
Back in India, near Vasari, on the sacred Ganges Ma, Bihar's family had worked in the preparation of bodies for final termination in the waters of the sacred Ganges River for hundreds of years. Human corpses burned and smoldered on top of funeral pyres at the banks of the Ganges, at a ghat, a platform at Rivers edge, usually used for bathing but also used for final separation of the dear departed. Bihar had learned the techniques of final termination of bodies as a boy, tending the fires or working as needed about the Ghat.
Like many people when unemployment strike, Bihar when laid off as a supervisor in telemarketing applied for unemployment compensation in America; and in the course of the eligibility interview he was deemed most qualified to work again in the preparation of deceased bodies for final termination.
Bihar could find no employment in the typical American funeral industry and eventually in desperation to find work put an add in several newspapers around Akron to furnish a Hindu style burial and cremation for the dear departed deceased of Hindu ancestry. Although a legal outcry ensued, against instituting Hindu style funeral practices in America, an unmet demand existed because of recent immigration of Hindu's to America, and the law was properly bent and a loophole found to allow that demand to be met.
Thus one warm Summer day Bihar found himself pushing a corpse down several small creeks in Columbia County of Ohio headed for the mighty Ohio River. He was going to a newly constructed ghat in Newell, West Virginia where he would preform the sacred funeral rites. In the meantime he gently guided a pasty body with a long pole and lead it slowly toward the Ohio River, through the basin of the Ohio River Floodplain. Bihar was glad to be working again and was not entirely unhappy in his new job.
end part 1
Eulogy to JD Salinger
Eulogy to Salinger/tribute to fiction
fiction
edward w pritchard
Jeez already, that JD Salinger guy only wrote those stories, and just that one novel; my life story "The Catcher in the Rye." You can call me Holden, the beholden to good old JD for creating me. Ha! I created him.
You would think he had to go to those weird private schools or have perverts try to fool around with him. I know, I know JD had emotional issues, He was in the War and all. He studied that Zen Buddhism, that's a laugh. His attempts at Buddhism resulted in my story and from me he received overnight success. The coveted fame and fortune. The true sound of one hand clapping. What did he do when he got what he wanted as a writer. He only wanted to be alone,- darling. What a gas.
I am the Buddha in his story. Yes me Holden Cau... , by the way do not mention the Glass family to me. Never. Not once especially that sanctimonious Buddy or worse the deified Seymour. They never brought old JD any fame, they just depressed him, and everyone else.
Anyway my journey from a sheltered prep school to my final realization of the importance of Phoebe in my life, God you should have been there.
Old JD's dead now, I guess he finally pulled himself together and got beyond his original personality, and all that crap. Me I am kinda famous still, still banned in a few libraries; and I never did make it to that ranch in Colorado. You will have to excuse me now. I have to find Phoebe. I owe her eight dollars and sixty five cents and I better pay her back before she wants interest or something.
End
fiction
edward w pritchard
Jeez already, that JD Salinger guy only wrote those stories, and just that one novel; my life story "The Catcher in the Rye." You can call me Holden, the beholden to good old JD for creating me. Ha! I created him.
You would think he had to go to those weird private schools or have perverts try to fool around with him. I know, I know JD had emotional issues, He was in the War and all. He studied that Zen Buddhism, that's a laugh. His attempts at Buddhism resulted in my story and from me he received overnight success. The coveted fame and fortune. The true sound of one hand clapping. What did he do when he got what he wanted as a writer. He only wanted to be alone,- darling. What a gas.
I am the Buddha in his story. Yes me Holden Cau... , by the way do not mention the Glass family to me. Never. Not once especially that sanctimonious Buddy or worse the deified Seymour. They never brought old JD any fame, they just depressed him, and everyone else.
Anyway my journey from a sheltered prep school to my final realization of the importance of Phoebe in my life, God you should have been there.
Old JD's dead now, I guess he finally pulled himself together and got beyond his original personality, and all that crap. Me I am kinda famous still, still banned in a few libraries; and I never did make it to that ranch in Colorado. You will have to excuse me now. I have to find Phoebe. I owe her eight dollars and sixty five cents and I better pay her back before she wants interest or something.
End
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
a few nice bits
a few nice bits
fiction
edward w pritchard
Brother Paul, of Beatles fame strung a few of those creative gems, nice bits he called them, together and it produced Abbey Road. Quite a masterpiece really.
Here's a few bits, fame and fortune blow winds, and string events and words and circumstances together, in a brew, I'll settle for just laying a small egg with my mediocrity, as long as it pays well.
Title 1
My Father's Sentiments
I awoke one morning and had acquired all the knowledge, experiences and sensations once contained by my now dead Father.
I could play the piano and violin, although I couldn't yesterday and likewise I knew all his WW2 experiences that he never would talk about. All of my Father's acquaintances, prejudices, likes and dislikes flooded through me. My own self was intact as well.
What to do, What to do. Where do I attack with my new awareness.
title 2
The learned woman
In desperation to earn a living a lady became a reader. She read aloud to people for a fee and it worked out well for her. It was all just grand.
Title 3
So much knowledge and no one listens
A tree develops consciousness and awareness but can't communicate.
The winds blow strong high up in the tree's branches and that is the focus of the tree's world but death is at the bottom, in the tree's roots and eventually the tree will have to deal with that fact.
title 6
Where is Mae
Where is Mae? It's urgent that I contact her. I hadn't thought of Mae in fifty years but as I lay here dying it was important that I find her and tell her what was happening to me. Mae, can you hear me, I need to tell you something. It's important.
Title 7
March 26th, 1967
March 26th, 1967, the Be-In, New York City
10,000 of us hippies fly kites, release balloons, without violence, and we burn bananas, as we chant and spell out Love laying on the ground next to our favorite girl. Did we change the world? We painted our faces with day glo paint; surely there is some permanent contributions for posterity from us publicizing the use of day glo paint at Be-ins.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Brother Paul, of Beatles fame strung a few of those creative gems, nice bits he called them, together and it produced Abbey Road. Quite a masterpiece really.
Here's a few bits, fame and fortune blow winds, and string events and words and circumstances together, in a brew, I'll settle for just laying a small egg with my mediocrity, as long as it pays well.
