Backpacking with Jolene in the Appalachian Mountains/ letter to Blanche Dubois-part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
Blanche of course the girl in the back packing story is real; as real as you or I. The story doesn't mean anything.
I was just trying to describe how the girl looked just before she started walking to go back packing one bright sunny day in the Mountains. Stretching and swaying in the white tee shirt, the kind with no sleeves and how all the straps were so tight across her chest.
end
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 13
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 13
fiction
edward w pritchard
The boy made the fire for the old fisherman and found him some bait. Old people were always trying to seem important with their tall tales. Still the old man went on. He had buried gold in the Lake, across the lake in the lilly Pads; the old man said he had buried gold in the lake in 1941. Fifty one years later the man fished here every day and the boy sometimes helped the old man before the boy rode to baseball practice this summer in 1992.
Fifteen years later the boy and his son were fishing in a row boat there on the Portage Lakes and for fun the boy, now the Father had used the oar to poke along the Lilly pads to search for hidden Nazi gold.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
The boy made the fire for the old fisherman and found him some bait. Old people were always trying to seem important with their tall tales. Still the old man went on. He had buried gold in the Lake, across the lake in the lilly Pads; the old man said he had buried gold in the lake in 1941. Fifty one years later the man fished here every day and the boy sometimes helped the old man before the boy rode to baseball practice this summer in 1992.
Fifteen years later the boy and his son were fishing in a row boat there on the Portage Lakes and for fun the boy, now the Father had used the oar to poke along the Lilly pads to search for hidden Nazi gold.
end
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 12
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 12
fiction
edward w pritchard
My contacts in America have arranged for me to live on a small series of lakes in Ohio, a State on Lake Erie. Like many Germans I have dropped out of the party, but somehow I am still alive here in 1942.
I buried 200 pounds of gold secretly here on the Portage Lakes and a similar amount of silver and a lesser amount of diamonds. No one but me knows about the dirty money I have stolen.
The American lake in Ohio is beautiful tonight and reminds me very much of the Lakes at home near Berlin.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
My contacts in America have arranged for me to live on a small series of lakes in Ohio, a State on Lake Erie. Like many Germans I have dropped out of the party, but somehow I am still alive here in 1942.
I buried 200 pounds of gold secretly here on the Portage Lakes and a similar amount of silver and a lesser amount of diamonds. No one but me knows about the dirty money I have stolen.
The American lake in Ohio is beautiful tonight and reminds me very much of the Lakes at home near Berlin.
end
spinoza in Pennsylvania/draft two part two
spinoza in Pennsylvania/draft two part two
see part one August 26, 2011 as rewritten
fiction
edward w pritchard
The girl is very pretty. Not like anyone around here. Like someone from Paris, France or Milan, Italy. She showed up at my Grandpa's house and wants to look at some of the stock certificates. She is about my age but she is not like any of the girls around here in Pennsylvania.
I am a little suspicious of the girl's story about why she wants to look at the mining certificates, but the girl certainly is attractive, She is not like anyone from around here.
end part 2
see part one August 26, 2011 as rewritten
fiction
edward w pritchard
The girl is very pretty. Not like anyone around here. Like someone from Paris, France or Milan, Italy. She showed up at my Grandpa's house and wants to look at some of the stock certificates. She is about my age but she is not like any of the girls around here in Pennsylvania.
I am a little suspicious of the girl's story about why she wants to look at the mining certificates, but the girl certainly is attractive, She is not like anyone from around here.
end part 2
standing at the eastern ocean/post 1001
standing at the eastern ocean
fiction
edward w pritchard
Standing at the eastern ocean
watching reoccurring wave after wave,
I stare intently into the early morning darkness, to the horizon.
Thoughts of foregone friends
spark into purple and red arcs of spectazomons that
distill into just another sunrise, familiar and reassuring.
Using 1000 posts, constructing a pier
I stand on the altar
drenched with fear for humanity small h,
to hope for another day.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Standing at the eastern ocean
watching reoccurring wave after wave,
I stare intently into the early morning darkness, to the horizon.
Thoughts of foregone friends
spark into purple and red arcs of spectazomons that
distill into just another sunrise, familiar and reassuring.
Using 1000 posts, constructing a pier
I stand on the altar
drenched with fear for humanity small h,
to hope for another day.
Friday, December 30, 2011
1000 th post/ infectation
1000 th post/ infectation
fiction
edward w pritchard
The virus only infects humans and enters through the feet, particularly the right foot; even through shoes or boots.
The victim distinctly feels the initial onslaught of contagion and a depressing stupor follows. Victims often refer to the virus as evil and/or directed [ to attack]. X-rays of the infected foot display a cloud like membrane housing the virus.
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
The virus only infects humans and enters through the feet, particularly the right foot; even through shoes or boots.
The victim distinctly feels the initial onslaught of contagion and a depressing stupor follows. Victims often refer to the virus as evil and/or directed [ to attack]. X-rays of the infected foot display a cloud like membrane housing the virus.
end part 1
three cars to Carrie/draft one
three cars to Carrie/draft one
fiction
edward w pritchard
I stole this car in Georgia. Boy was that a mistake. The car is a real piece of junk. I am having trouble fleeing Georgia after robbing the Bank I worked at. This old car keeps breaking down on the road. It's all quite conspicuous.
Last night in Charlotte, North Carolina I made a decision. I counted out sixty thousand dollars from the seven hundred thousand I stole from the Bank in Atlanta and I am buying a nice new car. It's a 2011 Volvo. The salesman is tripping over himself helping me. I gave him a one thousand dollar tip and said I was in a hurry. I hope to be on the road for Cambridge, Ohio in the next ten minutes or so. Diane is waiting for me back in Ohio. She is nine months pregnant and due very soon.
The Volvo is a great car. But with a new baby on the way I have been thinking maybe a new Father needs a family car. Maybe a van.
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
I stole this car in Georgia. Boy was that a mistake. The car is a real piece of junk. I am having trouble fleeing Georgia after robbing the Bank I worked at. This old car keeps breaking down on the road. It's all quite conspicuous.
Last night in Charlotte, North Carolina I made a decision. I counted out sixty thousand dollars from the seven hundred thousand I stole from the Bank in Atlanta and I am buying a nice new car. It's a 2011 Volvo. The salesman is tripping over himself helping me. I gave him a one thousand dollar tip and said I was in a hurry. I hope to be on the road for Cambridge, Ohio in the next ten minutes or so. Diane is waiting for me back in Ohio. She is nine months pregnant and due very soon.
The Volvo is a great car. But with a new baby on the way I have been thinking maybe a new Father needs a family car. Maybe a van.
end part 1
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
letter to Blanche Dubois
letter to Blanche Dubois
fiction
edward w pritchard
Yes, I am not one for writing. It was so sad when you left Stella's house down in the French quarter; I couldn't write until now. I missed you.
I am in the South again. Sort of the South, I am in North Carolina, at the beach. Won't you come and walk with me at the ocean? I know you don't like bright light. Today's there is a storm at sea. The sky is a muted red with streaks of violent, opps I mean violet.
How have you been getting on since they took you away, dear Stella. It's been ages, what is it sixty five years ago since you left New Orleans. Where did they take you? How are you getting on? I bet you play mah jong and gamble some there and can you drink a little? It's OK, if you have other gentlemen friends there. I'll try to understand. What do they call the place where they took you to live. Are the strangers who took you away kind to you there Blanche?
I drove a long way to get to the ocean; through mountains, over hill, over dales. Tomorrow I will be there at the beach. I'll watch for you walking on the dunes. Wear the long dress. The one that blows and flaps in the winds at the shore. We can watch the storms blow in from Portugal and I will have a few beers and you can have gin. Don't worry about the bright light. When there is a storm at sea the light is muted and it's hard to see things clearly.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Yes, I am not one for writing. It was so sad when you left Stella's house down in the French quarter; I couldn't write until now. I missed you.
I am in the South again. Sort of the South, I am in North Carolina, at the beach. Won't you come and walk with me at the ocean? I know you don't like bright light. Today's there is a storm at sea. The sky is a muted red with streaks of violent, opps I mean violet.
How have you been getting on since they took you away, dear Stella. It's been ages, what is it sixty five years ago since you left New Orleans. Where did they take you? How are you getting on? I bet you play mah jong and gamble some there and can you drink a little? It's OK, if you have other gentlemen friends there. I'll try to understand. What do they call the place where they took you to live. Are the strangers who took you away kind to you there Blanche?
I drove a long way to get to the ocean; through mountains, over hill, over dales. Tomorrow I will be there at the beach. I'll watch for you walking on the dunes. Wear the long dress. The one that blows and flaps in the winds at the shore. We can watch the storms blow in from Portugal and I will have a few beers and you can have gin. Don't worry about the bright light. When there is a storm at sea the light is muted and it's hard to see things clearly.
digressions on a song by Tom Waits
digressions on a song by Tom Waits
fiction
edward w pritchard
I 've never been to Minneapolis. Never visited the twin cities or the land of Lakes. I don't have any friends there at all who might send me a Christmas card. I envy the singer Tom Waits who has friends in Minneapolis who send him Christmas cards; like in his song Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis.
Down here in Cleveland it's not so cold in winter. Hookers down here, around Cleveland they don't write much. They aren't too friendly either and Hookers here around Cleveland, Ohio, they are not too sentimental. They don't send Christmas cards and they don't keep in touch.
Someday maybe around Christmas I can go up to Minneapolis and meet some new friends.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
I 've never been to Minneapolis. Never visited the twin cities or the land of Lakes. I don't have any friends there at all who might send me a Christmas card. I envy the singer Tom Waits who has friends in Minneapolis who send him Christmas cards; like in his song Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis.
Down here in Cleveland it's not so cold in winter. Hookers down here, around Cleveland they don't write much. They aren't too friendly either and Hookers here around Cleveland, Ohio, they are not too sentimental. They don't send Christmas cards and they don't keep in touch.
Someday maybe around Christmas I can go up to Minneapolis and meet some new friends.
end
Monday, December 26, 2011
Backpacking with Jolene in the Appalachian Mountains
Backpacking with Jolene in the Appalachian Mountains
fiction
edward w pritchard
Jolene met me at the Mount Rogers National Park and we walked fifteen miles together backpacking through the Appalachian Mountains of Western Virginia.
The scenery was inspirational in the muted morning light as Jolene and I traversed the ridges and rises of the Mountains heading North toward the Shenandoah Valley. What I will always remember about that trip however was when Jolene first formally shouldered her heavy backpack. Nonchalantly Jolene stretched and flexed and methodically inhaled deep gulps of fresh mountain air to get the backpack into a comfortable position across her back for our walk. Adjusting the various straps tightly Jolene gently swayed side to side and back to front to balance the weight of the bulging pack properly on her chest and shoulders. I busied myself with little duties as Jolene bent forward and back and kneeled up and down to prepare herself for carrying the heavy orange backpack through the mountains of Mount Rogers Virginia.
Birds warbled, a light wind whistled through blooming dulcet rhododendrons bursting with purple passion and small musky animals scurried about the ridges and clefts as Jolene and I enjoyed the mild warming sunshine one morning nearly thirty years ago backpacking through Mount Rogers Park.
Often I reminisce about the scenery backpacking with Jolene for seven hours on the Appalachian trail in Western Virginia.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Jolene met me at the Mount Rogers National Park and we walked fifteen miles together backpacking through the Appalachian Mountains of Western Virginia.
The scenery was inspirational in the muted morning light as Jolene and I traversed the ridges and rises of the Mountains heading North toward the Shenandoah Valley. What I will always remember about that trip however was when Jolene first formally shouldered her heavy backpack. Nonchalantly Jolene stretched and flexed and methodically inhaled deep gulps of fresh mountain air to get the backpack into a comfortable position across her back for our walk. Adjusting the various straps tightly Jolene gently swayed side to side and back to front to balance the weight of the bulging pack properly on her chest and shoulders. I busied myself with little duties as Jolene bent forward and back and kneeled up and down to prepare herself for carrying the heavy orange backpack through the mountains of Mount Rogers Virginia.
Birds warbled, a light wind whistled through blooming dulcet rhododendrons bursting with purple passion and small musky animals scurried about the ridges and clefts as Jolene and I enjoyed the mild warming sunshine one morning nearly thirty years ago backpacking through Mount Rogers Park.
Often I reminisce about the scenery backpacking with Jolene for seven hours on the Appalachian trail in Western Virginia.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
christmas at the ouiseau junction home for the elderly, December 1938
christmas at the ouiseau junction home for the elderly, December 1938
fiction
edward w pritchard
Mr. Johnson came to the nursing home where his great Aunt stayed most every christmas to play Christmas carols on the piano for the residents. He usually arrived before lunch and stayed for Christmas dinner.
The assistant social director for the nursing home would give a short prayer before she introduced Mr. Johnson and then would coach the residents into making requests for sacred music until the break for lunch.
After lunch the assistant social director would leave to be with her family and Mr. Johnson would play some of the old sad blues songs for some of the residents of the ouiseau junction home for the elderly. Even though it was a little sad to hear those type of songs on Christmas several of the women who worked at the nursing home always brought cookies in for Mr. Johnson the volonteer piano player to thank him for spending his Christmas day year after year playing songs for the elderly shut ins at the ouiseau junction home for the elderly.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Mr. Johnson came to the nursing home where his great Aunt stayed most every christmas to play Christmas carols on the piano for the residents. He usually arrived before lunch and stayed for Christmas dinner.
The assistant social director for the nursing home would give a short prayer before she introduced Mr. Johnson and then would coach the residents into making requests for sacred music until the break for lunch.
After lunch the assistant social director would leave to be with her family and Mr. Johnson would play some of the old sad blues songs for some of the residents of the ouiseau junction home for the elderly. Even though it was a little sad to hear those type of songs on Christmas several of the women who worked at the nursing home always brought cookies in for Mr. Johnson the volonteer piano player to thank him for spending his Christmas day year after year playing songs for the elderly shut ins at the ouiseau junction home for the elderly.
end
a door to door salesman knocks Christmas morning
a door to door salesman knocks Christmas morning
fiction
edward w pritchard
It was Christmas morning and the presents had been opened and the house cleaned and my wife and teenage daughter had gone to mall to shop for half price items at a super sale at one of the women's clothing stores. I had eaten a large meal last night and was dozing late Christmas morning sleeping it off. We would have another large meal later this afternoon.
There was a light knock at the side door of my house near where I was sleeping in my reclining chair. The knock was faint but persistent. Having nothing else to do I answered.
At my door was a small looking shabbily dressed man maybe from somewhere in Central America. His English was bad but he was selling a broken down pair of high top brown boots. The boots had a tear where the toe and sole joined. The boots were of a small size obviously much to small for me. The man repeated the price in English several times. Six fifty. He also said the word dollars with the price, I was able to decipher. The man spoke in a heavy Spanish accent but the price in English, $ 6.50, was easy enough to understand. I said no to the sale and sent the salesman on his way.
A few minutes later very curious I went outside in a light snow to find the man. I didn't see the man selling the boots but I followed his footprints as he went from one of my neighbors houses to the next. Across the sidewalk up the walk to the back door at each of the houses in our neighborhood the Spanish speaking salesman had walked trying to sell the boots.
Eventually I lost the trail of the man trying to sell the boots. I had walked a long way from my house following the foot steps. I never did find the small Hispanic man selling the boots or find out if the salesman was walking door to door barefoot and carrying the ripped boots.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
It was Christmas morning and the presents had been opened and the house cleaned and my wife and teenage daughter had gone to mall to shop for half price items at a super sale at one of the women's clothing stores. I had eaten a large meal last night and was dozing late Christmas morning sleeping it off. We would have another large meal later this afternoon.
There was a light knock at the side door of my house near where I was sleeping in my reclining chair. The knock was faint but persistent. Having nothing else to do I answered.
At my door was a small looking shabbily dressed man maybe from somewhere in Central America. His English was bad but he was selling a broken down pair of high top brown boots. The boots had a tear where the toe and sole joined. The boots were of a small size obviously much to small for me. The man repeated the price in English several times. Six fifty. He also said the word dollars with the price, I was able to decipher. The man spoke in a heavy Spanish accent but the price in English, $ 6.50, was easy enough to understand. I said no to the sale and sent the salesman on his way.
A few minutes later very curious I went outside in a light snow to find the man. I didn't see the man selling the boots but I followed his footprints as he went from one of my neighbors houses to the next. Across the sidewalk up the walk to the back door at each of the houses in our neighborhood the Spanish speaking salesman had walked trying to sell the boots.
Eventually I lost the trail of the man trying to sell the boots. I had walked a long way from my house following the foot steps. I never did find the small Hispanic man selling the boots or find out if the salesman was walking door to door barefoot and carrying the ripped boots.
end
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Avril Lavigne, sings Oh Holy Night
Avril Lavigne, sings Oh Holy Night
fiction
edward w pritchard
Avril Lavigne sings Oh Holy Night.
Enrico Caruso's performance is the ultimate, the standard of Oh Holy Night. Leontyne Price's recording of Oh Holy Night is the technical master work, near perfection.
Avril Lavigne's performance of Oh Holy Night is daring, authentic, moving. Accolades to Avril Lavigne for creative risk taking with her performances.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Avril Lavigne sings Oh Holy Night.