Title 1
My Father's Sentiments
I awoke one morning and had acquired all the knowledge, experiences and sensations once contained by my now dead Father.
I could play the piano and violin, although I couldn't yesterday and likewise I knew all his WW2 experiences that he never would talk about. All of my Father's acquaintances, prejudices, likes and dislikes flooded through me. My own self was intact as well.
What to do, What to do. Where do I attack with my new awareness.
title 2
The learned woman
In desperation to earn a living a lady became a reader. She read aloud to people for a fee and it worked out well for her. It was all just grand.
Title 3
So much knowledge and no one listens
A tree develops consciousness and awareness but can't communicate.
The winds blow strong high up in the tree's branches and that is the focus of the tree's world but death is at the bottom, in the tree's roots and eventually the tree will have to deal with that fact.
title 6
Where is Mae
Where is Mae? It's urgent that I contact her. I hadn't thought of Mae in fifty years but as I lay here dying it was important that I find her and tell her what was happening to me. Mae, can you hear me, I need to tell you something. It's important.
Title 7
March 26th, 1967
March 26th, 1967, the Be-In, New York City
10,000 of us hippies fly kites, release balloons, without violence, and we burn bananas, as we chant and spell out Love laying on the ground next to our favorite girl. Did we change the world? We painted our faces with day glo paint; surely there is some permanent contributions for posterity from us publicizing the use of day glo paint at Be-ins.
end
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Travels from another time and place
Travels from another time and place
fiction
edward w pritchard
Science fiction story
One afternoon while driving home from my job as an assistant professor at Kent State University in Ohio I picked up a man and woman hitch-hiking who were visitors to our area from the future.
The woman began to cry when they realized that they were not in India, but in Northern Ohio, my home. The man was very kind to the woman, but was embarrassed by her tears in front of me. After a while he was able to console her and he then went on to explain his own disappointment to me of their current location; for they had traveled a long time and distance to get to our time and it was very important that they see India.
When I understood the importance of their reaching the Country of India I began to offer alternative ways for them to get there. The woman now composed explained that they were honor bound not to travel beyond the immediate area where I picked them up. This was an important tenet of their religion of Jainism, of course originally founded in India; but now a major religion and philosophy in their time and place.
As a compromise, the couple from the future agreed to let me take them to the Cleveland Museum of Art where I observed their bliss at being able to see a few statues and art works of Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism.
We spent a few hours together and unfortunately I knew nearly nothing of Jainism. They in turn knew next to nothing of American culture in my time. They knew of only Henry David Thoreau, curiously of James Dean and they let slip that Lake Erie would expand and sink Ohio, Indiana and most of Pennsylvania sometime in the near future.
I spent a pleasant afternoon with the couple from the future and then dropped them off back by the roadside where I had originally picked them up hitchhiking near Kent, Ohio.
Since I met the couple from the future I have been studying a little of the tenets of their religion Jainism, still practiced throughout the world in my time by a small but holy group of followers. Sometimes as I drive along after work I think of a few of the principles of their religion that they said are still important in their time. Such as : Every soul is potentially divine, and we should regard every being as ourselves and harm no one. It's challenging for me but I am trying to remember those tenets and I try to put them in practice in my daily life.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Science fiction story
One afternoon while driving home from my job as an assistant professor at Kent State University in Ohio I picked up a man and woman hitch-hiking who were visitors to our area from the future.
The woman began to cry when they realized that they were not in India, but in Northern Ohio, my home. The man was very kind to the woman, but was embarrassed by her tears in front of me. After a while he was able to console her and he then went on to explain his own disappointment to me of their current location; for they had traveled a long time and distance to get to our time and it was very important that they see India.
When I understood the importance of their reaching the Country of India I began to offer alternative ways for them to get there. The woman now composed explained that they were honor bound not to travel beyond the immediate area where I picked them up. This was an important tenet of their religion of Jainism, of course originally founded in India; but now a major religion and philosophy in their time and place.
As a compromise, the couple from the future agreed to let me take them to the Cleveland Museum of Art where I observed their bliss at being able to see a few statues and art works of Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism.
We spent a few hours together and unfortunately I knew nearly nothing of Jainism. They in turn knew next to nothing of American culture in my time. They knew of only Henry David Thoreau, curiously of James Dean and they let slip that Lake Erie would expand and sink Ohio, Indiana and most of Pennsylvania sometime in the near future.
I spent a pleasant afternoon with the couple from the future and then dropped them off back by the roadside where I had originally picked them up hitchhiking near Kent, Ohio.
Since I met the couple from the future I have been studying a little of the tenets of their religion Jainism, still practiced throughout the world in my time by a small but holy group of followers. Sometimes as I drive along after work I think of a few of the principles of their religion that they said are still important in their time. Such as : Every soul is potentially divine, and we should regard every being as ourselves and harm no one. It's challenging for me but I am trying to remember those tenets and I try to put them in practice in my daily life.
Eulogy for Mikey boy
Eulogy for Mikey boy
fiction
edward w pritchard
I cringed when cousin Tim began his eulogy for Mikey boy. It was a small funeral but both Mikey boy and cousin Tim were neer do wells and drunkards. I was surprised that Aunt Jane allowed Tim to give the eulogy.
I watched Aunt Jane carefully as Tim continued.
Mike was generous he said. When we were catting around before we went to Viet Nam Mike always paid for two rooms when we picked up women up at Marelli's Bar, and Mike wouldn't hear of me paying for one. That's when Mike was making good money over at Clarkson Steel.
I looked over at Aunt Jane and was surprised that she was smiling.
fiction
edward w pritchard
I cringed when cousin Tim began his eulogy for Mikey boy. It was a small funeral but both Mikey boy and cousin Tim were neer do wells and drunkards. I was surprised that Aunt Jane allowed Tim to give the eulogy.
I watched Aunt Jane carefully as Tim continued.
Mike was generous he said. When we were catting around before we went to Viet Nam Mike always paid for two rooms when we picked up women up at Marelli's Bar, and Mike wouldn't hear of me paying for one. That's when Mike was making good money over at Clarkson Steel.
I looked over at Aunt Jane and was surprised that she was smiling.