Enrico Caruso's performance is the ultimate, the standard of Oh Holy Night. Leontyne Price's recording of Oh Holy Night is the technical master work, near perfection.
Avril Lavigne's performance of Oh Holy Night is daring, authentic, moving. Accolades to Avril Lavigne for creative risk taking with her performances.
writer reading Shakespeare
writer reading Shakespeare
fiction
edward w pritchard
Humbling, mystifying, overwhelming
intensely enjoyable,
eye opening,
interestingly timeless.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Humbling, mystifying, overwhelming
intensely enjoyable,
eye opening,
interestingly timeless.
Friday, December 23, 2011
words, inspire, assure and comfort
Words, inspire, assure and comfort
fiction
edward w pritchard
Words, inspire, assure, and comfort.
Words, fleshless, shrinking.
Words, alone
Words, legitimate
Words, transend.
Words, words, words.
Do, do, do.
Be, be, be.
End
fiction
edward w pritchard
Words, inspire, assure, and comfort.
Words, fleshless, shrinking.
Words, alone
Words, legitimate
Words, transend.
Words, words, words.
Do, do, do.
Be, be, be.
End
Hie girl, la Linda Grusent
Hie girl,, la Linda Grusent
fiction
edward w pritchard
So long, ago
I found La Linda Grusent walking
through deep snow drifts
in the storm of the century.
Refusing assistance
la Linda marching, marching
toiled on towards Richland University.
Intrigued I chased,
fatigued she fell,
inspired I listened,
in private she dreamed.
Snows melt,
girls hie,
centuries tarry,
assistance alienates.
Watch for snow.
fiction
edward w pritchard
So long, ago
I found La Linda Grusent walking
through deep snow drifts
in the storm of the century.
Refusing assistance
la Linda marching, marching
toiled on towards Richland University.
Intrigued I chased,
fatigued she fell,
inspired I listened,
in private she dreamed.
Snows melt,
girls hie,
centuries tarry,
assistance alienates.
Watch for snow.
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 11
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 11
fiction
edward w pritchard
see part two/ the cousin is the young boy in that story being bullied
I do love train travel. Today I go to Hamburg to talk to my young cousin. He is in trouble with the party already. He is trying to get out of being in the Hitler youth.
Today, August 22, 1936 I travel in disguise. I am playing a madman. I dress in peasant Austrian regalia like the Fuhrer dresses sometimes. Many people nod at me with approval and some salute me in honor of our leader. In silent protest I dress in imitation of the Fuhrer as I travel.
I am now head of the Family. Mercifully Father and Mother are gone of natural causes and Hans, my brother is dead too. Hans was Murdered in 1934. Hans was killed in the night of the long knives. Hans, perhaps the ideal party member, was sacrificed along with others like him in the first of what promises to be many blood purges.
Somehow I am still alive. I have been reprimanded many times by the party but I am still alive. No longer clubbing or a procurer, now I am a lackey for the party like many others. I want out but I do not want to die violently, so I endure.
fiction
edward w pritchard
see part two/ the cousin is the young boy in that story being bullied
I do love train travel. Today I go to Hamburg to talk to my young cousin. He is in trouble with the party already. He is trying to get out of being in the Hitler youth.
Today, August 22, 1936 I travel in disguise. I am playing a madman. I dress in peasant Austrian regalia like the Fuhrer dresses sometimes. Many people nod at me with approval and some salute me in honor of our leader. In silent protest I dress in imitation of the Fuhrer as I travel.
I am now head of the Family. Mercifully Father and Mother are gone of natural causes and Hans, my brother is dead too. Hans was Murdered in 1934. Hans was killed in the night of the long knives. Hans, perhaps the ideal party member, was sacrificed along with others like him in the first of what promises to be many blood purges.
Somehow I am still alive. I have been reprimanded many times by the party but I am still alive. No longer clubbing or a procurer, now I am a lackey for the party like many others. I want out but I do not want to die violently, so I endure.
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 11
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 11
fiction
edward w pritchard
I have been reported to the party. Hans is not in a position now to help me for the Brown shirts have suddenly become out of favor.
It was a holiday and most of the clubs here in Berlin were closed. Many of the clubs have changed anyway for the elections of new officials have changed things.
I took the American banker from Kentucky to a man's house I knew from the twenties. Where Lotte and I went sometimes. The man and his wife were in business, prostitution from their house. The Mother was arrested now and only the daughter was there. She is under age. She put something into the businessman's drink to knock him out while I was standing outside waiting. The client wouldn't wake up. I called the Doctor nearby.
The Doctor sat with the man from America. While we waited the girl and I were talking. I had a little too much to drink and I was disgusted with myself and life in general. The girl saddened me and made me feel bad for what I had done to Lotte.
I said the actress Marlene D. was putting on an act all the time. I told the girl about Marlene's self promotion. How she planned and promoted her own prowess sexually. Telling little innuendos. Having friends brag her up in public. I knew her, from when I was clubbing with Lotte. I told the girl sexually there isn't much difference from one person to another. So far what I told the girl was no real problem for me to say. I was just a tired rake crashing as he gets older. I said Marlene D. the actress was thick through the middle and unattractive and the image she presented to the world was a charade. Like Germany itself.
Then I compared Marlene D to Adolph H the party leader. I said the leader was acting in the same way Marlena did. The leader had many people who promoted him. I said the leader was just like everybody else. I said it was all an illusion. I said I feared for Germany. I had read the book the leader wrote. I had read Mien Kampf.
The doctor could hear the girl and I talking. The doctor has reported me. Hans can't help me. There is trouble for the Brown shirts. The Brown shirts are the old in the party. The party wants to become legitimate. Bullies like my Brother Hans represent the old of the Party. They are an embarrassment.
Hans says he must lay low. He will do what he can to help me but I must watch what I say.
end of part 11
fiction
edward w pritchard
I have been reported to the party. Hans is not in a position now to help me for the Brown shirts have suddenly become out of favor.
It was a holiday and most of the clubs here in Berlin were closed. Many of the clubs have changed anyway for the elections of new officials have changed things.
I took the American banker from Kentucky to a man's house I knew from the twenties. Where Lotte and I went sometimes. The man and his wife were in business, prostitution from their house. The Mother was arrested now and only the daughter was there. She is under age. She put something into the businessman's drink to knock him out while I was standing outside waiting. The client wouldn't wake up. I called the Doctor nearby.
The Doctor sat with the man from America. While we waited the girl and I were talking. I had a little too much to drink and I was disgusted with myself and life in general. The girl saddened me and made me feel bad for what I had done to Lotte.
I said the actress Marlene D. was putting on an act all the time. I told the girl about Marlene's self promotion. How she planned and promoted her own prowess sexually. Telling little innuendos. Having friends brag her up in public. I knew her, from when I was clubbing with Lotte. I told the girl sexually there isn't much difference from one person to another. So far what I told the girl was no real problem for me to say. I was just a tired rake crashing as he gets older. I said Marlene D. the actress was thick through the middle and unattractive and the image she presented to the world was a charade. Like Germany itself.
Then I compared Marlene D to Adolph H the party leader. I said the leader was acting in the same way Marlena did. The leader had many people who promoted him. I said the leader was just like everybody else. I said it was all an illusion. I said I feared for Germany. I had read the book the leader wrote. I had read Mien Kampf.
The doctor could hear the girl and I talking. The doctor has reported me. Hans can't help me. There is trouble for the Brown shirts. The Brown shirts are the old in the party. The party wants to become legitimate. Bullies like my Brother Hans represent the old of the Party. They are an embarrassment.
Hans says he must lay low. He will do what he can to help me but I must watch what I say.
end of part 11
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 10
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 10
fiction
edward w pritchard
Hans my Brother is now a General in the National Socialist Party. He is clowning for me. He knows carrying the suitcase makes me nervous. He assures me it is all arranged, no one will inspect my carry on.
Being in America with a suitcase full of diamond rings makes me nervous. Hans fears a little for me his younger Brother. His influence is only limited In America.
Hans clowns carrying the suitcase. It weights about twenty pounds and he pretends like it is breaking his arm as he escorts me to the plane for America.
This is just the first load of diamonds says Hans very pleased. Soon there will be more suitcases of diamonds than ten strong men can carry says Hans.
Last night I checked to be sure the suit case contained only diamond rings. Twenty pounds of diamonds rings in a suit case is quite a site.
end part 10
fiction
edward w pritchard
Hans my Brother is now a General in the National Socialist Party. He is clowning for me. He knows carrying the suitcase makes me nervous. He assures me it is all arranged, no one will inspect my carry on.
Being in America with a suitcase full of diamond rings makes me nervous. Hans fears a little for me his younger Brother. His influence is only limited In America.
Hans clowns carrying the suitcase. It weights about twenty pounds and he pretends like it is breaking his arm as he escorts me to the plane for America.
This is just the first load of diamonds says Hans very pleased. Soon there will be more suitcases of diamonds than ten strong men can carry says Hans.
Last night I checked to be sure the suit case contained only diamond rings. Twenty pounds of diamonds rings in a suit case is quite a site.
end part 10
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 9
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 9
fiction
edward w pritchard
I am now also a salesman. Modestly, I say I am maybe the best salesman in the world.
I sell just one book. It's up to $ 100 US dollars a copy. The book sells itself here in Germany. It's called Mein Kampf. It's by an important Party leader here in Germany.
Most of our neighbors along the Lake at the fishing cottage bought a copy. Han's passed the word I was selling the book and the neighbors here at the lake come in droves to buy it. Han's and I each get a commission on each copy I sell. I must be the world's greatest salesman. Like Han's says we in Germany must read the new authors.
end of part 9
fiction
edward w pritchard
I am now also a salesman. Modestly, I say I am maybe the best salesman in the world.
I sell just one book. It's up to $ 100 US dollars a copy. The book sells itself here in Germany. It's called Mein Kampf. It's by an important Party leader here in Germany.
Most of our neighbors along the Lake at the fishing cottage bought a copy. Han's passed the word I was selling the book and the neighbors here at the lake come in droves to buy it. Han's and I each get a commission on each copy I sell. I must be the world's greatest salesman. Like Han's says we in Germany must read the new authors.
end of part 9
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 8
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 8
fiction
edward w pritchard
My brother exasperates me. How can I sell gold, silver and diamonds in America if I can't sell to Jewish Bankers. What does it matter what their religion is, I plead.
Han's tries to be rational. It's another blindspot. Zionism and the Jews.
Ok. I'll try to sell gold, silver and diamonds in America without dealing with Jewish bankers or other middlemen. How I don't know. This makes Hans happy. Han's says we each must serve the Party in our own way.
How can we get gold, silver and diamonds in Gemany for free? I ask Han's incredulously. He says it is all arranged. He can't tell me yet but it involves the Jews in Germany.
The American stock market has crashed a few years ago, in October of 1929. The rich there in America have a huge demand for hard assets. Gold, silver and diamonds. I am to take gold, silver and diamonds to America to sell there. Han's insists the party will acquire the hard assets of gold, silver and diamonds here in Germany well below cost, very soon.
Meanwhile I also must continue nightly to take important Americans to the clubs here in Berlin. it is becoming more difficult. Without Lotte who is now married I have lost my connections in the sex trade in Berlin. A woman of a certain sort can know a lot of things a man can't. Lotte was my passport to the depravity of Berlin. Also the Country is changing. I can feel change coming to Germay.
end part 8
fiction
edward w pritchard
My brother exasperates me. How can I sell gold, silver and diamonds in America if I can't sell to Jewish Bankers. What does it matter what their religion is, I plead.
Han's tries to be rational. It's another blindspot. Zionism and the Jews.
Ok. I'll try to sell gold, silver and diamonds in America without dealing with Jewish bankers or other middlemen. How I don't know. This makes Hans happy. Han's says we each must serve the Party in our own way.
How can we get gold, silver and diamonds in Gemany for free? I ask Han's incredulously. He says it is all arranged. He can't tell me yet but it involves the Jews in Germany.
The American stock market has crashed a few years ago, in October of 1929. The rich there in America have a huge demand for hard assets. Gold, silver and diamonds. I am to take gold, silver and diamonds to America to sell there. Han's insists the party will acquire the hard assets of gold, silver and diamonds here in Germany well below cost, very soon.
Meanwhile I also must continue nightly to take important Americans to the clubs here in Berlin. it is becoming more difficult. Without Lotte who is now married I have lost my connections in the sex trade in Berlin. A woman of a certain sort can know a lot of things a man can't. Lotte was my passport to the depravity of Berlin. Also the Country is changing. I can feel change coming to Germay.
end part 8
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 8
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 8
fiction
edward w pritchard
Lotte, my only real female friend is trying to explain it to me. Like Hans tried to explain Aryanism to me.
Lotte has reformed. She must get healthy to have children. She wants to get engaged to my Brother Hans. It is her duty to have children. Children and kitchen is her duty. She is an Aryan woman. She must have children. She will forget her past. She will become a proper German Mother. Lotte passionately wants to join the party.
I lie to Lotte. Yes she is still the perfect Aryan beauty. Yes, I think she will be able to gain weight soon, and have children. She looks much more healthy already.
I congratulate Lotte on her engagement and on Han's last promotion.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Lotte, my only real female friend is trying to explain it to me. Like Hans tried to explain Aryanism to me.
Lotte has reformed. She must get healthy to have children. She wants to get engaged to my Brother Hans. It is her duty to have children. Children and kitchen is her duty. She is an Aryan woman. She must have children. She will forget her past. She will become a proper German Mother. Lotte passionately wants to join the party.
I lie to Lotte. Yes she is still the perfect Aryan beauty. Yes, I think she will be able to gain weight soon, and have children. She looks much more healthy already.
I congratulate Lotte on her engagement and on Han's last promotion.
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 7
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 7
fiction
edward w pritchard
Hans is lecturing me. I am trying to explain about the American business men. He doesn't understand.
The American business men when they come to Berlin could care less if a woman is Aryan. Just young, preferably, and easy, fallen and vulgar. Yes, I explain to Hans, these American businessmen who come to Berlin prefer blonds, but not because they are Aryans. Finally, I give up. It's Han's blind spot. Aryanism. Hans has been brain washed.
One procurement at a time I am rescuing the Family fortune. Hans wants me to join the Party, The National Socialists. I am tempted. For the money. What one will do to avoid real work.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Hans is lecturing me. I am trying to explain about the American business men. He doesn't understand.
The American business men when they come to Berlin could care less if a woman is Aryan. Just young, preferably, and easy, fallen and vulgar. Yes, I explain to Hans, these American businessmen who come to Berlin prefer blonds, but not because they are Aryans. Finally, I give up. It's Han's blind spot. Aryanism. Hans has been brain washed.
One procurement at a time I am rescuing the Family fortune. Hans wants me to join the Party, The National Socialists. I am tempted. For the money. What one will do to avoid real work.
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 6
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 6
fiction
edward w pritchard
I enjoy playing a part when I travel by train and today I am playing as a rich tourist from America. Here on business in Germany to look for investments. I wear a cowboy hat. My English is only fair but I throw around some of the last of the family fortune in tips to the staff here on the Express from Berlin. An American cowboy who reads Dante. I read Dante's Inferno because I am going to hell, back to coal mining territory and my Father's house.
I use the fancy cowboy hat I wore on the train as a bridge to step on to help me cross the black mucky streets of the town I grew up in. The coal tar is much worse than the last time I was here. To cross the sinking street of the hill our House is on one must wade in a shallow river of flowing black mucousy coal and oil. Someday this oil sledge will be valuable says Mother as I scrape the muck from my expensive shoes sitting with her in the bleak kitchen she has occupied peeling potatoes and cabbage for the last forty years of her married life.
My Father is proud of Hans my Brother for Hans is a dutiful soldier. Father calls me xxxx. It's hard to translate the word to English but its a good word to describe me and I get a chuckle for I am proud of my Father for he is not an educated man but he is well read. He has just called me a four flushing pervert as Cicero might have done to his youngest prodigal son under similar circumstances. Pleasantries over my Father and I get down to work on how to rescue the Family fortune.
I must go to America says Father. Hans has arranged it so I can be paid very handsomely to spend a few months in America. Do what Hans says orders Father. Go to America on business and then return to Berlin to entertain American business leaders. Hans will arrange it. It will be very lucrative and I will not have to get a real job.
As I leave home, Father loans me a pair of his worn boots to wear back to the train as I cross the oil slicks in the street in front of the house. It's quite funny; the boots remind me of the kind the prostitutes wear in Berlin, a certain kind of woman involved in a certain kind of specialty sex. I can use my experiences as a debauchee in Berlin to rescue the Family fortune it seems. My time clubbing in Berlin has been well spent.
end part 6
fiction
edward w pritchard
I enjoy playing a part when I travel by train and today I am playing as a rich tourist from America. Here on business in Germany to look for investments. I wear a cowboy hat. My English is only fair but I throw around some of the last of the family fortune in tips to the staff here on the Express from Berlin. An American cowboy who reads Dante. I read Dante's Inferno because I am going to hell, back to coal mining territory and my Father's house.
I use the fancy cowboy hat I wore on the train as a bridge to step on to help me cross the black mucky streets of the town I grew up in. The coal tar is much worse than the last time I was here. To cross the sinking street of the hill our House is on one must wade in a shallow river of flowing black mucousy coal and oil. Someday this oil sledge will be valuable says Mother as I scrape the muck from my expensive shoes sitting with her in the bleak kitchen she has occupied peeling potatoes and cabbage for the last forty years of her married life.