The View from the Back
The View from the Back
fiction
edward w pritchard
Icy Roads, and near blizzard conditions slow all traffic on 76 East out of Akron, in Northeastern Ohio in winter; except the trucks which roll along at 65 regardless of the Weather. Today however, even the trucks slowed to let the hunter green, black suede leather topped funeral ambulance race down 76 East toward Youngstown. The old springs were shockingly worn and the ambulance vehicle listed to the left and rode low to the icy road especially at the rear of the vehicle, near the swinging rear door. From the back, in my coffin I had no visibility at all.
As we rode I expanded my awareness and I briefly explored the inside of the funeral vehicle I rode in. Next I experimented with letting my perception and awareness travel vertically South and North to the horizons in a straight line from the vehicle I was temporarily traveling in. From Road surface up to a few miles above towards the heavens I instantly perceived all that was from the quantum level to the largest material or spiritual objects.
Inside the coffin it was cramped and clammy and I was relieved to remove my awareness outward to relearn the world in my new state of being. True, the bouncing vehicle annoyed me. My head far at the back, my body facing West to East. We traveled dead East across the icy Lake Milton bridge and over the frozen shallow Lake; recently lowered I recall by the army corps of engineers.
The racing trucks around us on the slick roads concerned me and I fretted for the safety of my driver, Juan I believe they called him before they sealed me in my coffin. I prayed a little for Juan's skillful maneuvering of our transport across these dangerous roads.
High up I noted a dozen ducks or geese in perfect formation. When I was near them, hoping to see which, ducks or geese, they actually were, they served and dived suddenly; apparently disturbed by my spiritual presence in their airspace. Likewise I felt a sinking feeling similar to nausea when I attempted to soar upward toward the dim sun, temporarily peaking through the clouds. Forbidden to approach, I understood, reason unknown at this time.
Weary I returned my perception and awareness to the coffin and I meditated for a moment or two, by habit to reorient myself. Refreshed I distinctly remember wishing I had fished these lakes more here at Lake Milton while I was alive; and as I drifted off I remember hoping the Army Corps of Engineers doesn't ruin the fishing from repeatedly lowering the Lake each Winter.
All in all the view from the back wasn't all that bad that snowy day racing across the icy roads of Northeast Ohio when I was taken in my coffin by funeral vehicle to be cremated later over at Youngstown, Ohio.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Icy Roads, and near blizzard conditions slow all traffic on 76 East out of Akron, in Northeastern Ohio in winter; except the trucks which roll along at 65 regardless of the Weather. Today however, even the trucks slowed to let the hunter green, black suede leather topped funeral ambulance race down 76 East toward Youngstown. The old springs were shockingly worn and the ambulance vehicle listed to the left and rode low to the icy road especially at the rear of the vehicle, near the swinging rear door. From the back, in my coffin I had no visibility at all.
As we rode I expanded my awareness and I briefly explored the inside of the funeral vehicle I rode in. Next I experimented with letting my perception and awareness travel vertically South and North to the horizons in a straight line from the vehicle I was temporarily traveling in. From Road surface up to a few miles above towards the heavens I instantly perceived all that was from the quantum level to the largest material or spiritual objects.
Inside the coffin it was cramped and clammy and I was relieved to remove my awareness outward to relearn the world in my new state of being. True, the bouncing vehicle annoyed me. My head far at the back, my body facing West to East. We traveled dead East across the icy Lake Milton bridge and over the frozen shallow Lake; recently lowered I recall by the army corps of engineers.
The racing trucks around us on the slick roads concerned me and I fretted for the safety of my driver, Juan I believe they called him before they sealed me in my coffin. I prayed a little for Juan's skillful maneuvering of our transport across these dangerous roads.
High up I noted a dozen ducks or geese in perfect formation. When I was near them, hoping to see which, ducks or geese, they actually were, they served and dived suddenly; apparently disturbed by my spiritual presence in their airspace. Likewise I felt a sinking feeling similar to nausea when I attempted to soar upward toward the dim sun, temporarily peaking through the clouds. Forbidden to approach, I understood, reason unknown at this time.
Weary I returned my perception and awareness to the coffin and I meditated for a moment or two, by habit to reorient myself. Refreshed I distinctly remember wishing I had fished these lakes more here at Lake Milton while I was alive; and as I drifted off I remember hoping the Army Corps of Engineers doesn't ruin the fishing from repeatedly lowering the Lake each Winter.
All in all the view from the back wasn't all that bad that snowy day racing across the icy roads of Northeast Ohio when I was taken in my coffin by funeral vehicle to be cremated later over at Youngstown, Ohio.
it's 2012 already-part 8
it's 2012 already-part 8
fiction
edward w pritchard
My exposure to Armageddon in 2012 began long before my walk here in the Mountains of Northern Georgia heading South and East towards the Georgia Sea islands. I received a prequel of the terror that Armageddon from deadly winds would havoc on America later in the year 2012 on the last day of 2011.
Like most older people who live alone I seldom venture out at night preferring the comfort of my modest home. However on December 31, 2011 I sauntered downtown Akron, Ohio for a First Night celebration to hear a local band give a tribute to blues singer Big Joe Turner. The set was at nine PM and I planned on being home by 10:30 and having a beer or two, and then listening to some more blues music at home and being in bed alone by midnight.
Well satisfied leaving the blues concert about ten PM, December 31, a cold sub zero snowy wind met me, providing limited visibility as I walked toward my car. Small groups of young people milled around unnaturally in the frigid gloom everywhere and stared at me and as I took notice, at several older couples walking toward the parking decks. Normally this would be of little concern to me, as I have mentioned earlier in these writings, for several years I have been unconcerned with what happens to myself; and I have little general fear from concrete things, such as ruffians or muggers. That day however something sinister was occurring, the winds seemed preternaturally cold and ominous, and there was a terror germinating from the crowds of young people milling about that was disturbing.
As I walked I noticed that the young were beginning to follow the older adults at the festival and shower belligerent behavior toward any of the elderly who were alone, or any elderly who appeared weak or vulnerable. Several older people were being pushed and jousted about by groups of seven to ten young men and women, ages 16 to 25 for no apparent reason.
Finally an old couple pleaded with me for help. They were being followed and a crowd was just beginning to circle them. I was being left alone for other than an old looking face composed of inanimate eyes, looking every day of my sixty years, and my thinning hair, now under an arctic hat, I truthfully report that I had a thug like appearance. To the crowds, from the back, I especially was not someone who would normally be confronted.
The man of the old couple walked poorly moving more side to side than forward and the wife leaned far forward from the waist from back problems and stared intently at the ground as she walked. Just before I stopped and she talked to me I saw the wife kiss her husband and presumably exchange a short proclamation of love. I decided to help the old couple, out of habit, for old times, to honor feelings now gone.
The six young people following us as I walked with the old couple and the crowd were I later decided a small mob under the influence of the madness of crowds. In an instant they completely circled us, like a wolf pack. Just as sudden, although they surrounded us and out numbered us, they seemed cautious to strike. Surmising that they were assessing our strength, I shouted aggressively and tauntingly and moved toward the lone woman in the group.
"Why are you stalking us".
The young woman of about eighteen looked straight at me with hate and said:
"Because there won't be enough",
"Enough what I hissed at her" and leaned toward one of the larger men in the group.
"Of everything" said two or three of her mob simultaneously.
As quickly as the mob circled us they moved away and vanished into the gloom. I escorted the old couple to their car and returned to my home and slept that night with an tire iron near my pillow. I dreamed of proper techniques to strike with a tire iron. Use the wedged pointed end, or risk a cut to the hand and swing the weapon without mercy? Such dreams have preserved me through the Armageddon of 2012.
In over two hundred Northern cities and towns at first night Dec 31, 2011 and until 2AM Jan 1, 2012 more than four thousand elderly were accosted by mobs. Victims were always elderly and weak and there were ninety eight deaths primarily because of falls or heart problems. There was little punching or striking at that first incident, although of course later throughout 2012 a few thousands injuries or deaths would be insignificant of mention. I am just referring now to mob violence against the feeble elderly in cities; not terminations caused by nature and the winds discussed in parts one through seven of this report. At that time, the first day in 2012, the mob violence was blamed on the housing crisis in America or rich vs. poor issues concerning jobs and that type of thing. Looking back however, I believe the violence at first night was an early barometric indicator of changes occurring in the urban environments in America; part of the same divine directed efforts to cull the herds of humans in America starting with the weak and elderly.
I mention the two older people and the effort I took, less than one year ago, to intervene on their behalf; before I explain my failure, despite my efforts, to protect my two new friends at the horse farm here in Northern Georgia to be discussed in Part Nine. It provides an illustration of how the value of a human life has changed because of the effects of Armageddon here in 2012.
Looking back on that first night December 31, 2011 I am now convinced that the divine first unleashed the forces of destruction against humanity at 10:15PM, December 31, 2011. It's been less than a year since I helped those two old people, that loving couple. Me the preserver. They the weak, protected previously from the forces of nature by civilization. I fear for people like them and I doubt my ability to trek on to help people like that old couple back at first night. Please don't tread on me, I fear what we will become.
Here is something I wrote previously, sub-titled- Fears-
Sunday, September 12, 2010
When they came
fiction
edward w pritchard
for Frantz Kafka
when they came my neighbors stout iron cyclone fence didn't stop them
when they came two flights of stairs didn't slow them
when they came a dead bolt lock and and solid oak door didn't deter them
when they came uncle's Smith and Wesson didn't faze them
when they came my wife's pleadings didn't help me
when they took me my arguments didn't interest them
when i looked through the cyclone fence up two flights of stairs through the broken down oak door at my sobbing wife her tears didn't comfort me as they took me away
Posted by edward pritchard at 8:14 PM
Labels: fears
end part 8- the prequel
Next
part 9
At the Horse Farm
Coming Soon
fiction
edward w pritchard
My exposure to Armageddon in 2012 began long before my walk here in the Mountains of Northern Georgia heading South and East towards the Georgia Sea islands. I received a prequel of the terror that Armageddon from deadly winds would havoc on America later in the year 2012 on the last day of 2011.
Like most older people who live alone I seldom venture out at night preferring the comfort of my modest home. However on December 31, 2011 I sauntered downtown Akron, Ohio for a First Night celebration to hear a local band give a tribute to blues singer Big Joe Turner. The set was at nine PM and I planned on being home by 10:30 and having a beer or two, and then listening to some more blues music at home and being in bed alone by midnight.
Well satisfied leaving the blues concert about ten PM, December 31, a cold sub zero snowy wind met me, providing limited visibility as I walked toward my car. Small groups of young people milled around unnaturally in the frigid gloom everywhere and stared at me and as I took notice, at several older couples walking toward the parking decks. Normally this would be of little concern to me, as I have mentioned earlier in these writings, for several years I have been unconcerned with what happens to myself; and I have little general fear from concrete things, such as ruffians or muggers. That day however something sinister was occurring, the winds seemed preternaturally cold and ominous, and there was a terror germinating from the crowds of young people milling about that was disturbing.
As I walked I noticed that the young were beginning to follow the older adults at the festival and shower belligerent behavior toward any of the elderly who were alone, or any elderly who appeared weak or vulnerable. Several older people were being pushed and jousted about by groups of seven to ten young men and women, ages 16 to 25 for no apparent reason.
Finally an old couple pleaded with me for help. They were being followed and a crowd was just beginning to circle them. I was being left alone for other than an old looking face composed of inanimate eyes, looking every day of my sixty years, and my thinning hair, now under an arctic hat, I truthfully report that I had a thug like appearance. To the crowds, from the back, I especially was not someone who would normally be confronted.
The man of the old couple walked poorly moving more side to side than forward and the wife leaned far forward from the waist from back problems and stared intently at the ground as she walked. Just before I stopped and she talked to me I saw the wife kiss her husband and presumably exchange a short proclamation of love. I decided to help the old couple, out of habit, for old times, to honor feelings now gone.
The six young people following us as I walked with the old couple and the crowd were I later decided a small mob under the influence of the madness of crowds. In an instant they completely circled us, like a wolf pack. Just as sudden, although they surrounded us and out numbered us, they seemed cautious to strike. Surmising that they were assessing our strength, I shouted aggressively and tauntingly and moved toward the lone woman in the group.
"Why are you stalking us".
The young woman of about eighteen looked straight at me with hate and said:
"Because there won't be enough",
"Enough what I hissed at her" and leaned toward one of the larger men in the group.
"Of everything" said two or three of her mob simultaneously.