My Father is proud of Hans my Brother for Hans is a dutiful soldier. Father calls me xxxx. It's hard to translate the word to English but its a good word to describe me and I get a chuckle for I am proud of my Father for he is not an educated man but he is well read. He has just called me a four flushing pervert as Cicero might have done to his youngest prodigal son under similar circumstances. Pleasantries over my Father and I get down to work on how to rescue the Family fortune.
I must go to America says Father. Hans has arranged it so I can be paid very handsomely to spend a few months in America. Do what Hans says orders Father. Go to America on business and then return to Berlin to entertain American business leaders. Hans will arrange it. It will be very lucrative and I will not have to get a real job.
As I leave home, Father loans me a pair of his worn boots to wear back to the train as I cross the oil slicks in the street in front of the house. It's quite funny; the boots remind me of the kind the prostitutes wear in Berlin, a certain kind of woman involved in a certain kind of specialty sex. I can use my experiences as a debauchee in Berlin to rescue the Family fortune it seems. My time clubbing in Berlin has been well spent.
end part 6
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 5
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 5
fiction
edward w pritchard
My brother, the German soldier has came to our families fishing cottage here on the beautiful Lake to lecture me officially for the Family on my profligate ways.
Father's money is nearly gone says Hans. Not just because of me being a spendthrift with Father's checkbook but also because of German inflation and a series of bad investments by our Father and Hans my Brother. I must talk to Father about finances which means I must return to coal mining territory, where our Family home is. I hate the thought of going back home; the smell of our neighborhood turns my stomach for we live on the largest slag heap in the world. Coal is money, and money stinks, to me at least. But I must go home for I am good with money and finance when I am not being perverse. I must leave Berlin and return to coal country. To the mess and smell of the coal tar with it's sticky streets and pervasive smell of over-work. Men toiling dawn to dusk, and women, such as my Mother killing themselves to keep a dilapated shack clean. Back, back home to coal country to rescue the Family fortune so my Brother Hans can continue to torture the weak and I can spend my nights in a whirl of sexual deparavity in Wiemar Berlin.
end part 5
fiction
edward w pritchard
My brother, the German soldier has came to our families fishing cottage here on the beautiful Lake to lecture me officially for the Family on my profligate ways.
Father's money is nearly gone says Hans. Not just because of me being a spendthrift with Father's checkbook but also because of German inflation and a series of bad investments by our Father and Hans my Brother. I must talk to Father about finances which means I must return to coal mining territory, where our Family home is. I hate the thought of going back home; the smell of our neighborhood turns my stomach for we live on the largest slag heap in the world. Coal is money, and money stinks, to me at least. But I must go home for I am good with money and finance when I am not being perverse. I must leave Berlin and return to coal country. To the mess and smell of the coal tar with it's sticky streets and pervasive smell of over-work. Men toiling dawn to dusk, and women, such as my Mother killing themselves to keep a dilapated shack clean. Back, back home to coal country to rescue the Family fortune so my Brother Hans can continue to torture the weak and I can spend my nights in a whirl of sexual deparavity in Wiemar Berlin.
end part 5
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 4
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 4
fiction
edward w pritchard
Han's didn't complain that I ruined his copy of Hegel. The leather bound book got soaked in a hard rain last year. Han's says Hegel is a good German but we must read the newer author's now if we read at all. Han's says now is the time for action, as he prepares my breakfast.
Han's has gained weight and muscle I see, and my brother looks imposing in his brown uniform. He sings an old song our Mother use to hum around the kitchen as he prepares me and Lotte an omlette. Lotte is drinking gin this morning. I try to get her to have orange juice but she says she will have her gin straight today.
Han's gives Lotte a double serving of eggs for Lotte has obviously lost weight. Han's can have a maternal side at times. Lotte has lost weight, I notice it now after Hans mentions it to me. My appetite is non existant today as well.
end part 4
fiction
edward w pritchard
Han's didn't complain that I ruined his copy of Hegel. The leather bound book got soaked in a hard rain last year. Han's says Hegel is a good German but we must read the newer author's now if we read at all. Han's says now is the time for action, as he prepares my breakfast.
Han's has gained weight and muscle I see, and my brother looks imposing in his brown uniform. He sings an old song our Mother use to hum around the kitchen as he prepares me and Lotte an omlette. Lotte is drinking gin this morning. I try to get her to have orange juice but she says she will have her gin straight today.
Han's gives Lotte a double serving of eggs for Lotte has obviously lost weight. Han's can have a maternal side at times. Lotte has lost weight, I notice it now after Hans mentions it to me. My appetite is non existant today as well.
end part 4
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 3
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 3
fiction
edward w pritchard
My Brother Han's crying is disturbing Lotte. Hans must think it's ok to cry because the sound of the driving rain on the roof and winds here at the fishing cottage will drown out his sobs. He is the older Brother, and he has full rights to use the Cottage any time he wants to. Han's is disturbing Lotte. Lotte doesn't sleep well anymore and we left Berlin to have some peace and quiet. Just Lotte and me, no other partners tonight.
Hans left his uniform in the hall. I can smell the hate on the uniform from here in the bedroom as I hold Lotte. Hans is a storm trooper, a brown shirt. Grandfather says in World War One storm troopers bought a bill of goods from the officers, to get them to charge the enemy trenches after the German cause was doomed. I smell the hate and fear on Han's uniform. Lotte is sleeping fitfully. She jumps violently in her sleep as I hold her. She must be dreaming of Berlin. Hans is sobbing quietly now. It's near dawn now here on the Lake, lights will be coming on soon in the other cottages as our neighbors start their breakfasts.
end part 3
fiction
edward w pritchard
My Brother Han's crying is disturbing Lotte. Hans must think it's ok to cry because the sound of the driving rain on the roof and winds here at the fishing cottage will drown out his sobs. He is the older Brother, and he has full rights to use the Cottage any time he wants to. Han's is disturbing Lotte. Lotte doesn't sleep well anymore and we left Berlin to have some peace and quiet. Just Lotte and me, no other partners tonight.
Hans left his uniform in the hall. I can smell the hate on the uniform from here in the bedroom as I hold Lotte. Hans is a storm trooper, a brown shirt. Grandfather says in World War One storm troopers bought a bill of goods from the officers, to get them to charge the enemy trenches after the German cause was doomed. I smell the hate and fear on Han's uniform. Lotte is sleeping fitfully. She jumps violently in her sleep as I hold her. She must be dreaming of Berlin. Hans is sobbing quietly now. It's near dawn now here on the Lake, lights will be coming on soon in the other cottages as our neighbors start their breakfasts.
end part 3
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 2
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1, part 2
no one to talk to, no choice but to comply
fiction
edward w pritchard
the third brother
If I was brave, If I was forceful, If I was determined I wouldn't have to kill myself; but if I was brave, forceful and determined I wouldn't have a problem. I would be accepted in the Hitler youth, I wouldn't be tormented for being weak, and my problem would vanish for I would among be the strong myself, a tormentor rather than a victim of daily hazings and bullying. I am too cowardly to kill myself so the beatings continue.
My tormentors have been warned, they may not leave a bruise anymore. Mostly I am now thumped. An open hand to the upper back or the arm. Often, by many. Verbal abuse too, my adult instructors use me as the stock example in most stories of Decadent German youth. Only the Jews suffer more verbal abuse than me, and of course, Jews don't have to be in the Hitler Youth at age 14 nor do they attend the daily party lectures like I do.
My parents have sold me out to the Party. They forced me to join the Hitlerjugen. Without a connection with the Nazi party my life will be difficult says my Father, for the Nazi's will have their way in Germany for the foreseeable future. Both my Mother and Father have forsaken me, their only child, for expediency's sake. It's been ninety days that I have been in the Hitler youth and I was out of step immediately. Implicitly odd balls like me are targeted for abuse to either toughen us up and as an example to the other boys. Also bullying is natural, a logical out-flowing of the the Party's philosophy.
It's nearly impossible to get away from the Nazi philosophy here in Hamburg in 1936. The only break I get from the Hitler youth is when I am at my Grand father's farm.
My Grandfather hates the Nazi's, but he says I have to man up, like he did in World War One. That's why they leave him alone. He is a veteran, and a highly decorated enlisted man. The local Nazi's let Grandfather rant partly because of his war injuries, some to his head. Me I have to carefully follow the party philosophy even in my secret thoughts. Because I am watched I never know who is listening or who is watching my expressions as I go about my day. Only at my Grand Father's farm thirty miles East of Hamburg do I feel safe and secure from scrutiny.
When my Grand Father saw the bruises on my arms he told me the story about his sergeant in World War one. My Grand Father was one of three enlisted men suspected of shooting their platoon sergeant. As the sergeant lead his men from a trench, the sergeant was shot three times from the back. My Grand Father says I must learn to confront my problems with bullying at school that same way.
Grand Father doesn't understand. These Nazi's are different. They are ubiquitous. Every day there are more and more Nazi's and they become more and more powerful. I am one of them. I told my Grand Father that if I wasn't thought to have the potential to be a valuable party member some day I would be in a work camp or maybe dead by now. As for Grand Father's story about his sergeant, I am sure that the Nazi's have a file on Grand Father and his tenacity is one of the reasons I am thought to have potential and why the Party takes the trouble to groom me for the future. For now, today at least I can relax here at Grand Father's farm. Tom-morrow though it's back to the lectures and the party. Perhaps I can start to pick at some of the younger children when I return to classes. It's a way to direct attention from myself and allow me to fit in better.
What can I learn from Grand Father's story of his sergeant that will help me survive in the Hitler youth? I must have it in me to be able to cope. Grand Father did it, so can I.
end part 2
no one to talk to, no choice but to comply
fiction
edward w pritchard
the third brother
If I was brave, If I was forceful, If I was determined I wouldn't have to kill myself; but if I was brave, forceful and determined I wouldn't have a problem. I would be accepted in the Hitler youth, I wouldn't be tormented for being weak, and my problem would vanish for I would among be the strong myself, a tormentor rather than a victim of daily hazings and bullying. I am too cowardly to kill myself so the beatings continue.
My tormentors have been warned, they may not leave a bruise anymore. Mostly I am now thumped. An open hand to the upper back or the arm. Often, by many. Verbal abuse too, my adult instructors use me as the stock example in most stories of Decadent German youth. Only the Jews suffer more verbal abuse than me, and of course, Jews don't have to be in the Hitler Youth at age 14 nor do they attend the daily party lectures like I do.
My parents have sold me out to the Party. They forced me to join the Hitlerjugen. Without a connection with the Nazi party my life will be difficult says my Father, for the Nazi's will have their way in Germany for the foreseeable future. Both my Mother and Father have forsaken me, their only child, for expediency's sake. It's been ninety days that I have been in the Hitler youth and I was out of step immediately. Implicitly odd balls like me are targeted for abuse to either toughen us up and as an example to the other boys. Also bullying is natural, a logical out-flowing of the the Party's philosophy.
It's nearly impossible to get away from the Nazi philosophy here in Hamburg in 1936. The only break I get from the Hitler youth is when I am at my Grand father's farm.
My Grandfather hates the Nazi's, but he says I have to man up, like he did in World War One. That's why they leave him alone. He is a veteran, and a highly decorated enlisted man. The local Nazi's let Grandfather rant partly because of his war injuries, some to his head. Me I have to carefully follow the party philosophy even in my secret thoughts. Because I am watched I never know who is listening or who is watching my expressions as I go about my day. Only at my Grand Father's farm thirty miles East of Hamburg do I feel safe and secure from scrutiny.
When my Grand Father saw the bruises on my arms he told me the story about his sergeant in World War one. My Grand Father was one of three enlisted men suspected of shooting their platoon sergeant. As the sergeant lead his men from a trench, the sergeant was shot three times from the back. My Grand Father says I must learn to confront my problems with bullying at school that same way.
Grand Father doesn't understand. These Nazi's are different. They are ubiquitous. Every day there are more and more Nazi's and they become more and more powerful. I am one of them. I told my Grand Father that if I wasn't thought to have the potential to be a valuable party member some day I would be in a work camp or maybe dead by now. As for Grand Father's story about his sergeant, I am sure that the Nazi's have a file on Grand Father and his tenacity is one of the reasons I am thought to have potential and why the Party takes the trouble to groom me for the future. For now, today at least I can relax here at Grand Father's farm. Tom-morrow though it's back to the lectures and the party. Perhaps I can start to pick at some of the younger children when I return to classes. It's a way to direct attention from myself and allow me to fit in better.
What can I learn from Grand Father's story of his sergeant that will help me survive in the Hitler youth? I must have it in me to be able to cope. Grand Father did it, so can I.
end part 2
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1
Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship/draft 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
Wherever now I abide Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship. I still hear the music and still smell Berlin's unguent dancing naked ladies. Now it all seems a dream, as if it happened to someone else, but then it was real and I had no to reason to suspect that it would be soon be over. We were young and old ways of failure needed to be forgotten so for me there was no day, only endless nights. By night we lived our lives with abandon, from club to club, perverse, perhaps aware subconsciously that it all would end brutally. What I thought then was the sound of my racing heart was a faint rumble of distant goosestepping soldiers, marching to annihilate Berlin's decedent permutations.
My life then revolved around the shoreline at the lakes. My Brother was fighting the Communists and I had sole use of Father's cottage, the luxurious fishing shack as my Brother the eternal soldier fighting for Fatherland called our families second home.
A light rain was falling, ruining the leather bound copy of Hegel's dialectics I read as I watched the lights, one by one blink on to illuminate hundreds of comfortable kitchens; as families along the Lake, celebrated their dinner tonight, June 28, 1924. This would be my last quiet evening at home.
Lotte carried French champagne as she walked up to the bench where I was reading there on the shoreline, near a small flickering fire. Hegel was forgotten. Lotte wore nothing under the yellow rain slicker. Whatever Lotte asked, I did, always. Fishing through the inside pockets of her yellow crinkling slicker for crystal champagne glasses, the smell of her perfume and the rustle of the scraping wet yellow slicker and clinking champagne glasses ended my life as a scholar as Lotte and I conspired to sample Berlin's perversity's one club at a time for the next seven years.
end part one
fiction
edward w pritchard
Wherever now I abide Wiemar Germany is where my heart finds fellowship. I still hear the music and still smell Berlin's unguent dancing naked ladies. Now it all seems a dream, as if it happened to someone else, but then it was real and I had no to reason to suspect that it would be soon be over. We were young and old ways of failure needed to be forgotten so for me there was no day, only endless nights. By night we lived our lives with abandon, from club to club, perverse, perhaps aware subconsciously that it all would end brutally. What I thought then was the sound of my racing heart was a faint rumble of distant goosestepping soldiers, marching to annihilate Berlin's decedent permutations.
My life then revolved around the shoreline at the lakes. My Brother was fighting the Communists and I had sole use of Father's cottage, the luxurious fishing shack as my Brother the eternal soldier fighting for Fatherland called our families second home.
A light rain was falling, ruining the leather bound copy of Hegel's dialectics I read as I watched the lights, one by one blink on to illuminate hundreds of comfortable kitchens; as families along the Lake, celebrated their dinner tonight, June 28, 1924. This would be my last quiet evening at home.
Lotte carried French champagne as she walked up to the bench where I was reading there on the shoreline, near a small flickering fire. Hegel was forgotten. Lotte wore nothing under the yellow rain slicker. Whatever Lotte asked, I did, always. Fishing through the inside pockets of her yellow crinkling slicker for crystal champagne glasses, the smell of her perfume and the rustle of the scraping wet yellow slicker and clinking champagne glasses ended my life as a scholar as Lotte and I conspired to sample Berlin's perversity's one club at a time for the next seven years.
end part one
Monday, December 19, 2011
another anecdotal blurb disguised as a story
another anecdotal blurb disguised as a story
fiction
edward w pritchard
Another anecdotal blurb disguised as a story.
My Uncle Horace always had those big ears. One day down south of Muskie creek Uncle Horace and Bennie Bejums were fishing. Mosquitoes were thick in the humid air and a buzz of a breeze was blowing from Kately's flour mill up south of Miller's truck farm. The youngest Miller girl, Linny-Jo was about sixteen and carrying flowers for the family moon shining business. Linny was one beautiful girl.
Bennie looked over at my Uncle Horace and winked. At the same time Uncle Horace's fishing reel ...
end of part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
Another anecdotal blurb disguised as a story.
My Uncle Horace always had those big ears. One day down south of Muskie creek Uncle Horace and Bennie Bejums were fishing. Mosquitoes were thick in the humid air and a buzz of a breeze was blowing from Kately's flour mill up south of Miller's truck farm. The youngest Miller girl, Linny-Jo was about sixteen and carrying flowers for the family moon shining business. Linny was one beautiful girl.
Bennie looked over at my Uncle Horace and winked. At the same time Uncle Horace's fishing reel ...
end of part 1
Sunday, December 18, 2011
ideas evolve, limits still exist however
ideas evolve, limits still exist however
fiction
edward w pritchard
Ideas evolve, limits still exist however. We become filled with the spirit. Not the spirit of the Lord in the old fashion way; filled with the spirit of diet and exercise. Searching for perfection, flat abs and uplifted shoulders.
Head held high we eat sparingly of proteins and dutifully spend a few hours a day of our precious time pushing iron implements to stretch our muscles.