As quickly as the mob circled us they moved away and vanished into the gloom. I escorted the old couple to their car and returned to my home and slept that night with an tire iron near my pillow. I dreamed of proper techniques to strike with a tire iron. Use the wedged pointed end, or risk a cut to the hand and swing the weapon without mercy? Such dreams have preserved me through the Armageddon of 2012.
In over two hundred Northern cities and towns at first night Dec 31, 2011 and until 2AM Jan 1, 2012 more than four thousand elderly were accosted by mobs. Victims were always elderly and weak and there were ninety eight deaths primarily because of falls or heart problems. There was little punching or striking at that first incident, although of course later throughout 2012 a few thousands injuries or deaths would be insignificant of mention. I am just referring now to mob violence against the feeble elderly in cities; not terminations caused by nature and the winds discussed in parts one through seven of this report. At that time, the first day in 2012, the mob violence was blamed on the housing crisis in America or rich vs. poor issues concerning jobs and that type of thing. Looking back however, I believe the violence at first night was an early barometric indicator of changes occurring in the urban environments in America; part of the same divine directed efforts to cull the herds of humans in America starting with the weak and elderly.
I mention the two older people and the effort I took, less than one year ago, to intervene on their behalf; before I explain my failure, despite my efforts, to protect my two new friends at the horse farm here in Northern Georgia to be discussed in Part Nine. It provides an illustration of how the value of a human life has changed because of the effects of Armageddon here in 2012.
Looking back on that first night December 31, 2011 I am now convinced that the divine first unleashed the forces of destruction against humanity at 10:15PM, December 31, 2011. It's been less than a year since I helped those two old people, that loving couple. Me the preserver. They the weak, protected previously from the forces of nature by civilization. I fear for people like them and I doubt my ability to trek on to help people like that old couple back at first night. Please don't tread on me, I fear what we will become.
Here is something I wrote previously, sub-titled- Fears-
Sunday, September 12, 2010
When they came
fiction
edward w pritchard
for Frantz Kafka
when they came my neighbors stout iron cyclone fence didn't stop them
when they came two flights of stairs didn't slow them
when they came a dead bolt lock and and solid oak door didn't deter them
when they came uncle's Smith and Wesson didn't faze them
when they came my wife's pleadings didn't help me
when they took me my arguments didn't interest them
when i looked through the cyclone fence up two flights of stairs through the broken down oak door at my sobbing wife her tears didn't comfort me as they took me away
Posted by edward pritchard at 8:14 PM
Labels: fears
end part 8- the prequel
Next
part 9
At the Horse Farm
Coming Soon
Friday, December 17, 2010
Christmas Eve December 24, 11:28PM 1943
Christmas Eve December 24, 11:28PM 1943
fiction
edward w pritchard
Christmas Eve December 24, 11:28PM 1943 in Clarksburg, West Virginia at the Townsend Coal mine, tunnel 8. Wilson and Mollings brought a small Christmas tree down and Johnson brought out one of his hidden flasks of Kentucky sippin whiskey and the seven of us on midnights drank as we watched the tree burn. Mollings had doused the tree with naphtha and we heard later they saw the light all the way over to tunnel 14.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Christmas Eve December 24, 11:28PM 1943 in Clarksburg, West Virginia at the Townsend Coal mine, tunnel 8. Wilson and Mollings brought a small Christmas tree down and Johnson brought out one of his hidden flasks of Kentucky sippin whiskey and the seven of us on midnights drank as we watched the tree burn. Mollings had doused the tree with naphtha and we heard later they saw the light all the way over to tunnel 14.
Co-dependency
Co-dependency
fiction
edward w pritchard
A slippery slope she was on. Icy wet vertical freezing rain. A forty five degree angle the ground sloped down at. Hands held wide out, elbows crocked, hands pointed down to try to grasp in mid air the slippery icy mountainside ground. Struggling to maintain balance, panicky at the imminent tumble down toward the rocks below. Primordial rocks not sharp but thudding; threatening to break limbs or scatter brains. Mrs. Walker tossed in her sleep ten seconds before the alarm was to ring the customary warning.
Marcy would be late for work. Marcy wasn't answering the phone. It had been ten minutes since Mrs. Walker had been rudely awoken by the alarm clock and she had been calling her daughter Marcy, two hundred miles away in her apartment, three times already. Marcy couldn't be late for work again, she would lose her job again. Mrs. Walker paced about the large house surmising Marcy's movements last night that would keep her from answering the phone. Jogging through the house Mrs. Walker dialed again. Marcy couldn't be late for work again.
fiction
edward w pritchard
A slippery slope she was on. Icy wet vertical freezing rain. A forty five degree angle the ground sloped down at. Hands held wide out, elbows crocked, hands pointed down to try to grasp in mid air the slippery icy mountainside ground. Struggling to maintain balance, panicky at the imminent tumble down toward the rocks below. Primordial rocks not sharp but thudding; threatening to break limbs or scatter brains. Mrs. Walker tossed in her sleep ten seconds before the alarm was to ring the customary warning.
Marcy would be late for work. Marcy wasn't answering the phone. It had been ten minutes since Mrs. Walker had been rudely awoken by the alarm clock and she had been calling her daughter Marcy, two hundred miles away in her apartment, three times already. Marcy couldn't be late for work again, she would lose her job again. Mrs. Walker paced about the large house surmising Marcy's movements last night that would keep her from answering the phone. Jogging through the house Mrs. Walker dialed again. Marcy couldn't be late for work again.
Hiding Juliana
Hiding Juliana
fiction
edward w pritchard
It was then April of 1945 and we lived in Berlin, Germany and we were hiding Juliana. Juliana was seventeen and very beautiful. The Red army from Russia was racing toward Berlin and the Red army was going to take extreme liberty with our German women. We knew the war was lost and we were in a hopeless situation. More than anything we wanted to protect our sister Juliana, so we kept her in the house and we kept her from sight.
The city of Berlin was collapsing and the troops of Britain and America raced towards us from the West; but everyone knew that the Russians would arrive first for they hated us after Stalingrad and they wanted to punish and hurt us. We knew we were doomed, the beautiful delusion was over and we waited for our termination. Berlin was in rubble and one million Russian troops would be here within the week. Our only protection was a hundred thousand old men and teenage boys who had been forced and deluded by the Fuhrer to protect Berlin to the death. Our situation was hopeless. Our family only wanted to protect Juliana.