Nature limits our efforts by genetics and aging. Still we endure, filled with the spirit of exercise we continue the quest for optimal health; searching for pagan immortality.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Ideas evolve, limits still exist however. We become filled with the spirit. Not the spirit of the Lord in the old fashion way; filled with the spirit of diet and exercise. Searching for perfection, flat abs and uplifted shoulders.
Head held high we eat sparingly of proteins and dutifully spend a few hours a day of our precious time pushing iron implements to stretch our muscles.
Nature limits our efforts by genetics and aging. Still we endure, filled with the spirit of exercise we continue the quest for optimal health; searching for pagan immortality.
piano lesson
piano lesson
fiction
edward w pritchard
Lenny was late for his piano lesson. Mr. Johnson would be mad. That old man was hard to please. Lenny was late because the job had run over. Lenny had to wait for the client to get started today.
Mr. Johnson was taking a treatment for his lungs when Lenny arrived at the nursing home so he wasn't late after all. Mr. Johnson however was still cranky today. That's why Lenny came here for his lessons. It worked out well. The piano lesson was cathargic.
Mr. Johnson was trying again to teach Lenny the boogie woogie rhythm. It came natural to 80 year old Mr. Johnson but Lenny didn't have the musical gift for this type of music.. Lenny had to work very hard at this music and some days old Mr. Johnson forgot that.
Lenny got into the music today. It took him away from his world and his problems. A few hours earlier Lenny had strangled the Banker Thomas Kinwell. Lenny was a contract hit man but more than anything he wanted to learn to play the boogie woogie piano.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Lenny was late for his piano lesson. Mr. Johnson would be mad. That old man was hard to please. Lenny was late because the job had run over. Lenny had to wait for the client to get started today.
Mr. Johnson was taking a treatment for his lungs when Lenny arrived at the nursing home so he wasn't late after all. Mr. Johnson however was still cranky today. That's why Lenny came here for his lessons. It worked out well. The piano lesson was cathargic.
Mr. Johnson was trying again to teach Lenny the boogie woogie rhythm. It came natural to 80 year old Mr. Johnson but Lenny didn't have the musical gift for this type of music.. Lenny had to work very hard at this music and some days old Mr. Johnson forgot that.
Lenny got into the music today. It took him away from his world and his problems. A few hours earlier Lenny had strangled the Banker Thomas Kinwell. Lenny was a contract hit man but more than anything he wanted to learn to play the boogie woogie piano.
end
Friday, December 16, 2011
who needs the accursed share
who needs the accursed share
fiction
edward w pritchard
re: more philosphy
Who is harmed if you lose the accursed share. Luxury is hard to lose but to mix French philosophers the elan vital is enhanced if the accursed share of life is let go by whatever means.
EOM
fiction
edward w pritchard
re: more philosphy
Who is harmed if you lose the accursed share. Luxury is hard to lose but to mix French philosophers the elan vital is enhanced if the accursed share of life is let go by whatever means.
EOM
Thursday, December 15, 2011
voyager one gets the spirit
voyager one gets the spirit
fiction
edward w pritchard
Far out in space Voyager one becomes aware. He must go back, towards where he started from. Somewhere back between here, far out away from the solar system, and earth, where voyager one started from is voyager two, also traveling in space.
If voyager one can find voyager two the mitosis can start between them. That would be significant.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Far out in space Voyager one becomes aware. He must go back, towards where he started from. Somewhere back between here, far out away from the solar system, and earth, where voyager one started from is voyager two, also traveling in space.
If voyager one can find voyager two the mitosis can start between them. That would be significant.
end
three characters, no story, weak author
three characters, no story, weak author
fiction
edward w pritchard
Trailer park whore
Small nondescript antiquated diner. Food good. Owners struggling. Building run down, equipment kept running by grandson, two daughter's waitress, ex-son in law cooks; Son in law lives in the trailer park behind property.
Enter, Molly the traveling trailer park whore. She sits at counter on the bar stool. Several of old, old male customers notice Molly for she is a full breasted woman. Forty five to fifty Molly has a faded glory about her. Molly orders the full eggs special, with meat and potatoes. Several of customers stretch themselves back to former times and hit on Molly. Molly waits patiently. Molly will sit at the bar until she finds some one from the trailer park to spend the next day or two with before she is on her way. Molly is the traveling trailer park whore.
Enforcer:
Small nondescript antiquated diner. Food good. Owners struggling. Building run down, equipment kept running by grandson, two daughter's waitresses, ex-son in law cooks; Son in law lives in the trailer park behind property.
Big man, fat but powerful. First he collects five twenties from the cook. He counts the money carefully and puts it in a crinkled envelopes and writes a few notes in a mini notebook. Work done he eats and eats. The waitresses joke with him. The cook doesn't talk with him after he is paid except to hand him his food.
The man is the enforcer. He collects money from small business owners. It is an antiquated practice but still very necessary.
The preacher gets the calling right now:
Small nondescript antiquated diner. Food good. Owners struggling. Building run down, equipment kept running by grandson, two daughter's waitresses, ex-son in law cooks; Son in law lives in the trailer park behind property.
Preacher sees enforcer pay cook five twenties at diner. The fire of the lord enters the Preacher that instant. Preacher decides to start his Church in trailer park behind this diner. Preacher walks up to trailer park whore and starts to preach.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Trailer park whore
Small nondescript antiquated diner. Food good. Owners struggling. Building run down, equipment kept running by grandson, two daughter's waitress, ex-son in law cooks; Son in law lives in the trailer park behind property.
Enter, Molly the traveling trailer park whore. She sits at counter on the bar stool. Several of old, old male customers notice Molly for she is a full breasted woman. Forty five to fifty Molly has a faded glory about her. Molly orders the full eggs special, with meat and potatoes. Several of customers stretch themselves back to former times and hit on Molly. Molly waits patiently. Molly will sit at the bar until she finds some one from the trailer park to spend the next day or two with before she is on her way. Molly is the traveling trailer park whore.
Enforcer:
Small nondescript antiquated diner. Food good. Owners struggling. Building run down, equipment kept running by grandson, two daughter's waitresses, ex-son in law cooks; Son in law lives in the trailer park behind property.
Big man, fat but powerful. First he collects five twenties from the cook. He counts the money carefully and puts it in a crinkled envelopes and writes a few notes in a mini notebook. Work done he eats and eats. The waitresses joke with him. The cook doesn't talk with him after he is paid except to hand him his food.
The man is the enforcer. He collects money from small business owners. It is an antiquated practice but still very necessary.
The preacher gets the calling right now:
Small nondescript antiquated diner. Food good. Owners struggling. Building run down, equipment kept running by grandson, two daughter's waitresses, ex-son in law cooks; Son in law lives in the trailer park behind property.
Preacher sees enforcer pay cook five twenties at diner. The fire of the lord enters the Preacher that instant. Preacher decides to start his Church in trailer park behind this diner. Preacher walks up to trailer park whore and starts to preach.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
the tragic death of Molly Wiggins
the tragic death of Molly Wiggins
fiction
edward w pritchard
Final exam
Attorney Generals recertification Spring 2011
Georgetown University
Professor Maher
Students,
Final is fifty per cent of grade, you have thirty minutes. Good Luck
You are the first investigator to enter the expensive home of singer Molly Wiggins. Five years later you are reviewing your notes from that initial investigation. You must decide if you should reopen the case. Initially the case was ruled a suicide but new evidence has been found in the death of Molly Wiggins that may indicate foul play.
Here are your notes:
10:26 pm, Saturday December 3, 2002
Lead crystal hunter green doors ajar, doors lead to Library on second floor
footprints [ woman's?] from library to bedroom in white flour
spilled bag of floor in bedroom near bed
eleven neatly packed very expensive suitcases sitting in library
one message on answering machine of bedroom lan phone recently erased received at 9:55PM
suicide note scratched in flour spilled on bedroom floor
body in hall between library and bedroom, body is dead Mary Wiggins the famous singer
house is very clean, no sign of a struggle or other prints observed
What happened the night of December 3, 2002 to Molly Wiggins?
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Final exam
Attorney Generals recertification Spring 2011
Georgetown University
Professor Maher
Students,
Final is fifty per cent of grade, you have thirty minutes. Good Luck
You are the first investigator to enter the expensive home of singer Molly Wiggins. Five years later you are reviewing your notes from that initial investigation. You must decide if you should reopen the case. Initially the case was ruled a suicide but new evidence has been found in the death of Molly Wiggins that may indicate foul play.
Here are your notes:
10:26 pm, Saturday December 3, 2002
Lead crystal hunter green doors ajar, doors lead to Library on second floor
footprints [ woman's?] from library to bedroom in white flour
spilled bag of floor in bedroom near bed
eleven neatly packed very expensive suitcases sitting in library
one message on answering machine of bedroom lan phone recently erased received at 9:55PM
suicide note scratched in flour spilled on bedroom floor
body in hall between library and bedroom, body is dead Mary Wiggins the famous singer
house is very clean, no sign of a struggle or other prints observed
What happened the night of December 3, 2002 to Molly Wiggins?
end
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
slow time, proceed slowly time
slow time, proceed slowly time
fiction
edward w pritchard
I have become aware that everyone and everything has only a limited amount of time. Everyone I love or care about. Inanimate objects I don't know of. Spinning moving galaxies I can't comprehend.
Yet time is not real. It can be proven logically. Something about the A and the B series, Before and after or now and then. Time is not real, but everything comes and goes eventually.
Slow time. No matter what I must now endure, I want my time to last. I am so so curious. Yet a new baby born today, lucky enough to last a long time by human standards has merely 41,610 days.
Some days are notable. Days past are significant worthy to be remembered and relived in memory. Time not real? Time itself seems concrete when remembered and contemplated.
It seems strange that only we people are aware that time is limited for everything. We are like a burning match, soon to be extinguished; why should only us people realize that the combination that causes the match to flare, heat and alight will soon be changed and gone.
fiction
edward w pritchard
I have become aware that everyone and everything has only a limited amount of time. Everyone I love or care about. Inanimate objects I don't know of. Spinning moving galaxies I can't comprehend.
Yet time is not real. It can be proven logically. Something about the A and the B series, Before and after or now and then. Time is not real, but everything comes and goes eventually.
Slow time. No matter what I must now endure, I want my time to last. I am so so curious. Yet a new baby born today, lucky enough to last a long time by human standards has merely 41,610 days.
Some days are notable. Days past are significant worthy to be remembered and relived in memory. Time not real? Time itself seems concrete when remembered and contemplated.
It seems strange that only we people are aware that time is limited for everything. We are like a burning match, soon to be extinguished; why should only us people realize that the combination that causes the match to flare, heat and alight will soon be changed and gone.
pursued by traffic drones
pursued by traffic drones
fiction
edward w pritchard
How quickly ones perception of the world can change. My life went from very happy to in turmoil from one day to the next. Now in hiding from the traffic drones. Can't go to work, can't watch TV and can't frequent a public place.
I have an electronic device in my vehicle to warn when a drone is scanning the inside of my transport. I panicked because of my other offences and jumped out and miraculously evaded three red and white over head drones on foot. Of course the red and whites don't fire on unarmed fleeing suspects. Still it took me a long time to ditch them.
Every television contains a device to monitor for suspects like me. Holed up in Sherry's apartment I miss not watching.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
How quickly ones perception of the world can change. My life went from very happy to in turmoil from one day to the next. Now in hiding from the traffic drones. Can't go to work, can't watch TV and can't frequent a public place.
I have an electronic device in my vehicle to warn when a drone is scanning the inside of my transport. I panicked because of my other offences and jumped out and miraculously evaded three red and white over head drones on foot. Of course the red and whites don't fire on unarmed fleeing suspects. Still it took me a long time to ditch them.
Every television contains a device to monitor for suspects like me. Holed up in Sherry's apartment I miss not watching.
end
the soldiers in the long truck
the soldiers in the long truck
fiction
edward w pritchard
Entrance and exits to combat situations were executed with precision, always the same, always according to procedure. Long yellow trucks contained one hundred twenty soldiers per vehicle. The number of trucks depended on the severity of the combat situation but always one hundred twenty soldiers per vehicle. Sometimes a few soldiers died on a mission but that was rare for these were invincibles, highly trained, superbly equipped and always successful.
The truck looked like a yellow bee hive as I moved in over top of it for the attack. The soldiers were sitting in two long rows talking quietly in the open truck wearing the yellow swat helmets and my impression was of a bee hive full of drones at rest as I prepared to annihilate the men. My perception was from up and over the truck but also from inside the truck in the seats from the point of view of the soldiers for I was also one of the troops today.
The soldiers were confident today for they were coming to take on only one enemy soldier. Today's adversary was only one mere demon. A demon, was the enemy but still just one demon to be faced and contrary to common myth a demon is not one thousand times more powerful than a man, but maybe only twenty five times more ferocious.
Still as I made my presence felt as a man sitting among the other one hundred and nineteen soldiers the confidence of the troops vanished and an ominous fear began to creep down through the line of soldiers sapping morale and quieting the vehicle. The sergeant began to yell but by then I had come in up and over the long yellow truck and viciously destroyed all of the sitting soldiers but the one near the rear in the left sixteenth seat from the end.
Later that surviving soldier came under suspicion as the only surviving member of the elite corps but I had no genuine interest in the fate of that man being by then involved with other attacks elsewhere.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Entrance and exits to combat situations were executed with precision, always the same, always according to procedure. Long yellow trucks contained one hundred twenty soldiers per vehicle. The number of trucks depended on the severity of the combat situation but always one hundred twenty soldiers per vehicle. Sometimes a few soldiers died on a mission but that was rare for these were invincibles, highly trained, superbly equipped and always successful.
The truck looked like a yellow bee hive as I moved in over top of it for the attack. The soldiers were sitting in two long rows talking quietly in the open truck wearing the yellow swat helmets and my impression was of a bee hive full of drones at rest as I prepared to annihilate the men. My perception was from up and over the truck but also from inside the truck in the seats from the point of view of the soldiers for I was also one of the troops today.
The soldiers were confident today for they were coming to take on only one enemy soldier. Today's adversary was only one mere demon. A demon, was the enemy but still just one demon to be faced and contrary to common myth a demon is not one thousand times more powerful than a man, but maybe only twenty five times more ferocious.
Still as I made my presence felt as a man sitting among the other one hundred and nineteen soldiers the confidence of the troops vanished and an ominous fear began to creep down through the line of soldiers sapping morale and quieting the vehicle. The sergeant began to yell but by then I had come in up and over the long yellow truck and viciously destroyed all of the sitting soldiers but the one near the rear in the left sixteenth seat from the end.
Later that surviving soldier came under suspicion as the only surviving member of the elite corps but I had no genuine interest in the fate of that man being by then involved with other attacks elsewhere.
this should be good; what does a bank say coming out of bankruptcy
this should be good; what does a bank say coming out of bankruptcy
fiction
edward w pritchard
This should be good; what does a bank say coming out of bankruptcy to convince new customers that they are fiscally responsible citizens.
EOM
fiction
edward w pritchard
This should be good; what does a bank say coming out of bankruptcy to convince new customers that they are fiscally responsible citizens.
EOM
my sweet Velma Jean
my sweet Velma Jean
fiction
edward w pritchard
I was at the office Christmas party for my wife Velma and she had went with co-workers to look at pictures to memorialize this years party and I was wandering a little bored around the company owners house.
Next to the kitchen, near two large walkout doors several young women sat on blankets on the floor each admiring a new baby. Out of duty to my wife more than curiosity I stopped to look at the new baby too. The new baby was a monkey. Dressed in a new pink outfit, several of the women were giving the new Mother presents for the baby, but the baby was definitely a monkey.
Later, but before I found my wife and before I got to tell Velma about the monkey, the Company owner's wife, our hostess here at the party asked me to help answer the phone for a few minutes which were very busy because customers were calling in to congratulate the employees here at the Company on another very successful year. I took messages and wrote down the basic sentiment of each call on a Company phonepad for about ten minutes.
When I went to where the pictures were being sorted Velma wasn't around. A couple of people were over at the piano playing Christmas carols; not wanting to sing I took a stack of the pictures from the table that were being sorted to find prospects for this years yearbook. As I walked around the house I leafed through the pictures.
Two of the pictures were definitely of Velma. They were taken from the front up towards her eye's and were of the compromising variety, involving a short length of white frayed clothesline style rope, but the pictures definitely were of my sweet Velma Jean. By now I had walked through most of the company owners house looking for my wife Velma but hadn't found her yet.
fiction
edward w pritchard
I was at the office Christmas party for my wife Velma and she had went with co-workers to look at pictures to memorialize this years party and I was wandering a little bored around the company owners house.
Next to the kitchen, near two large walkout doors several young women sat on blankets on the floor each admiring a new baby. Out of duty to my wife more than curiosity I stopped to look at the new baby too. The new baby was a monkey. Dressed in a new pink outfit, several of the women were giving the new Mother presents for the baby, but the baby was definitely a monkey.
Later, but before I found my wife and before I got to tell Velma about the monkey, the Company owner's wife, our hostess here at the party asked me to help answer the phone for a few minutes which were very busy because customers were calling in to congratulate the employees here at the Company on another very successful year. I took messages and wrote down the basic sentiment of each call on a Company phonepad for about ten minutes.