Amongst the burning buildings and dead horses that day in April 1945 we had a Spring day. Bright sun, mild breeze, and calm temperatures greeted us as we wandered out that morning to listen to the fighting not ten miles away. At that moment seventeen year old Juliana was in bloom. We had dressed her in black, like an old widow, but she radiated that day. Fearful we screamed at Juliana and sent her back into the dark apartment, locking the doors behind her.
The rest of us strained our ears to try to hear the sounds of the Red Army marching toward our neighborhood.
fiction
edward w pritchard
It was then April of 1945 and we lived in Berlin, Germany and we were hiding Juliana. Juliana was seventeen and very beautiful. The Red army from Russia was racing toward Berlin and the Red army was going to take extreme liberty with our German women. We knew the war was lost and we were in a hopeless situation. More than anything we wanted to protect our sister Juliana, so we kept her in the house and we kept her from sight.
The city of Berlin was collapsing and the troops of Britain and America raced towards us from the West; but everyone knew that the Russians would arrive first for they hated us after Stalingrad and they wanted to punish and hurt us. We knew we were doomed, the beautiful delusion was over and we waited for our termination. Berlin was in rubble and one million Russian troops would be here within the week. Our only protection was a hundred thousand old men and teenage boys who had been forced and deluded by the Fuhrer to protect Berlin to the death. Our situation was hopeless. Our family only wanted to protect Juliana.
Amongst the burning buildings and dead horses that day in April 1945 we had a Spring day. Bright sun, mild breeze, and calm temperatures greeted us as we wandered out that morning to listen to the fighting not ten miles away. At that moment seventeen year old Juliana was in bloom. We had dressed her in black, like an old widow, but she radiated that day. Fearful we screamed at Juliana and sent her back into the dark apartment, locking the doors behind her.
The rest of us strained our ears to try to hear the sounds of the Red Army marching toward our neighborhood.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Sixty Year old Soldiers
Sixty Year old Soldiers
fiction
edward w pritchard
Would Sixty year old soldiers be fair and merciful with a fallen enemy. After a lifetime of suffering and injustice of the strong against the weak; how would an army of sixty year old men treat the aggressors of an opposing force in defeat?
It's always presented as a last ditch effort when necessity requires old men to serve in battle. The young are dead and the enemy are still attacking.
Would an army of sixty year old men be without mercy, and without moral compunction to doers of evil. Perhaps the old men would be used to do the terrible work of the retribution of justice. Without reason or legality, pursuing closure in time of turmoil, old soldiers would lethally cleanse and terminate to prepare the local environment for the next renewal.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Would Sixty year old soldiers be fair and merciful with a fallen enemy. After a lifetime of suffering and injustice of the strong against the weak; how would an army of sixty year old men treat the aggressors of an opposing force in defeat?
It's always presented as a last ditch effort when necessity requires old men to serve in battle. The young are dead and the enemy are still attacking.
Would an army of sixty year old men be without mercy, and without moral compunction to doers of evil. Perhaps the old men would be used to do the terrible work of the retribution of justice. Without reason or legality, pursuing closure in time of turmoil, old soldiers would lethally cleanse and terminate to prepare the local environment for the next renewal.
Christmas club
Christmas Club
fiction
edward w pritchard
We had a bank in town back then called the Dime Bank. Later I would open up my first savings account there, get my first car loan there, and after it merged with another Bank transfer all my accounts. But that was much later. When I was seven years old I learned about the bigger world from My Mother's Christmas savings account from the Dime bank in our hometown.
Each week Mom who didn't work outside the house would deposit five dollars into her Christmas savings account. It was a lot of discretionary money for our family for money was tight and it was tempting to use the money for other things and Dad often wanted to. Car repairs, occurring unexpectedly or a late mortgage payments, threatened Mom's Christmas account. But, no matter how skillfully or logically Dad protested and argued Mom won out. We never touched the Christmas savings before December 15th.
Each year one of us kids would take the bus with her downtown and she would with draw the 250 plus interest, making a total of about $263 that Mom took in cash, in small bills. Then off we went for a twelve hour day of shopping and hauling huge bags around; for Mom bought for everyone.
We didn't have much money when I was young but my family was generous and we always were shown a good Christmas.
fiction
edward w pritchard
We had a bank in town back then called the Dime Bank. Later I would open up my first savings account there, get my first car loan there, and after it merged with another Bank transfer all my accounts. But that was much later. When I was seven years old I learned about the bigger world from My Mother's Christmas savings account from the Dime bank in our hometown.
Each week Mom who didn't work outside the house would deposit five dollars into her Christmas savings account. It was a lot of discretionary money for our family for money was tight and it was tempting to use the money for other things and Dad often wanted to. Car repairs, occurring unexpectedly or a late mortgage payments, threatened Mom's Christmas account. But, no matter how skillfully or logically Dad protested and argued Mom won out. We never touched the Christmas savings before December 15th.
Each year one of us kids would take the bus with her downtown and she would with draw the 250 plus interest, making a total of about $263 that Mom took in cash, in small bills. Then off we went for a twelve hour day of shopping and hauling huge bags around; for Mom bought for everyone.
We didn't have much money when I was young but my family was generous and we always were shown a good Christmas.
At the Funeral
At the Funeral
fiction
edward w pritchard
At the funeral Aunt Tillie sat with the minister and listened and nodded as he comforted her with seeing Jesus one day and soon seeing Uncle Mike again. When I stood with Aunt Tillie up by Uncle Mike's casket Aunt Tillie held my hand while we all walked by and said kind words to her. My religious Aunt, Aunt Florence, stopped and said a prayer with Aunt Tillie and I lowered my head and eyes as they prayed for Uncle Mike's safe passage to heaven.