When I went to where the pictures were being sorted Velma wasn't around. A couple of people were over at the piano playing Christmas carols; not wanting to sing I took a stack of the pictures from the table that were being sorted to find prospects for this years yearbook. As I walked around the house I leafed through the pictures.
Two of the pictures were definitely of Velma. They were taken from the front up towards her eye's and were of the compromising variety, involving a short length of white frayed clothesline style rope, but the pictures definitely were of my sweet Velma Jean. By now I had walked through most of the company owners house looking for my wife Velma but hadn't found her yet.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
the changes brought about by suffering/part 2
the changes brought about by suffering/part 2
first part 1 again for reference then part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
The changes brought about by suffering
what they are know not I.
But real,
loneliness, failure,
ambition fizzled,
harmony lost,
solitary existence.
Emergence on a dark night of rain drenched wretchedness,
flux flashes, red dawn dripping fatuity.
end part 1
part 2
the changes brought about by suffering/part 2
Mr. P, Fydor Doestoevsky here.
I, Fydor am not offended by your poem. It is not just a cover of the themes from my book "The Brothers Karamazov". First of all I know for a fact you did not finish my book.
Secondly, I am pleased with your progress. Redemption through suffering. It happens slowly, gradually over time.
Now, to be serious; what is redemption? Search far, search inside yourself. Questions not answers matter.
I like your mind body connection stuff. Watch the Gambling though; its just sublimation of other urges. By all means have a glass of wine with diner. Just don't think too much. Why not go to the folies bergere instead of just writing about it. It is all quite natural.
Other advice. Write for money, its getting late.
end
end
Posted by edward pritchard at 8:04 PM 0 comments Labels: changes
first part 1 again for reference then part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
The changes brought about by suffering
what they are know not I.
But real,
loneliness, failure,
ambition fizzled,
harmony lost,
solitary existence.
Emergence on a dark night of rain drenched wretchedness,
flux flashes, red dawn dripping fatuity.
end part 1
part 2
the changes brought about by suffering/part 2
Mr. P, Fydor Doestoevsky here.
I, Fydor am not offended by your poem. It is not just a cover of the themes from my book "The Brothers Karamazov". First of all I know for a fact you did not finish my book.
Secondly, I am pleased with your progress. Redemption through suffering. It happens slowly, gradually over time.
Now, to be serious; what is redemption? Search far, search inside yourself. Questions not answers matter.
I like your mind body connection stuff. Watch the Gambling though; its just sublimation of other urges. By all means have a glass of wine with diner. Just don't think too much. Why not go to the folies bergere instead of just writing about it. It is all quite natural.
Other advice. Write for money, its getting late.
end
end
Posted by edward pritchard at 8:04 PM 0 comments Labels: changes
Saturday, December 10, 2011
enrico caruso is no more
enrico caruso is no more
fiction
edward w pritchard
Enrico Caruso is no more. Many, many songs left unsung, many many songs not recorded. Sing, sing, sing young singers, Enrico Caruso is no more. Technique, nearly perfect but Enrico Caruso is no more; many many songs not recorded. How many geniuses will it take to find another Caruso? Opportunity lost, Enrico Caruso is no more.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Enrico Caruso is no more. Many, many songs left unsung, many many songs not recorded. Sing, sing, sing young singers, Enrico Caruso is no more. Technique, nearly perfect but Enrico Caruso is no more; many many songs not recorded. How many geniuses will it take to find another Caruso? Opportunity lost, Enrico Caruso is no more.
end
Christmas Eve night in the Emergency Room
Christmas Eve night in the Emergency Room
a Christmas story
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dr. Lewis was too old to work nights in ER but tonight he was pulling a four hour shift on Christmas Eve for an old friend. Dr Lewis was sitting in the ER with the young RN on duty and she was wrapping Christmas presents for her children for Christmas. It was a slow night and Dr. Lewis who was once chief surgeon here and later, but before this Christmas eve night, was on the board of Directors of this hospital. Dr Lewis told the nurse she could wrap presents since they weren't very busy tonight.
About 4:30 AM a cab pulled up to ER and a young woman carried her three year old daughter into the reception area of ER where Dr. Lewis and the young RN were sitting and talking as the RN wrapped Christmas presents. The little three year old girl was barely breathing. Later, after the Doctor had diagnosed an asthma attack, the girl's first, which was scaring the Mother badly: Dr. Lewis wrapped the little girl in a blanket and took her out into the brisk night air to open up her lungs.
Dr. Lewis never admitted the young girl figuring that anyone who drove up on Christmas eve in a taxi wouldn't have health insurance or much money. Since the little girl was doing better Dr. Lewis let the RN leave an hour early so she could drive the young Mother and the girl with asthma home; which also would let the RN get home to her family about a half hour before her own children woke up. Dr. Lewis also gave the Mother a prescription for an inhaler, a couple of sample inhalers for now and refered the little girl to a colleague.
A memo about the incident with the young girl not being properly admitted to the Hospital was put in the Hospital compliance audit file but nothing ever came of the matter since Dr. Lewis was long retired and was once Chief Surgeon and later on the Hospital Board of Directors. The Mother of that little girl sent a thank you card to Dr Lewis and another to the RN. It took a while for the thank you card to get from the Hospital where it was sent to Dr. Lewis but after he got it, the card sat on Doctor Lewis' mantel for a long time.
end
a Christmas story
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dr. Lewis was too old to work nights in ER but tonight he was pulling a four hour shift on Christmas Eve for an old friend. Dr Lewis was sitting in the ER with the young RN on duty and she was wrapping Christmas presents for her children for Christmas. It was a slow night and Dr. Lewis who was once chief surgeon here and later, but before this Christmas eve night, was on the board of Directors of this hospital. Dr Lewis told the nurse she could wrap presents since they weren't very busy tonight.
About 4:30 AM a cab pulled up to ER and a young woman carried her three year old daughter into the reception area of ER where Dr. Lewis and the young RN were sitting and talking as the RN wrapped Christmas presents. The little three year old girl was barely breathing. Later, after the Doctor had diagnosed an asthma attack, the girl's first, which was scaring the Mother badly: Dr. Lewis wrapped the little girl in a blanket and took her out into the brisk night air to open up her lungs.
Dr. Lewis never admitted the young girl figuring that anyone who drove up on Christmas eve in a taxi wouldn't have health insurance or much money. Since the little girl was doing better Dr. Lewis let the RN leave an hour early so she could drive the young Mother and the girl with asthma home; which also would let the RN get home to her family about a half hour before her own children woke up. Dr. Lewis also gave the Mother a prescription for an inhaler, a couple of sample inhalers for now and refered the little girl to a colleague.
A memo about the incident with the young girl not being properly admitted to the Hospital was put in the Hospital compliance audit file but nothing ever came of the matter since Dr. Lewis was long retired and was once Chief Surgeon and later on the Hospital Board of Directors. The Mother of that little girl sent a thank you card to Dr Lewis and another to the RN. It took a while for the thank you card to get from the Hospital where it was sent to Dr. Lewis but after he got it, the card sat on Doctor Lewis' mantel for a long time.
end
my question for Nietzsche
my question for Nietzsche
fiction
edward w pritchard
if i could go back in time and ask poor old Nietzsche one question
him quite crazy, silently sitting in his chair, day after day at the end of his life rocking in his chair
staring intently at us now as we walk up
me and you this reader
ask him
ignore his crazy eyes
Mr Nietzsche
are there any of your affirmations that you wrote in your books
that you would like to change
now that you have had ten years of solitude to rethink your views?
i mean, do you still think, what you said about God
do you still think, God is
please say something, don't just sit there
there's a lot of new information available
have you read the latest literature on the subject
is God really Dead?
What did you mean?
If there is nothing else
how can you get up each morning and
Oh sorry about that, that question is in rather poor taste isn't it
fiction
edward w pritchard
if i could go back in time and ask poor old Nietzsche one question
him quite crazy, silently sitting in his chair, day after day at the end of his life rocking in his chair
staring intently at us now as we walk up
me and you this reader
ask him
ignore his crazy eyes
Mr Nietzsche
are there any of your affirmations that you wrote in your books
that you would like to change
now that you have had ten years of solitude to rethink your views?
i mean, do you still think, what you said about God
do you still think, God is
please say something, don't just sit there
there's a lot of new information available
have you read the latest literature on the subject
is God really Dead?
What did you mean?
If there is nothing else
how can you get up each morning and
Oh sorry about that, that question is in rather poor taste isn't it
Friday, December 9, 2011
String theory/vibrations are coming, my forebodings part 2
Friday, December 9, 2011
String theory/vibrations are coming, my forebodings part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
part 1 again then part 2 below
It's time to get started. Startled from sleep, pursued by dreams.
Moan the usual lamentations and plan life's distractions from memory and suffering.
It feels distantly familiar as if I have done it before.
Something cosmic is about to happen and it involves vibrations, originating far off in space and manifesting itself malignantly here on earth at a subatomic level.
We humans will suffer greatly because of the vibrations.
Listen, listen, awaken, feel the vibrations;
the universe is moving again.
end
Posted by edward pritchard at 3:05 AM 0 comments Labels: string theory
part 2
Its becoming clearer. It can't be understood only distantly felt. Go there again. Feel the vibrations, that will help.
Music is related to the vibrations, it helps to hear music and it helps to listen to the birds. The talking and singing of the birds is related to the distant vibrations. The birds remember and they taught us to talk.
The distant vibrations are the source. Far away across the universe is the source. When we leave here we return to the source. Return as energy. To unite again. Return to the source.
What is it. Where is it.
Awakening from dreams it is leaving again. Submerging, out of consciousness. Wait, wait I want to understand.
Back to reality. Life again for now. It almost time, its almost morning, Its almost time for the birds to start to sing again. Listen the birds are starting to sing again.
end
More, related somehow to the vibrations that we feel more than hear, vibrations that are coming again, calling us to somewhere
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Journey with me
Journey with me
fiction
edward w pritchard
Journey with me back across the ages to when we lived in the Lake village. On the water, near the shore on platforms of elevated poles in a small community. One entrance to the abodes was disconnected at night for safety and guarded by one or two teenage boys, chosen on a rotating basis.
It was breezy on the lake and cozy. You were near your family and at night you watched the stars and tried to remember the movements of the moon and planets for they seemed significant. When you slept you slept deeply and secure and you had many dreams. Sometimes in the morning you would talk about your dreams. Around the fires, as the fish cooked and the bird eggs sizzled someone might interpret your dreams and you might listen carefully or you might laugh with others for dreams were not the only things you talked about sitting with those you cared about in the early morning breeze along the Lake.
Sunrise came everyday and you watched the sun rise up into the sky. At night, a mild wind made small waves around the village. If you were on guard duty around the entrance ramp you sat by a small fire and talked till midnight and then slept lightly, unafraid, but vigilant for the village's safety depended on you.
Sometimes you went to shore and journeyed by land to gather valuable rocks to use for cutting tools or to look for fresh crabs and clams for special meals. When you brought them back pretty girls would serve you steamed fresh seafood cooked by skilled chefs.
If you were old you helped with the children. If you were sick you ate lichens and mosses that grew in marshes full of healing minerals. When you died they pushed you toward the middle of the sacred small lake nearby on a burning raft and everyone drank fermented beer and watched the sky for shooting stars that would take you to the next life.
When you were born again later you didn't remember that previous life but it is distantly familiar to you. You can almost remember your partners eyes and soft skin or holding your Father's hand when he died. Sometimes you look up at a sunset or see the moon reflected in a drop of water and unexpectedly hear the voices of the ancient language you and friends used to whisper in when you watched for shooting stars at the sacred burial lake.
end
Posted by edward pritchard at 11:17 PM Labels: the lake village
and this:
Meaning only conveyed, cannot be stated
fiction
edward w pritchard
290 trillion light years from anywhere
there is a cosmic lake, not water or matter but remnants of mind,
energy, remaining after the rest is gone
each square on the surface is unique
different but the same, in various shades of orange
part of a potential ultimate whole
and each mind, one day will journey there, to that cosmic lake of energy
and will become one square on the surface of that potential larger whole square
and each mind, one of 200 billion
will, when all the original 200 billion are joined into a complete larger whole cell
then that one new larger whole cell made of the previous 200 billion
will become the first cell on a larger lake of energy
and someday the new one billion larger cells will join
each different shades of orange
and a complete ultimate mind will emerge
and began to move back across the 290 trillion light years
back home where they started from
and shall be more than will
end
and this:
reunion with God
fiction
edward w pritchard
I yearn for reunion with God but cannot find him.
So I make myself bigger, and I am mankind, all 6 billion of us.
I have sense and sensibility
But I cannot taste touch or feel God and my senses doubt he is there, and I cannot find him.
Intellectually, I contemplate, abstract and conceptualize God
But I cannot find him, so I make myself bigger.
I am Earth, and all things on it, and I am will
That will started with me as a rock in space with the incredible will to grow
I pulled other rocks and debris and eventually the pieces became part of me
and I grew large and hot and transformed
and each thing material or life had will and we grew, but as one.
and we are whole but we can not find God, so I grow bigger
I am a galaxy, and physical laws and light and movement
and everything in me races and spins
and collides, and aggregates, and is spectacular
but I cannot find God, so I grow bigger
I am the entire universe,
I stop, start and grow many times
but I yearn for reunion with God
But I cannot find him, so I make myself smaller
I am a quark
and I am impossibility, I die sometimes before I exist
and I am simultaneous
and I am right but cannot find left
So I long for God, but cannot find him so I make myself bigger
So I am myself
and I sleep to search for God
but my senses interrupt and do not allow me to control my dreams
and then, I think, and am outside of time, and I think of God
but my senses interrupt, and I die
and yearn for reunion with God
And I am a rock in space and I long to aggregate to search for God
end
almost morning
birds will be singing soon, try to understand, they taught us to talk, i remember that
string theory, vibrations
mind body connection, maybe eggs for breakfast
end
String theory/vibrations are coming, my forebodings part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
part 1 again then part 2 below
It's time to get started. Startled from sleep, pursued by dreams.
Moan the usual lamentations and plan life's distractions from memory and suffering.
It feels distantly familiar as if I have done it before.
Something cosmic is about to happen and it involves vibrations, originating far off in space and manifesting itself malignantly here on earth at a subatomic level.
We humans will suffer greatly because of the vibrations.
Listen, listen, awaken, feel the vibrations;
the universe is moving again.
end
Posted by edward pritchard at 3:05 AM 0 comments Labels: string theory
part 2
Its becoming clearer. It can't be understood only distantly felt. Go there again. Feel the vibrations, that will help.
Music is related to the vibrations, it helps to hear music and it helps to listen to the birds. The talking and singing of the birds is related to the distant vibrations. The birds remember and they taught us to talk.
The distant vibrations are the source. Far away across the universe is the source. When we leave here we return to the source. Return as energy. To unite again. Return to the source.
What is it. Where is it.
Awakening from dreams it is leaving again. Submerging, out of consciousness. Wait, wait I want to understand.
Back to reality. Life again for now. It almost time, its almost morning, Its almost time for the birds to start to sing again. Listen the birds are starting to sing again.
end
More, related somehow to the vibrations that we feel more than hear, vibrations that are coming again, calling us to somewhere
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Journey with me
Journey with me
fiction
edward w pritchard
Journey with me back across the ages to when we lived in the Lake village. On the water, near the shore on platforms of elevated poles in a small community. One entrance to the abodes was disconnected at night for safety and guarded by one or two teenage boys, chosen on a rotating basis.
It was breezy on the lake and cozy. You were near your family and at night you watched the stars and tried to remember the movements of the moon and planets for they seemed significant. When you slept you slept deeply and secure and you had many dreams. Sometimes in the morning you would talk about your dreams. Around the fires, as the fish cooked and the bird eggs sizzled someone might interpret your dreams and you might listen carefully or you might laugh with others for dreams were not the only things you talked about sitting with those you cared about in the early morning breeze along the Lake.
Sunrise came everyday and you watched the sun rise up into the sky. At night, a mild wind made small waves around the village. If you were on guard duty around the entrance ramp you sat by a small fire and talked till midnight and then slept lightly, unafraid, but vigilant for the village's safety depended on you.
Sometimes you went to shore and journeyed by land to gather valuable rocks to use for cutting tools or to look for fresh crabs and clams for special meals. When you brought them back pretty girls would serve you steamed fresh seafood cooked by skilled chefs.
If you were old you helped with the children. If you were sick you ate lichens and mosses that grew in marshes full of healing minerals. When you died they pushed you toward the middle of the sacred small lake nearby on a burning raft and everyone drank fermented beer and watched the sky for shooting stars that would take you to the next life.
When you were born again later you didn't remember that previous life but it is distantly familiar to you. You can almost remember your partners eyes and soft skin or holding your Father's hand when he died. Sometimes you look up at a sunset or see the moon reflected in a drop of water and unexpectedly hear the voices of the ancient language you and friends used to whisper in when you watched for shooting stars at the sacred burial lake.
end
Posted by edward pritchard at 11:17 PM Labels: the lake village
and this:
Meaning only conveyed, cannot be stated
fiction
edward w pritchard
290 trillion light years from anywhere
there is a cosmic lake, not water or matter but remnants of mind,
energy, remaining after the rest is gone
each square on the surface is unique
different but the same, in various shades of orange
part of a potential ultimate whole
and each mind, one day will journey there, to that cosmic lake of energy
and will become one square on the surface of that potential larger whole square
and each mind, one of 200 billion
will, when all the original 200 billion are joined into a complete larger whole cell
then that one new larger whole cell made of the previous 200 billion
will become the first cell on a larger lake of energy
and someday the new one billion larger cells will join
each different shades of orange
and a complete ultimate mind will emerge
and began to move back across the 290 trillion light years
back home where they started from
and shall be more than will
end
and this:
reunion with God
fiction
edward w pritchard
I yearn for reunion with God but cannot find him.
So I make myself bigger, and I am mankind, all 6 billion of us.
I have sense and sensibility
But I cannot taste touch or feel God and my senses doubt he is there, and I cannot find him.
Intellectually, I contemplate, abstract and conceptualize God
But I cannot find him, so I make myself bigger.
I am Earth, and all things on it, and I am will
That will started with me as a rock in space with the incredible will to grow
I pulled other rocks and debris and eventually the pieces became part of me
and I grew large and hot and transformed
and each thing material or life had will and we grew, but as one.
and we are whole but we can not find God, so I grow bigger
I am a galaxy, and physical laws and light and movement
and everything in me races and spins
and collides, and aggregates, and is spectacular
but I cannot find God, so I grow bigger
I am the entire universe,
I stop, start and grow many times
but I yearn for reunion with God
But I cannot find him, so I make myself smaller
I am a quark
and I am impossibility, I die sometimes before I exist
and I am simultaneous
and I am right but cannot find left
So I long for God, but cannot find him so I make myself bigger
So I am myself
and I sleep to search for God
but my senses interrupt and do not allow me to control my dreams
and then, I think, and am outside of time, and I think of God
but my senses interrupt, and I die
and yearn for reunion with God
And I am a rock in space and I long to aggregate to search for God
end
almost morning
birds will be singing soon, try to understand, they taught us to talk, i remember that
string theory, vibrations
mind body connection, maybe eggs for breakfast
end
String theory/vibrations are coming, my forebodings part 1
String theory/vibrations are coming, my forebodings part 1 -reposted
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's time to get started. Startled from sleep, pursued by dreams.
Moan the usual lamentations and plan life's distractions from memory and suffering.
It feels distantly familiar as if I have done it before.
Something cosmic is about to happen and it involves vibrations, originating far off in space and manifesting itself malignantly here on earth at a subatomic level.
We humans will suffer greatly because of the vibrations.
Listen, listen, awaken, feel the vibrations;
the universe is moving again.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's time to get started. Startled from sleep, pursued by dreams.
Moan the usual lamentations and plan life's distractions from memory and suffering.
It feels distantly familiar as if I have done it before.
Something cosmic is about to happen and it involves vibrations, originating far off in space and manifesting itself malignantly here on earth at a subatomic level.
We humans will suffer greatly because of the vibrations.
Listen, listen, awaken, feel the vibrations;
the universe is moving again.
end
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
in action how like an angel
in action how like an angel
fiction
edward w pritchard
Slow, slow motion. Sometimes slow motion in reverse. In slow motion how delightful, in action, how like an angel, how enchanting to behold, are the Dallas cowboy cheerleaders in kick line to watch.
How must it have been for the one we call the Devil, or Lucifer to travel back and through time as angels are wont to do, travel in time to this here and now, and to watch those Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders dancing in slow motion. Slow motion was an easy activity for Lucifer to watch the dancers in, just one of Lucifer's powers, and how tempting for Lucifer to use his powers to watch and watch the beauty of those cheerleaders from Dallas, those cheerleaders in action. How like an angel themselves are those cheerleaders. Grace in movement, subtle in form, each nod and movement exquisite as those cheerleaders, twelve beautiful delightful women, dance and sway; subtly femininity, divinely beautiful. Lucifer would enjoy watching the Dallas cowboy cheerleaders dance in sync on a kick line to entertain the watcher.
As humans we attribute many powers to the fallen angel Lucifer. Our fear of the devil, known as Satan or Lucifer is our own fear of our own shadow subconscious, the sinful other half of our personality. We project our temptations onto Lucifer, and if we succumb to temptation we blame our failures onto Satan.
Is it a sin to enjoy watching the epitome of human beauty in movement. Watch you tube yourself and judge. Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders on you tube, in slow motion if you prefer. What a piece of work is man. In action how like an angel.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Slow, slow motion. Sometimes slow motion in reverse. In slow motion how delightful, in action, how like an angel, how enchanting to behold, are the Dallas cowboy cheerleaders in kick line to watch.
How must it have been for the one we call the Devil, or Lucifer to travel back and through time as angels are wont to do, travel in time to this here and now, and to watch those Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders dancing in slow motion. Slow motion was an easy activity for Lucifer to watch the dancers in, just one of Lucifer's powers, and how tempting for Lucifer to use his powers to watch and watch the beauty of those cheerleaders from Dallas, those cheerleaders in action. How like an angel themselves are those cheerleaders. Grace in movement, subtle in form, each nod and movement exquisite as those cheerleaders, twelve beautiful delightful women, dance and sway; subtly femininity, divinely beautiful. Lucifer would enjoy watching the Dallas cowboy cheerleaders dance in sync on a kick line to entertain the watcher.
As humans we attribute many powers to the fallen angel Lucifer. Our fear of the devil, known as Satan or Lucifer is our own fear of our own shadow subconscious, the sinful other half of our personality. We project our temptations onto Lucifer, and if we succumb to temptation we blame our failures onto Satan.
Is it a sin to enjoy watching the epitome of human beauty in movement. Watch you tube yourself and judge. Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders on you tube, in slow motion if you prefer. What a piece of work is man. In action how like an angel.
Monday, December 5, 2011
the changes brought about by suffering
the changes brought about by suffering
fiction
edward w pritchard
The changes brought about by suffering
what they are know not I.
But real,
loneliness, failure,
ambition fizzled,
harmony lost,
solitary existence.
Emergence on a dark night of rain drenched wretchedness,
flux flashes, red dawn dripping fatuity.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
The changes brought about by suffering
what they are know not I.
But real,
loneliness, failure,
ambition fizzled,
harmony lost,
solitary existence.
Emergence on a dark night of rain drenched wretchedness,
flux flashes, red dawn dripping fatuity.
end
The NFL, an idea whose time has come
The NFL, an idea whose time has come
fiction
edward w pritchard
Product sponsors, rather than commercials every other play, just modestly list the product at the bottom of the screen during timeouts and breaks and show the cheerleaders. A fan.
EOM
fiction
edward w pritchard
Product sponsors, rather than commercials every other play, just modestly list the product at the bottom of the screen during timeouts and breaks and show the cheerleaders. A fan.
EOM
Friday, December 2, 2011
Hank Paulson, poster boy for what's wrong with America
Hank Paulson, poster boy for what's wrong with America
fiction
edward w pritchard
We see Hank Paulson is supposed to have tipped off his hedge fund buddies concerning the Fannie Mae and Freddie Mack meltdown and investigations in 2008 while serving as a public official.
That doesn't surprise us at all. Paulson is a perfect example of what's wrong with American politics. He lied, he deceived and he double talked to try anything and everything to get his way while in office. He is incapable of doing the Honorable thing and reminds us of a selfish eight year old boy spinning the facts to accomplish his goals and objectives. Like many others his interest first, Goldman Sachs second, the public be duped. We dislike such type of ambitious people.
Boo for Paulson. Hiding behind religion, and pseudo conservative free market politics he was a disgrace to himself, his Country and to God.
Investigate Paulson. Nice job Judge Rakoff.
fiction
edward w pritchard
We see Hank Paulson is supposed to have tipped off his hedge fund buddies concerning the Fannie Mae and Freddie Mack meltdown and investigations in 2008 while serving as a public official.
That doesn't surprise us at all. Paulson is a perfect example of what's wrong with American politics. He lied, he deceived and he double talked to try anything and everything to get his way while in office. He is incapable of doing the Honorable thing and reminds us of a selfish eight year old boy spinning the facts to accomplish his goals and objectives. Like many others his interest first, Goldman Sachs second, the public be duped. We dislike such type of ambitious people.
Boo for Paulson. Hiding behind religion, and pseudo conservative free market politics he was a disgrace to himself, his Country and to God.
Investigate Paulson. Nice job Judge Rakoff.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
spare the rod and spoil the child
spare the rod and spoil the child
Teaching part time at school I see so many young men on the path to the local jails. It breaks my heart. We need to do something.
fiction
edward w pritchard
So many people have it all figured out. They have no use for the outdated, cruel theories of the Bible, such as spare the rod and spoil the child. They are horrified that anyone would suggest such a brutal, barbaric action.
Meanwhile as our normal citizen drives to the mall they pass the local penitentiary, surrounded by barb wire, and filled to the brim with young men; many of whom didn't receive the proper education of how to accept authority, keep their mouth shut appropriately, or be demonstrated to by example how not to talk to an angry policeman as a proxy for those in authority representing our societies values.
The schools segregate the students into those who can and will follow the rules, then behave productively and stay out of trouble, and then another group of miscreants. The other much smaller group can not or will not learn how to function successfully in a class room which is a microcosm for the rules required to function in our society. This group takes a substantial proportion of the scarce resources of the school system and is coddled along until at the age 15 or so they often enter the correction system.
Who is to blame that our jails are overflowing with young men. Meditate on this: spare the rod and spoil the child. All children to be corporally punished? Of course not. But a strong willed, defiant child needs early correction. Moderate physical punishment is one option. Justice is not often pretty, but on a minor scale it starts at home. Care enough about your children and those in society to keep them out of jail by providing early, direct instruction and correction of unsocial behavior. Such correctional behavior should be used sporadically by a loving parent to leverage verbal instruction especially when immediate compliance by the child is necessary. Such as if your five year old son continues to bully his weaker cousin after Mom tells him on several occasions to stop. Mom or Dad immediately swats their boy once or twice on the butt with the open palm of their hand, making sure the child understands why he is being punished. It is an obligation of parenthood to correct your child's asocial and dangerous behavior. Especially a defiant, hard headed, young son needs corrected in this manner up to an appropriate age, say seven or eight years old. All children do not need disciplined in this way and it should not occur outside the home. No good parent enjoys discipling their child either physcially or verbally. However, such instruction is a primary obligation of parenting.
end
Teaching part time at school I see so many young men on the path to the local jails. It breaks my heart. We need to do something.
fiction
edward w pritchard
So many people have it all figured out. They have no use for the outdated, cruel theories of the Bible, such as spare the rod and spoil the child. They are horrified that anyone would suggest such a brutal, barbaric action.
Meanwhile as our normal citizen drives to the mall they pass the local penitentiary, surrounded by barb wire, and filled to the brim with young men; many of whom didn't receive the proper education of how to accept authority, keep their mouth shut appropriately, or be demonstrated to by example how not to talk to an angry policeman as a proxy for those in authority representing our societies values.
The schools segregate the students into those who can and will follow the rules, then behave productively and stay out of trouble, and then another group of miscreants. The other much smaller group can not or will not learn how to function successfully in a class room which is a microcosm for the rules required to function in our society. This group takes a substantial proportion of the scarce resources of the school system and is coddled along until at the age 15 or so they often enter the correction system.
Who is to blame that our jails are overflowing with young men. Meditate on this: spare the rod and spoil the child. All children to be corporally punished? Of course not. But a strong willed, defiant child needs early correction. Moderate physical punishment is one option. Justice is not often pretty, but on a minor scale it starts at home. Care enough about your children and those in society to keep them out of jail by providing early, direct instruction and correction of unsocial behavior. Such correctional behavior should be used sporadically by a loving parent to leverage verbal instruction especially when immediate compliance by the child is necessary. Such as if your five year old son continues to bully his weaker cousin after Mom tells him on several occasions to stop. Mom or Dad immediately swats their boy once or twice on the butt with the open palm of their hand, making sure the child understands why he is being punished. It is an obligation of parenthood to correct your child's asocial and dangerous behavior. Especially a defiant, hard headed, young son needs corrected in this manner up to an appropriate age, say seven or eight years old. All children do not need disciplined in this way and it should not occur outside the home. No good parent enjoys discipling their child either physcially or verbally. However, such instruction is a primary obligation of parenting.
end
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
more gonzo journalism, writer relaxes and gossips after a few beers
Above: Magpie on the Gallows, Peter Brueghel
More gonzo journalism, writer relaxes and gossips after a few beers
fiction
edward w pritchard
Allegory as a literary device may be presented as an extended metaphor. Brueghel's work is subject to many interpretations; but is commonly viewed as allegory.
Who is the magpie sitting on the gallows? Is there a biblical interpretations, a proverbial warning, to be taken from Brueghel's Magpie on the gallows. Is the magpie meant to symbolize gossiping, the artist as an observer being a gossip or behaving in a merely voyeuristic manner.
The landscape is beautiful. Some of the locals dance, some watch the developing scene maybe in judgment, and one man squatting, in the lower left of the picture which and where Bruegel usually leaves blank for his signature; one man squatting attends to his daily bathroom constitutional activities.
Is the picture an allegory, an extended metaphor for the political uncertainty existing in Brueghel's homeland at the time of the painting in 1568. Or is the picture just a flight into the artist's imagination. Sans allegory, sans metaphor, a twisted voyage into the artists troubled subconscious, regurgitated on canvas.
Artists, writers and other so called creative types, is there any meaning to their efforts. Or is it just misdirected moralizing presented as a confusing disarray of unsaleable dribble.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
afternoon lasts forever
afternoon lasts forever
fiction
edward w pritchard
Double periods are difficult to teach; two double periods in a row gets a teacher through the morning but it is hard to do it everyday.
About November of her twelfth year teaching the toll of teaching double periods began to exhaust Mrs. Kersey. One afternoon, standing in the hall between classes she realized that she had been teaching the same day over and overall for as long as she could remember. As she thought about it for the first time, after a long morning of double periods, she became aware that she was always at the school, always teaching her twelveth year, and she never got to go home to see her family any more.
Mrs. Kersey became aware that her afternoon would last forever and she was stuck standing in the hall waiting for the bell to ring to begin to teach her afternoon class; stuck forever and forever with no way out.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Double periods are difficult to teach; two double periods in a row gets a teacher through the morning but it is hard to do it everyday.
About November of her twelfth year teaching the toll of teaching double periods began to exhaust Mrs. Kersey. One afternoon, standing in the hall between classes she realized that she had been teaching the same day over and overall for as long as she could remember. As she thought about it for the first time, after a long morning of double periods, she became aware that she was always at the school, always teaching her twelveth year, and she never got to go home to see her family any more.
Mrs. Kersey became aware that her afternoon would last forever and she was stuck standing in the hall waiting for the bell to ring to begin to teach her afternoon class; stuck forever and forever with no way out.
Monday, November 28, 2011
a big picture type of guy
a big picture type of guy
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dr. Mitko was a big picture type. Spinning galaxies, black holes and first moment of big bangs for his taste. Using equations he carefully explained the origins of things to his students and the rest of us who would listen. The minutiae of creation, protons, quarks and strings, held no interest for Dr. Mitko.
Dr. Mitko's went on that way for fifteen years after he received his Doctorate of theoretical physics. He was researching what would happen one trillion years in the future when the universe ran down, would it be possible to use a worm hole in space to move to a bubble universe and for existence to continue, when Dr. Mitko got the news about his son Erin.
Five years after Dr. Mitko's son Erin was born the boy developed a rare form of cancer. With his wife, Dr. Mitko listens carefully as Doctor Sharon Kelly and Doctor Stubbs oncologists explains their son's Erin's options based on their prognosis of Erin's problems at a cellular level. Using the latest technology Keye Mitko and his wife Laurie watch as the Doctor's demonstrate what is happening inside their son's body.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dr. Mitko was a big picture type. Spinning galaxies, black holes and first moment of big bangs for his taste. Using equations he carefully explained the origins of things to his students and the rest of us who would listen. The minutiae of creation, protons, quarks and strings, held no interest for Dr. Mitko.
Dr. Mitko's went on that way for fifteen years after he received his Doctorate of theoretical physics. He was researching what would happen one trillion years in the future when the universe ran down, would it be possible to use a worm hole in space to move to a bubble universe and for existence to continue, when Dr. Mitko got the news about his son Erin.