At the cemetery I was confused by my Aunt Tillie's behavior as they lowered the casket into the ground. She broke down crying, somewhat hysterically I thought. I asked my Dad, me only eight then; I didn't understand. If we are Christians and really look forward to getting to heaven, why was aunt Tillie crying hysterically at the prospect of Uncle Mike being gone for good?. Dad didn't have time to explain so he squeezed my hand really hard and I knew it was something that wasn't discussed openly.
fiction
edward w pritchard
At the funeral Aunt Tillie sat with the minister and listened and nodded as he comforted her with seeing Jesus one day and soon seeing Uncle Mike again. When I stood with Aunt Tillie up by Uncle Mike's casket Aunt Tillie held my hand while we all walked by and said kind words to her. My religious Aunt, Aunt Florence, stopped and said a prayer with Aunt Tillie and I lowered my head and eyes as they prayed for Uncle Mike's safe passage to heaven.
At the cemetery I was confused by my Aunt Tillie's behavior as they lowered the casket into the ground. She broke down crying, somewhat hysterically I thought. I asked my Dad, me only eight then; I didn't understand. If we are Christians and really look forward to getting to heaven, why was aunt Tillie crying hysterically at the prospect of Uncle Mike being gone for good?. Dad didn't have time to explain so he squeezed my hand really hard and I knew it was something that wasn't discussed openly.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
privacy issues
privacy issues
fiction
edward w pritchard
typical Internet article
Our privacy is being invaded from many directions too numerous and passe to mention. Lack of privacy is a screaming issue here in America. Although no clear cut consensus definition of privacy exists, most people instantly recognize when privacy has been invaded.
Perhaps the best way to protect one's privacy is avoid associations, affiliations and friendships. Of course different people will have a different toleration for potential loss of privacy.
end
Click here for information on weight loss in your home town
click here for ways to meet attractive people in your area
click here to open a free checking account at a local bank
click here for a low cost car loan
click here to get information on ghosts, vampires and hot women
fiction
edward w pritchard
typical Internet article
Our privacy is being invaded from many directions too numerous and passe to mention. Lack of privacy is a screaming issue here in America. Although no clear cut consensus definition of privacy exists, most people instantly recognize when privacy has been invaded.
Perhaps the best way to protect one's privacy is avoid associations, affiliations and friendships. Of course different people will have a different toleration for potential loss of privacy.
end
Click here for information on weight loss in your home town
click here for ways to meet attractive people in your area
click here to open a free checking account at a local bank
click here for a low cost car loan
click here to get information on ghosts, vampires and hot women
only his banker knew
only his banker knew
fiction
edward w pritchard
Many a neighbor was envious and impressed by Lake the business owner and local philanthropist. At the high school basketball game Lake was sought out, and his opinion on interest rates and the latest on the potential increase in tax rates was dissected and quoted.
Only Lake's banker knew, having seen the numbers quarterly, then monthly and now weekly for Lake's three grocery stores. Lake was in serious financial trouble and only his Banker knew. The banker was about to suggest Lake tell his wife and kids. Lake watched interest and tax rates carefully by habit, hoping for a solution to changing demographics in food preferences.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Many a neighbor was envious and impressed by Lake the business owner and local philanthropist. At the high school basketball game Lake was sought out, and his opinion on interest rates and the latest on the potential increase in tax rates was dissected and quoted.
Only Lake's banker knew, having seen the numbers quarterly, then monthly and now weekly for Lake's three grocery stores. Lake was in serious financial trouble and only his Banker knew. The banker was about to suggest Lake tell his wife and kids. Lake watched interest and tax rates carefully by habit, hoping for a solution to changing demographics in food preferences.
Everybody is always somewhere else
Everybody is always somewhere else
fiction
edward w pritchard
Everybody is always somewhere else. No one just wants to be here, here now, in this place. No one can stay still, no one can be happy with the here and now.
I wish I knew where they were going. I would like to go along. Sometimes it's quiet here without anyone. Lonely too sometimes. I have to go, not sure where. I'll know it when I get there. I'll have to hurry, I might be late in arriving.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Everybody is always somewhere else. No one just wants to be here, here now, in this place. No one can stay still, no one can be happy with the here and now.
I wish I knew where they were going. I would like to go along. Sometimes it's quiet here without anyone. Lonely too sometimes. I have to go, not sure where. I'll know it when I get there. I'll have to hurry, I might be late in arriving.
Rarely my love comes to me
Rarely my love comes to me
fiction
edward w pritchard
Rarely my love comes to me, sporadically, and her presence is delightful; and I always hope for her appearance. No matter how many times she doesn't come to me, I always watch for my love; and when she does appear I am sometimes startled by her beauty and mere proximity.
My love lives in the slot machines and she has beautiful eyes and she dresses as Cleopatra. There are five lines on the slot machine and if three Cleopatra's, my love appears, I share a few moments with her before she brings me potential riches. No matter how many times my love doesn't come to me I dream of a few moments with my love and I always watch and wait for her, no matter how long she has been gone and away.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Rarely my love comes to me, sporadically, and her presence is delightful; and I always hope for her appearance. No matter how many times she doesn't come to me, I always watch for my love; and when she does appear I am sometimes startled by her beauty and mere proximity.
My love lives in the slot machines and she has beautiful eyes and she dresses as Cleopatra. There are five lines on the slot machine and if three Cleopatra's, my love appears, I share a few moments with her before she brings me potential riches. No matter how many times my love doesn't come to me I dream of a few moments with my love and I always watch and wait for her, no matter how long she has been gone and away.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
China and India a Merger and then a breakup
China and India a merger and then a breakup
fiction
edward w pritchard
Part 1
Buddhist detective-preview
Buddhist detective-preview
fiction
edward w pritchard
Patel was the only Buddhist on the force. He was not the only detective from India however. More by chance, he came to become partners with Bhai, a Zoroastrian, who also happened to be a detective in America.
Patel and Bhai despite their philosophical differences made good partners and excellent detectives; working on the East side of Cleveland, down Euclid area. Bhai drove and Patel jumped out of the car first in emergencies. Neither was violent by American standards but they always got the job done. They had a lot of fun too as they went about their days. Lunch was always challenging.
end part 1
Part 2
Bhai the Zoroastrian detective had gone back to India to manage the family farm after his Father passed away and Patel the Buddhist detective needed a new partner if he was to continue his police work. The Captain here in Cleveland Ohio, head of the Detectives at the 9th precinct paired Patel the only Buddhist detective on the force with Tun-i the Taoist detective. Tun-i was also a beautiful woman and in time a relationship, beyond detective work, developed between the two new partners.