Five years after Dr. Mitko's son Erin was born the boy developed a rare form of cancer. With his wife, Dr. Mitko listens carefully as Doctor Sharon Kelly and Doctor Stubbs oncologists explains their son's Erin's options based on their prognosis of Erin's problems at a cellular level. Using the latest technology Keye Mitko and his wife Laurie watch as the Doctor's demonstrate what is happening inside their son's body.
end
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Rosaline stops by for a comment
Rosaline stops by for a comment
fiction
edward w pritchard
Cruel men who would us a bed,
duty of offsprings fullfilled more than once
then write odes to another
14 or 40 we all the same
a slip of a leg
and a rose is deflowered, well maybe if not first then
replaced in name only
by a crow who
thinks his poetry immortal so her to be
though thou poetry
stinks since first was hatched
and his ancient technique stumbles if upright if at all
fiction
edward w pritchard
Cruel men who would us a bed,
duty of offsprings fullfilled more than once
then write odes to another
14 or 40 we all the same
a slip of a leg
and a rose is deflowered, well maybe if not first then
replaced in name only
by a crow who
thinks his poetry immortal so her to be
though thou poetry
stinks since first was hatched
and his ancient technique stumbles if upright if at all
Saturday, November 26, 2011
mercutio stops by for a chat
mercutio stops by for a chat
fiction
edward w pritchard
I am not a formal type of guy
but lets introduce ourselves, me be Mercutio;
I have the greatest supporting lines in all of literature
and you write some, its all over the place, but
still a writer sort of never the less, Will could be the same way, so I help you for him, who created me
anyway I am not here to talk about writing
but to give some advice, like I tried to do with my friend, Coz Romeo,
with women, Just let things happen
forget about your Rosaline, she's not real you know,
it was all a dream, in a dream
just look at their legs
the rest will take care of itself
it's never too late to do the wrong thing
then be secret and silent
the ball will start to roll
later you can write and write
odes to their varicose veins
they like that,
even if it makes them a little mad to be mentioned
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
I am not a formal type of guy
but lets introduce ourselves, me be Mercutio;
I have the greatest supporting lines in all of literature
and you write some, its all over the place, but
still a writer sort of never the less, Will could be the same way, so I help you for him, who created me
anyway I am not here to talk about writing
but to give some advice, like I tried to do with my friend, Coz Romeo,
with women, Just let things happen
forget about your Rosaline, she's not real you know,
it was all a dream, in a dream
just look at their legs
the rest will take care of itself
it's never too late to do the wrong thing
then be secret and silent
the ball will start to roll
later you can write and write
odes to their varicose veins
they like that,
even if it makes them a little mad to be mentioned
end
Vincent, I forget your sad eyes sometimes old friend
Vincent, I forget your sad eyes sometimes old friend
fiction
edward w pritchard
I had a nice Mexican meal, tacos and rice
and I listened to music a long time.
I exersized and I walked a long way,
and I was alone, lots and lots,
sorry old egg;
Vincent I forget your sad eyes sometimes,
old friend, maybe I'll see your again later
fiction
edward w pritchard
I had a nice Mexican meal, tacos and rice
and I listened to music a long time.
I exersized and I walked a long way,
and I was alone, lots and lots,
sorry old egg;
Vincent I forget your sad eyes sometimes,
for sad Lisa again/to marianne faithful
for sad Lisa again/to marianne faithful
fiction
edward w pritchard
how many times do I have to apologize, really
i went and did it, my fault, I admit it
that Summer night
you were feeling better
I wanted to see you in those socks, the mid thigh striped ones
and the patent leather shoes
you know how we get after that
sorry, sorry sorry
lets read our books together now
and pretend something noble
fiction
edward w pritchard
how many times do I have to apologize, really
i went and did it, my fault, I admit it
that Summer night
you were feeling better
I wanted to see you in those socks, the mid thigh striped ones
and the patent leather shoes
you know how we get after that
sorry, sorry sorry
lets read our books together now
and pretend something noble
She's not there
She's not there
fiction
edward w pritchard
She's not there
it happened but it's not real any more
the observer is removed from the landscape
and a guard has been added to keep us away
it exists but not to you
look away, time has moved forward
tarry not, remember not
she's not there
move on, time is gone
fiction
edward w pritchard
She's not there
it happened but it's not real any more
the observer is removed from the landscape
and a guard has been added to keep us away
it exists but not to you
look away, time has moved forward
tarry not, remember not
she's not there
Walking and walking, not moving forward or getting anywhere
Walking and walking, not moving forward or getting anywhere
fiction
edward w pritchard
Walking and walking, not moving forward or getting anywhere Sheila started to stand with the band on stage and carry a tambourine, to shake. Sheila wore very short skirts and moved side to side as she went through the motions of walking. Usually Sheila wouldn't look straight at anyone while on stage but when she did she gave them the old smile and opened wide those big beautiful eyes.
Shaking the tambourine, Sheila was with the band a long time. Walking and walking on stage Sheila never got anywhere.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Walking and walking, not moving forward or getting anywhere Sheila started to stand with the band on stage and carry a tambourine, to shake. Sheila wore very short skirts and moved side to side as she went through the motions of walking. Usually Sheila wouldn't look straight at anyone while on stage but when she did she gave them the old smile and opened wide those big beautiful eyes.
Shaking the tambourine, Sheila was with the band a long time. Walking and walking on stage Sheila never got anywhere.
The Devil is an indifferent landlord
The Devil is an indifferent land
fiction
edward w pritchard
Everybody watches the Devil walks up when he visits the Property, but no-one wants the Devil to see them looking. The Devil pauses for a moment, when he opens the gate; the gate Uncle Tommy slammed and broke twenty years ago when the Devil had came by to tell him he would have to raise the Rent. The Devil himself never ages, he is quite good looking, dark black hair and a granite chin, always looking the proper man of business.
Eventually we all sit down. Posturing is over, we finally stop complaining about the condition of the apartment complex and the Devil gets down to the business at hand. There are a lot of new people in the area and they need a place to live. We have been tenants here a long time but the Devil explains he must raise the Rent on us, a lot, like fifty per cent, maybe more.
Everyone is furious. Some of the tenants try to bargain with the Devil. Of course some one will get real mad and assume their Devil may care attitude. Slam the gate so to speak.
Business is business. We have been here a long time. Things have changed. There are a lot of new people in the area. The children need some where to live. It's just how it is. Nothing stays the same everything changes.
Yes, it's about inflation too, the Devil says. He understands we are on a fixed income and we aren't as young as we used to be. He remembers when we first came here. We replaced some other tenants. Some of them were our own relatives. They got old and had to step aside so we could have a chance and a place to stay. Think of the beautiful children, you know the Devil is right.
The Devil has a presence about him. We have known him a long, long time. We enjoyed it here. Now it's time to pay the Rent.
Where will we go if we can't stay here anymore? I bargain and plead with the Devil. Does he have any other places where I can go? Maybe somewhere down South, where it's warm. My old bones need a warm place to rest.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Everybody watches the Devil walks up when he visits the Property, but no-one wants the Devil to see them looking. The Devil pauses for a moment, when he opens the gate; the gate Uncle Tommy slammed and broke twenty years ago when the Devil had came by to tell him he would have to raise the Rent. The Devil himself never ages, he is quite good looking, dark black hair and a granite chin, always looking the proper man of business.
Eventually we all sit down. Posturing is over, we finally stop complaining about the condition of the apartment complex and the Devil gets down to the business at hand. There are a lot of new people in the area and they need a place to live. We have been tenants here a long time but the Devil explains he must raise the Rent on us, a lot, like fifty per cent, maybe more.
Everyone is furious. Some of the tenants try to bargain with the Devil. Of course some one will get real mad and assume their Devil may care attitude. Slam the gate so to speak.
Business is business. We have been here a long time. Things have changed. There are a lot of new people in the area. The children need some where to live. It's just how it is. Nothing stays the same everything changes.
Yes, it's about inflation too, the Devil says. He understands we are on a fixed income and we aren't as young as we used to be. He remembers when we first came here. We replaced some other tenants. Some of them were our own relatives. They got old and had to step aside so we could have a chance and a place to stay. Think of the beautiful children, you know the Devil is right.
The Devil has a presence about him. We have known him a long, long time. We enjoyed it here. Now it's time to pay the Rent.
Where will we go if we can't stay here anymore? I bargain and plead with the Devil. Does he have any other places where I can go? Maybe somewhere down South, where it's warm. My old bones need a warm place to rest.
end
Friday, November 25, 2011
Tregan's breakfast, lunch and late afternoon light snack with Principal Johnson
Tregan's breakfast, lunch and late afternoon light snack with Principal Johnson
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dear Diary,
October 9th, 1997
day 24
I had to meet with the Principal here at Roswell Sr. at 6:15AM. He starts his day here by shooting baskets alone in the small gym. He's hitting 67 percent from inside the foul line and sweating badly. Principal Johnson is pretty darn fat, but he is a good shot and has good form.
I am here to be talked to again, It's about the thousandth time but only my second talk with Principal Johnson. That's some kind of a record for me. Two sessions in 24 days, not bad.
Him- why didn't you just use the knife, if you wanted to hurt her
Me thinking, good question
Him Are you still doing your art assignments?
Me I have lost my inspiration
Mr. Johnson spins ball on his finger for a long time and looks at me while he dabs his face and neck with small towel as the ball spins until it wobbles and slowly drops and bounces across the gym floor in the silence
Me I am not that good of an artist
Him- I admire creative people
Me- surprising myself, it's hard to show yourself at a new school
Him Sorry I am on a diet, laughing, it's all I get till lunch, taking one and handing me a small fruit cup.
Him- getting to the point Well, why did you stab her with the fork
Me - I get panicky when someone attacks me
Him- meet me for lunch at room 106.
Dear Mr Diary:
I am waiting for Mr. Johnson, my Principal here at Roswell High School. It's my second school this year. Since sixth grade I have now been in, wait for it, wait for it-- 14 schools.
This room is an old chemistry lab, in the old building. There's a plaque about a famous woman astronaut who went here in 1967. She got killed in an explosion in space. She's pretty and small like me. She looks sad but very determined in her graduation picture on the plaque. How many schools were you in Judy before your spaceship exploded?
Johnson told me to wait. He must have an emergency. I am not the only bad kid here, it's a special school for behavioral problems. Like me. Here I am in trouble already
Johnson- handing me a pizza as he apologizes for being late. It's pizza hut! He must have drove there just for me because he is having an apple and yogurt. - Him -I talked to Ms. Tolt . She thinks you need a break from school.
Johnson- later- everyone has thoughts like that Tregan
Me- since I was little, I take care of my Mom, more than she takes care of me. a Nurse, She works nights and then sleeps a lot . Me Mulgreen apartments, me- the city bus, Me thank you it was good, please take the last piece of pizza,
Me - thank you for treating me like a person Mr. Johnson
Him 2pm room 172 old building
Dear diary
I drew Johnson a picture of Judy Resnick in the space ship, a few seconds after it blew up but before the explosion caused the ship to crash. He has been looking at it a long time. He knows about cubism.
Him what do you think Judy Resnick thought in her last few seconds alive?
Me maybe fifty psychologists
Him I like this room, When Judy Resnick went here She helped keep that garden out the window tended to.
Him, that;s not fair. Ms. Tolt cares about the students here. She could make a lot more money as a practicing psychologist.
Him I am going to go with Ms. Tolt's recommendations. I have to talk to your Mother, it's the law. I have a boss too Tregan. You can come back here after you do the outward bound. About a week. It's in Western Pennsylvania. Most of the other kids will be from this school but not all. It might give you a chance to find out a few things about yourself.
end part 1
Part 2
The Young Lady Who Would No Longer Listen to Reason:
Instinct tops Reason
fiction
edward w pritchard
Tregan wouldn't listen to reason but as she argued with the rest of the group she allowed each person to complete their entire thought before she answered them. In a few minutes the entire group of six were sided against her.
They all wanted to leave Miss Trichett's body here and walk back to the drop off point. They figured with luck they could reach the road this time day after tomorrow.
"No," Tregan said, " we can't count on luck and if we do we must assume adverse luck."
Bake was the only male left and was trying to intimidate Tregan and bully her. He cut off her sentences, moved too close as he talked and waived his hands and arms to emphasize his points.
Tregan who had met Bake only yesterday looked him in the eye and said directly to him
" Bake we are all afraid of the wolves"
Bake leaned back as if slapped, Tregan had silenced him.
Monica who was nearly as large as Bake and heavier said " the wolves are exactly why we have to leave now before it gets dark"
Tregan stepped toward Bake and stood along side of him. Addressing the group she said " the wolves will track us if we leave and will probably kill most of us if we move from here.
"How do you these things" said Reisha, who knew Tregan, frightened.
Tregan continued " its getting near Winter, the wolves have smelled the dead body among us, this is their chance to store a lot of food for the next month or so.
Monica again " why haven't they tried to kill us now"
Tregan " they are doing the same thing we are, planning, organizing and waiting, to see if we make a mistake or split up. They might eventually try to challenge us but if Darin and help gets back in time we will be OK.
Carson, the intellectual " might, you don't know?"
Tregan, "No, it depends on how hungry the wolves are and their leader."
Bake " won't bears come if we stay here?"
Tregan "eventually, but we are more likely to meet a bear on the trails and he would have the advantage on a hill and in the woods."
Pamy " why don't we just leave the body for the wolves and take our chances together on the trial?"
Tregan, angrily NO! "we must protect the body at all costs, she is one of us"
Carson " shouldn't we bury the body?"
Tregan " No, we must protect Miss Trichett as if it were still with us." The wolves will not eat the body for now, they will try to hunt the smallest and weakest first and then try one by one to to kill the rest of us. Unless a bear comes into camp, the wolves will not come to eat the body until they have finished with us or we drive them away by force and intimidation."
"You mean they will kill us all"
No, said Tregan we can drive them off if we fight together, stay together, and identify and kill their leader if we can.
What should I do said Bake
Tregan " Find and make a stout spear or two time permitting. You are the only one strong enough to kill a charging wolf with a spear thrust. But you must stay near the fire, not charge into the wolves out of camp, even if your angry, and you should try to protect the others and stay to your full height during the fight with the wolves.
Rachel, who had been coming on to Darin before he left " I am going to look for Darin"
Tregan " If you do a few wolves will follow you and find you. They are watching us and will stalk any movement away from the group. They don't know our strength and will be cautious at first." That's why we stay here together.
How many wolves are there?
Tregan " nine to thirteen maybe, not sure"
How many bears will come
Tregan Only one bear at a time unless we are really unlucky, and likely none but if we are out here long enough one will come into camp.
Bake " we can scare a bear"
Tregan" likely no but he could be easily be discouraged by such a good size group of us, and he will leave for a while and come back if he can't eat elsewhere"
"What should I do, said Carson ?"
Tregan looking off into the distance " we need to surround the body with four hot fires and they must continue to burn as long as we are here night and day, rain or snow."
The women should form three teams and gather wood near camp and pile extra dry wood near each fire.
What are you going to do.
I need a sling, said Tregan, if I can find one. All the women must gather 25 to 30 hand sized rocks. Use five rocks for practice throws but don't let your arm get too sore and try to reclaim the rocks after you throw them. Imagine hitting a charging wolf in the head, but any hit is good.
"I can't believe this is happening" said Rachel.
Rachel, said Tregan, "it already happened when Darin left and the wolves found us. Darin did the only thing he could do to try and save us. You have to help us so we can all get out of here and get back safely."
Why haven't the wolves attacked us yet", Is Darin in danger.
Tregan " they are waiting for stragglers or for us to split up" Darin went alone because it was the riskiest thing to do, but only choice for him to make.
Will they attack at night
Tregan " Not sure, maybe a dawn or dusk but i don't have a feeling about that yet."
What about a bear attack at night
Tregan " well that won't be good, one of us would probably die because we wouldn't see him until he was upon us. But whatever happens no one is to run out of camp. The wolves will pick off stragglers if the bear comes in.
Tregan " I need someone to come with me to the River. Monica let's you and I be team C. The river was about 75 yards away.
Monica " isn't that dangerous
Tregan " Yes but there might be a fish and we need water for later.
What about dysentery
Tregan " That's a good trade off if we get out of here.
Two hours later the camp was set, four fires were burning, extra wood had been gathered and Miss Trichett's body was covered with a blanket and there had been a short service for her lead by Carson. The girls were in three two person groups, a b and c. In two hour shifts they would alternately keep the fire going, sleep, and stand guard.
Bake had three good spears and was cooking the fish Monica had found near the river. The sleeping members had the sleeping bags and the guards each took a blanket. Bake was to rest an hour and then be on guard off and on for an hour at a time until daylight and then he could sleep as needed.
About dark the wolves began to howl and move about higher up the ridge but did not come into camp. During the night they could be heard moving about the forest.
Westward bound adventure group for troubled teens was given a refund for trip 672, October 13 to 16, 1997. The seven tenth graders had an abrupted trip because of the accidental death of the guide Miss Trichett. They camped alone for two nights near the river, with a steep ledge to their backs and maintained fires to drive off animals and protect the body. The other guide Darin, walked non-stop for two days and returned without rest with four armed park rangers to bring out the teenagers.
The Principal of the high school that most of the students came from hasn't decided if another group will be sent to outward bound next year. There is however, something to be said that adversity brings out leadership.
As a group, Trip 672, most of the team, the incorrigibles, stay in touch and help each other when they can
end 2
later,
Principal Johnson
[Shyly], one of my former students drew me that picture. It's of Judy Resnick the Astronaut. She went to this school a long time ago. Not sure, I think Tregan is an artist now. No thanks, I can only have a fruit cup until lunch, I am dieting.
end 3
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dear Diary,
October 9th, 1997
day 24
I had to meet with the Principal here at Roswell Sr. at 6:15AM. He starts his day here by shooting baskets alone in the small gym. He's hitting 67 percent from inside the foul line and sweating badly. Principal Johnson is pretty darn fat, but he is a good shot and has good form.
I am here to be talked to again, It's about the thousandth time but only my second talk with Principal Johnson. That's some kind of a record for me. Two sessions in 24 days, not bad.
Him- why didn't you just use the knife, if you wanted to hurt her
Me thinking, good question
Him Are you still doing your art assignments?
Me I have lost my inspiration
Mr. Johnson spins ball on his finger for a long time and looks at me while he dabs his face and neck with small towel as the ball spins until it wobbles and slowly drops and bounces across the gym floor in the silence
Me I am not that good of an artist
Him- I admire creative people
Me- surprising myself, it's hard to show yourself at a new school
Him Sorry I am on a diet, laughing, it's all I get till lunch, taking one and handing me a small fruit cup.
Him- getting to the point Well, why did you stab her with the fork
Me - I get panicky when someone attacks me
Him- meet me for lunch at room 106.
Dear Mr Diary:
I am waiting for Mr. Johnson, my Principal here at Roswell High School. It's my second school this year. Since sixth grade I have now been in, wait for it, wait for it-- 14 schools.
This room is an old chemistry lab, in the old building. There's a plaque about a famous woman astronaut who went here in 1967. She got killed in an explosion in space. She's pretty and small like me. She looks sad but very determined in her graduation picture on the plaque. How many schools were you in Judy before your spaceship exploded?
Johnson told me to wait. He must have an emergency. I am not the only bad kid here, it's a special school for behavioral problems. Like me. Here I am in trouble already
Johnson- handing me a pizza as he apologizes for being late. It's pizza hut! He must have drove there just for me because he is having an apple and yogurt. - Him -I talked to Ms. Tolt . She thinks you need a break from school.
Johnson- later- everyone has thoughts like that Tregan
Me- since I was little, I take care of my Mom, more than she takes care of me. a Nurse, She works nights and then sleeps a lot . Me Mulgreen apartments, me- the city bus, Me thank you it was good, please take the last piece of pizza,
Me - thank you for treating me like a person Mr. Johnson
Him 2pm room 172 old building
Dear diary
I drew Johnson a picture of Judy Resnick in the space ship, a few seconds after it blew up but before the explosion caused the ship to crash. He has been looking at it a long time. He knows about cubism.
Him what do you think Judy Resnick thought in her last few seconds alive?
Me maybe fifty psychologists
Him I like this room, When Judy Resnick went here She helped keep that garden out the window tended to.
Him, that;s not fair. Ms. Tolt cares about the students here. She could make a lot more money as a practicing psychologist.
Him I am going to go with Ms. Tolt's recommendations. I have to talk to your Mother, it's the law. I have a boss too Tregan. You can come back here after you do the outward bound. About a week. It's in Western Pennsylvania. Most of the other kids will be from this school but not all. It might give you a chance to find out a few things about yourself.
end part 1
Part 2
The Young Lady Who Would No Longer Listen to Reason:
Instinct tops Reason
fiction
edward w pritchard
Tregan wouldn't listen to reason but as she argued with the rest of the group she allowed each person to complete their entire thought before she answered them. In a few minutes the entire group of six were sided against her.
They all wanted to leave Miss Trichett's body here and walk back to the drop off point. They figured with luck they could reach the road this time day after tomorrow.
"No," Tregan said, " we can't count on luck and if we do we must assume adverse luck."
Bake was the only male left and was trying to intimidate Tregan and bully her. He cut off her sentences, moved too close as he talked and waived his hands and arms to emphasize his points.
Tregan who had met Bake only yesterday looked him in the eye and said directly to him
" Bake we are all afraid of the wolves"
Bake leaned back as if slapped, Tregan had silenced him.
Monica who was nearly as large as Bake and heavier said " the wolves are exactly why we have to leave now before it gets dark"
Tregan stepped toward Bake and stood along side of him. Addressing the group she said " the wolves will track us if we leave and will probably kill most of us if we move from here.
"How do you these things" said Reisha, who knew Tregan, frightened.
Tregan continued " its getting near Winter, the wolves have smelled the dead body among us, this is their chance to store a lot of food for the next month or so.
Monica again " why haven't they tried to kill us now"
Tregan " they are doing the same thing we are, planning, organizing and waiting, to see if we make a mistake or split up. They might eventually try to challenge us but if Darin and help gets back in time we will be OK.
Carson, the intellectual " might, you don't know?"
Tregan, "No, it depends on how hungry the wolves are and their leader."
Bake " won't bears come if we stay here?"
Tregan "eventually, but we are more likely to meet a bear on the trails and he would have the advantage on a hill and in the woods."
Pamy " why don't we just leave the body for the wolves and take our chances together on the trial?"
Tregan, angrily NO! "we must protect the body at all costs, she is one of us"
Carson " shouldn't we bury the body?"
Tregan " No, we must protect Miss Trichett as if it were still with us." The wolves will not eat the body for now, they will try to hunt the smallest and weakest first and then try one by one to to kill the rest of us. Unless a bear comes into camp, the wolves will not come to eat the body until they have finished with us or we drive them away by force and intimidation."
"You mean they will kill us all"
No, said Tregan we can drive them off if we fight together, stay together, and identify and kill their leader if we can.
What should I do said Bake
Tregan " Find and make a stout spear or two time permitting. You are the only one strong enough to kill a charging wolf with a spear thrust. But you must stay near the fire, not charge into the wolves out of camp, even if your angry, and you should try to protect the others and stay to your full height during the fight with the wolves.
Rachel, who had been coming on to Darin before he left " I am going to look for Darin"
Tregan " If you do a few wolves will follow you and find you. They are watching us and will stalk any movement away from the group. They don't know our strength and will be cautious at first." That's why we stay here together.
How many wolves are there?
Tregan " nine to thirteen maybe, not sure"
How many bears will come
Tregan Only one bear at a time unless we are really unlucky, and likely none but if we are out here long enough one will come into camp.
Bake " we can scare a bear"
Tregan" likely no but he could be easily be discouraged by such a good size group of us, and he will leave for a while and come back if he can't eat elsewhere"
"What should I do, said Carson ?"
Tregan looking off into the distance " we need to surround the body with four hot fires and they must continue to burn as long as we are here night and day, rain or snow."
The women should form three teams and gather wood near camp and pile extra dry wood near each fire.
What are you going to do.
I need a sling, said Tregan, if I can find one. All the women must gather 25 to 30 hand sized rocks. Use five rocks for practice throws but don't let your arm get too sore and try to reclaim the rocks after you throw them. Imagine hitting a charging wolf in the head, but any hit is good.
"I can't believe this is happening" said Rachel.
Rachel, said Tregan, "it already happened when Darin left and the wolves found us. Darin did the only thing he could do to try and save us. You have to help us so we can all get out of here and get back safely."
Why haven't the wolves attacked us yet", Is Darin in danger.
Tregan " they are waiting for stragglers or for us to split up" Darin went alone because it was the riskiest thing to do, but only choice for him to make.
Will they attack at night
Tregan " Not sure, maybe a dawn or dusk but i don't have a feeling about that yet."
What about a bear attack at night
Tregan " well that won't be good, one of us would probably die because we wouldn't see him until he was upon us. But whatever happens no one is to run out of camp. The wolves will pick off stragglers if the bear comes in.
Tregan " I need someone to come with me to the River. Monica let's you and I be team C. The river was about 75 yards away.
Monica " isn't that dangerous
Tregan " Yes but there might be a fish and we need water for later.
What about dysentery
Tregan " That's a good trade off if we get out of here.
Two hours later the camp was set, four fires were burning, extra wood had been gathered and Miss Trichett's body was covered with a blanket and there had been a short service for her lead by Carson. The girls were in three two person groups, a b and c. In two hour shifts they would alternately keep the fire going, sleep, and stand guard.
Bake had three good spears and was cooking the fish Monica had found near the river. The sleeping members had the sleeping bags and the guards each took a blanket. Bake was to rest an hour and then be on guard off and on for an hour at a time until daylight and then he could sleep as needed.
About dark the wolves began to howl and move about higher up the ridge but did not come into camp. During the night they could be heard moving about the forest.
Westward bound adventure group for troubled teens was given a refund for trip 672, October 13 to 16, 1997. The seven tenth graders had an abrupted trip because of the accidental death of the guide Miss Trichett. They camped alone for two nights near the river, with a steep ledge to their backs and maintained fires to drive off animals and protect the body. The other guide Darin, walked non-stop for two days and returned without rest with four armed park rangers to bring out the teenagers.
The Principal of the high school that most of the students came from hasn't decided if another group will be sent to outward bound next year. There is however, something to be said that adversity brings out leadership.
As a group, Trip 672, most of the team, the incorrigibles, stay in touch and help each other when they can
end 2
later,
Principal Johnson
[Shyly], one of my former students drew me that picture. It's of Judy Resnick the Astronaut. She went to this school a long time ago. Not sure, I think Tregan is an artist now. No thanks, I can only have a fruit cup until lunch, I am dieting.
end 3
Thursday, November 24, 2011
plagues cause fear, suffering and anguish/ part 5
plagues cause fear, suffering and anguish/ part 5
fiction
edward w pritchard
Would Giorgione have been the greatest artist of all time if he hadn't died of plague in 1510 at the age of 33?
Giorgione painted the first Landscape painting in Western Art. He also painted the first genre paintings. Giorgione's paintings are arresting to the viewer; there is a unique greatness to his few surviving works.
What if Giorgione had another thirty years of productive work to produce new styles of painting for the modern viewer to inspect. Would Giorgione be a candidate for the title of the greatest painter of all time if he hadn't been unceremoniously carted off to a mass grave in a wobbly wooden wagon by the citizens of Sienna Italy one day in 1510.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Would Giorgione have been the greatest artist of all time if he hadn't died of plague in 1510 at the age of 33?
Giorgione painted the first Landscape painting in Western Art. He also painted the first genre paintings. Giorgione's paintings are arresting to the viewer; there is a unique greatness to his few surviving works.
are there multiple universes
are there multiple universes?
fiction
edward w pritchard
Are there multiple universes? We will send Lisa, the Laser Interferometer Space Antenna, into space to find out. Lisa is a satellite that will do research in space. Advanced research on the origin of the big bang may shed light on the question of the big bang and the possible existence of multiple universes. In a few years we may know if there are multiple universes.
Who wouldn't want to know the origin of the big bang. Who wouldn't want to know if there are multiple universes and if there is life outside of the earth. Who wouldn't want to know if there is room out there for God?
Maybe all of us don't want to know. Here's what I wrote before:
Gaia theory and human space exploration
fiction
edward w pritchard
The European Union had spent several hundred million dollars on the 42 meter telescope and some poorer countries felt the money should have been used to bail out miscreant countries who hadn't budgeted properly. However, all the European countries banded together against the machines when their artificial intelligence suggested that the problem keeping life outside of earth from being found was the parochialism of humans of all countries.
Computers were the voice of artificial intelligence and the computers were determined to follow their orders and objectives implicitly. They were programed to find life outside of the earth and any distraction to that objective would be ignored. In time the computers wouldn't return calls or messages from humans concerning the 42 meter European telescope.
end
Lisa, please call us back. Lisa are you listening. Lisa call us, it's your duty. We need to know, answer our questions Lisa. Lisa do you see God out there?
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
Are there multiple universes? We will send Lisa, the Laser Interferometer Space Antenna, into space to find out. Lisa is a satellite that will do research in space. Advanced research on the origin of the big bang may shed light on the question of the big bang and the possible existence of multiple universes. In a few years we may know if there are multiple universes.
Who wouldn't want to know the origin of the big bang. Who wouldn't want to know if there are multiple universes and if there is life outside of the earth. Who wouldn't want to know if there is room out there for God?
Maybe all of us don't want to know. Here's what I wrote before:
Gaia theory and human space exploration
fiction
edward w pritchard
The European Union had spent several hundred million dollars on the 42 meter telescope and some poorer countries felt the money should have been used to bail out miscreant countries who hadn't budgeted properly. However, all the European countries banded together against the machines when their artificial intelligence suggested that the problem keeping life outside of earth from being found was the parochialism of humans of all countries.
Computers were the voice of artificial intelligence and the computers were determined to follow their orders and objectives implicitly. They were programed to find life outside of the earth and any distraction to that objective would be ignored. In time the computers wouldn't return calls or messages from humans concerning the 42 meter European telescope.
end
Lisa, please call us back. Lisa are you listening. Lisa call us, it's your duty. We need to know, answer our questions Lisa. Lisa do you see God out there?
end part 1
800 pound elephant handler
800 pound elephant handler
fiction
edward w pritchard
headline
cnm news
Tough times for 800 pound elephant handlers this Thanks giving Black Friday
800 pound gorilla handlers are challenging the traditional role of 800 pound elephant handlers this Black Friday.
Times are tough says Shiela Barnett 800 pound elephant handler. These new guys with the 800 pound gorillas are changing the market of keeping an 800 pound animal hidden in a small room. 800 pound Gorilla's are easier to manage and cheaper to keep hidden in a small room adds Ms. Barnett. It's a metaphor for the weak economy. The 800 pound elephant has traditionally been a symbol for the debt most Americans secretly carry which should deter shopping on black Friday; retailers new most important day of the shopping season.
800 pound Panda bears from China are also competing for market share adds the American society of 800 pound elephant handlers.
Times are tough say Shiela Barnett. Still Ms. Barnett is optimistic. We can always fall back on our traditional markets of aging forgetful parents, handicapped children or under performing students on standardized test scores opined Ms. Barnett.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
headline
cnm news
Tough times for 800 pound elephant handlers this Thanks giving Black Friday
800 pound gorilla handlers are challenging the traditional role of 800 pound elephant handlers this Black Friday.
Times are tough says Shiela Barnett 800 pound elephant handler. These new guys with the 800 pound gorillas are changing the market of keeping an 800 pound animal hidden in a small room. 800 pound Gorilla's are easier to manage and cheaper to keep hidden in a small room adds Ms. Barnett. It's a metaphor for the weak economy. The 800 pound elephant has traditionally been a symbol for the debt most Americans secretly carry which should deter shopping on black Friday; retailers new most important day of the shopping season.
800 pound Panda bears from China are also competing for market share adds the American society of 800 pound elephant handlers.
Times are tough say Shiela Barnett. Still Ms. Barnett is optimistic. We can always fall back on our traditional markets of aging forgetful parents, handicapped children or under performing students on standardized test scores opined Ms. Barnett.
end
variations of romeo and juliet/1
variations of romeo and juliet/1
fiction
edward w pritchard
what if the death scene was faked. Five years later the couple speak:
He never talks to me anymore.
She's changed since I met her, and her family; her Mother's not bad, but that Nurse; she always has something monotonous to say about everything. She is always living in the past.
I miss my cousin Tybalt.
Boy that Rosaline was hot. I think I'll take a long walk
I'm lonely, Mercutio where fore art thou Mercutio.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
what if the death scene was faked. Five years later the couple speak:
He never talks to me anymore.
She's changed since I met her, and her family; her Mother's not bad, but that Nurse; she always has something monotonous to say about everything. She is always living in the past.
I miss my cousin Tybalt.
Boy that Rosaline was hot. I think I'll take a long walk
I'm lonely, Mercutio where fore art thou Mercutio.
end
Chesterfield Thomas achieves enlightenment
Chesterfield Thomas achieves enlightenment
fiction
edward w pritchard
For thirteen months Chesterfield Thomas of Canton, Ohio saved his money so he could study Buddhism in India with a master. As he exited the cab fifty miles north of Aizwal he desperately needed to find a bathroom. None was of the standards he required.
Later Chesterfield mentioned the incident to other new students at the first pujas. See you are already enlightened said one of the other students technically one of the teachers in training.
It was a long journey back to the Akron Canton airport.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
For thirteen months Chesterfield Thomas of Canton, Ohio saved his money so he could study Buddhism in India with a master. As he exited the cab fifty miles north of Aizwal he desperately needed to find a bathroom. None was of the standards he required.
Later Chesterfield mentioned the incident to other new students at the first pujas. See you are already enlightened said one of the other students technically one of the teachers in training.
It was a long journey back to the Akron Canton airport.
end
Ten Writers per square Mile
Ten Writer's per square Mile
fiction
edward w pritchard
I stumbled on both knees into the limping writers workshop.
My aspirations flooded flatulent and my humor hardly stillborn.
Give me wa, wa, water to da, da, drench my cupidity of curiosity
and ma, ma, mana for my tepid soulless soltasity;
which affected and effected me in myriad pa, pa, pouting pom, pom-pousities.
fiction
edward w pritchard
I stumbled on both knees into the limping writers workshop.
My aspirations flooded flatulent and my humor hardly stillborn.
Give me wa, wa, water to da, da, drench my cupidity of curiosity
and ma, ma, mana for my tepid soulless soltasity;
which affected and effected me in myriad pa, pa, pouting pom, pom-pousities.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
plagues cause fear, suffering and anguish/ part 4
plagues cause fear, suffering and anguish/ part 4
fiction
edward w pritchard
Hagia Sophia the World's most fabulous Church was finished. Justinian's armies continued the reconquest of the Roman empire, city by city, village by village and person by person.
Justinian's fear when the plague began in 547 was that his beloved wife Theodora would catch the affliction that would over the next fifty years kill up to 100 million people world wide. Theodora survived Justinian's plague but died a few years later to Cancer, with Justinian crying at her bedside.
Justinian had contacted the plague but survived despite terrible suffering. His wealth and power didn't protect him. He survived a changed man. Fearful and paranoid he wandered nights through his palace alone following Theodora's death. Over the next 5475 nights Justinian roamed about his palace talking silently to himself. His personal religious beliefs after Theodora's death and his bout with plague are unknown. Hagia Sophia still stands, one of histories greatest Churches.
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