The relationship outside of detective work grew strong and Patel the Buddhist detective's came to love Tun-i the beautiful Taoist detective. Over a few years Patel and Tuni met, fell in love and then as often happens a breakup occurred. Tun-i and Patel the Buddhist detective moved apart because of philosophical differences and were no longer in love. Eventually they could no longer be partners in private or as detectives on the force in Cleveland and their work suffered and the Captain took action to reconcile two of his best detectives. The Captain's efforts failed however because being an America he could not understand the differences in philosophy between a Buddhist detective and a Taoist detective. Sadly, the Captain was forced to make changes involving Patel and Tun-i and although he didn't understand philosophy he was a practical man and the Captain would not allow anything to interrupt the smooth functioning of his department.
end part 2
Part 3
Captain's Report
Regarding Detective's Patel [ the Buddhist detective] and detective Tun-i the Taoist detective
to be continued
end part 3
fiction
edward w pritchard
Part 1
Buddhist detective-preview
Buddhist detective-preview
fiction
edward w pritchard
Patel was the only Buddhist on the force. He was not the only detective from India however. More by chance, he came to become partners with Bhai, a Zoroastrian, who also happened to be a detective in America.
Patel and Bhai despite their philosophical differences made good partners and excellent detectives; working on the East side of Cleveland, down Euclid area. Bhai drove and Patel jumped out of the car first in emergencies. Neither was violent by American standards but they always got the job done. They had a lot of fun too as they went about their days. Lunch was always challenging.
end part 1
Part 2
Bhai the Zoroastrian detective had gone back to India to manage the family farm after his Father passed away and Patel the Buddhist detective needed a new partner if he was to continue his police work. The Captain here in Cleveland Ohio, head of the Detectives at the 9th precinct paired Patel the only Buddhist detective on the force with Tun-i the Taoist detective. Tun-i was also a beautiful woman and in time a relationship, beyond detective work, developed between the two new partners.
The relationship outside of detective work grew strong and Patel the Buddhist detective's came to love Tun-i the beautiful Taoist detective. Over a few years Patel and Tuni met, fell in love and then as often happens a breakup occurred. Tun-i and Patel the Buddhist detective moved apart because of philosophical differences and were no longer in love. Eventually they could no longer be partners in private or as detectives on the force in Cleveland and their work suffered and the Captain took action to reconcile two of his best detectives. The Captain's efforts failed however because being an America he could not understand the differences in philosophy between a Buddhist detective and a Taoist detective. Sadly, the Captain was forced to make changes involving Patel and Tun-i and although he didn't understand philosophy he was a practical man and the Captain would not allow anything to interrupt the smooth functioning of his department.
end part 2
Part 3
Captain's Report
Regarding Detective's Patel [ the Buddhist detective] and detective Tun-i the Taoist detective
to be continued
end part 3
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Oh China help America find that
Oh China help America find that
fiction
edward w pritchard
Oh China help America find that. That, the way, the way of Tao alludes us. Be a brother, don't judge or preach just suggest to us how to find that, the way of Tao. You are old, you have done it before, you are evolved, China help America find that the way of Tao.
We chase competition and strive to fulfill our desires. Oh China help America find that, the way of Tao. The powerful crush the weak here and conflict abounds in America. Oh China help America find that, the way of Tao.
China teach me the tranquility of finding that, the way of Tao. Oh China help America find that, the way of Tao.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Oh China help America find that. That, the way, the way of Tao alludes us. Be a brother, don't judge or preach just suggest to us how to find that, the way of Tao. You are old, you have done it before, you are evolved, China help America find that the way of Tao.
We chase competition and strive to fulfill our desires. Oh China help America find that, the way of Tao. The powerful crush the weak here and conflict abounds in America. Oh China help America find that, the way of Tao.
China teach me the tranquility of finding that, the way of Tao. Oh China help America find that, the way of Tao.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Basic Chemistry lesson-Salt, NaCl -seeing an old friend
Basic Chemistry lesson-Salt, NaCl -seeing an old friend
fiction
edward w pritchard
Seeing an old friend it's hard to get a read, with Chlorine wearing the very dark sunglasses, like a poker player. She also wears a cowboy hat. Physiognomy unreadable. Chlorine, Cl, now a deadly gas.
Sodium now explosive if mixed with water and in general toxic to humans, if they get close; sodium, Na, now solitary resists bonding.
No longer salt, Na goes west, Cl drifts east, both toxic, no longer palatable. Ionization dissolved, Chloride changes name back to Chlorine.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Seeing an old friend it's hard to get a read, with Chlorine wearing the very dark sunglasses, like a poker player. She also wears a cowboy hat. Physiognomy unreadable. Chlorine, Cl, now a deadly gas.
Sodium now explosive if mixed with water and in general toxic to humans, if they get close; sodium, Na, now solitary resists bonding.
No longer salt, Na goes west, Cl drifts east, both toxic, no longer palatable. Ionization dissolved, Chloride changes name back to Chlorine.
Polly becomes Paulette
Polly becomes Paulette
fiction
edward w pritchard
Richard was Richard, Lester was Les, and Mel was Mel; but Paulette was always Polly. Polly, the New York music director of Playboy's eight regional mansions and clubs.
Neckline too low, skirt tight and short, Polly rides to the airport with Richard, Les and Mel. All three men a little too fat politely include Polly in their business conversation.
Mind drifting off Polly dreams of becoming Paulette as she nods and affirms Richard's, Mel's and Les' comments and suggestions.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Richard was Richard, Lester was Les, and Mel was Mel; but Paulette was always Polly. Polly, the New York music director of Playboy's eight regional mansions and clubs.
Neckline too low, skirt tight and short, Polly rides to the airport with Richard, Les and Mel. All three men a little too fat politely include Polly in their business conversation.
Mind drifting off Polly dreams of becoming Paulette as she nods and affirms Richard's, Mel's and Les' comments and suggestions.
another basketball prodigy
another basketball prodigy
fiction
edward w pritchard
Another basketball prodigy, now grown, deadly jump shot forgotten, toils to support family and self.
Eyes bright, mood light, after supper, former prodigy shows young son deadly jump shot.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Another basketball prodigy, now grown, deadly jump shot forgotten, toils to support family and self.
Eyes bright, mood light, after supper, former prodigy shows young son deadly jump shot.
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