American Indian Boy's song
fiction
edward w pritchard
Once I ate seven apples in two days,
I was sick and sorry.
Another time a lady at the fort throw two bags of apples away,
because they have spots on sides.
I held Lite lamb as he died
Farmer shoot at us for taking apples from ground,
thousands of apples on trees.
Hundreds of apples on ground.
Lite Lamb bleed slowly to death.
I wrapped lite lamb in my blanket,
light lamb shiver as he bleeds.
Blanket still show blood,
Christian lady at fort wash blanket three times.
I ride fast and chase soldiers now.
Wrapped in blanket I think of Lite lamb before battles.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
remember the day, remember the moment
remember the day, remember the moment
fiction
edward w pritchard
Of course I remember the day. It was a Friday; evening, a light rain was falling and my sports glasses were fogged. I had a slight sprain in my left wrist. But mostly I remember I was was thirsty and tired, very tired.
The moment is frozen. Just before, I glanced up for a fraction of a second and among many other things I saw a bright planet in the Eastern sky; at the East side of the stadium. It was odd for a planet to be visible in a light rain and I remember specifically that thought. I remember that was the last thought I had before my injury.
I didn't know the time then. Later on the way to the hospital I heard the guy in the Ambulance say to the driver I was hurt at 8:57. The announcer in the sportswriter's booth had wrote it down, just after my injury.
The last time I could walk, before I was paralyzed at the Panther's/ Kenworth high school football game was 8:57, October 23. Jupiter was in the East sky during a light rain. That was a long time ago but every October, usually on a cool Fall night a couple hours after dark I like to go out and look at Jupiter for a few minutes and remember how things used to be.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Of course I remember the day. It was a Friday; evening, a light rain was falling and my sports glasses were fogged. I had a slight sprain in my left wrist. But mostly I remember I was was thirsty and tired, very tired.
The moment is frozen. Just before, I glanced up for a fraction of a second and among many other things I saw a bright planet in the Eastern sky; at the East side of the stadium. It was odd for a planet to be visible in a light rain and I remember specifically that thought. I remember that was the last thought I had before my injury.
I didn't know the time then. Later on the way to the hospital I heard the guy in the Ambulance say to the driver I was hurt at 8:57. The announcer in the sportswriter's booth had wrote it down, just after my injury.
The last time I could walk, before I was paralyzed at the Panther's/ Kenworth high school football game was 8:57, October 23. Jupiter was in the East sky during a light rain. That was a long time ago but every October, usually on a cool Fall night a couple hours after dark I like to go out and look at Jupiter for a few minutes and remember how things used to be.
end
Thursday, October 27, 2011
asteroid strikes
asteroid strikes
fiction
edward w pritchard
The village had one thousand times more asteroid strikes per century than normal. The villagers, there at a small hamlet in China, did not move away; but they adapted by developing an unusual philosophy towards life and death. People went about their daily lives but I was here to document how the very real chance of being struck by an asteroid would effect the daily habits of the villagers.
Most of the people in the village had at least one acquaintance or relative who had been killed by a falling asteroid. Several people who got to know me advised me to expect at least the possibility of being hit by a flaming asteroid myself. Based on that warning, its ironic that I never...
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
The village had one thousand times more asteroid strikes per century than normal. The villagers, there at a small hamlet in China, did not move away; but they adapted by developing an unusual philosophy towards life and death. People went about their daily lives but I was here to document how the very real chance of being struck by an asteroid would effect the daily habits of the villagers.
Most of the people in the village had at least one acquaintance or relative who had been killed by a falling asteroid. Several people who got to know me advised me to expect at least the possibility of being hit by a flaming asteroid myself. Based on that warning, its ironic that I never...
end part 1
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
two things that are difficult to do
two things that are difficult to do
fiction
edward w pritchard
Lord,
let me hear and understand that I only have to be concerned with today's bread;
not tomorrow's daily bread nor worry about ten years hence.
Lord let me not call anyone disingenuous,
a futile activity
it makes me feel angry and no one guilty of that sentiment
is capable of understanding why they are so.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Lord,
let me hear and understand that I only have to be concerned with today's bread;
not tomorrow's daily bread nor worry about ten years hence.
Lord let me not call anyone disingenuous,
a futile activity
it makes me feel angry and no one guilty of that sentiment
is capable of understanding why they are so.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
do over/draft one part one
do over/draft one part one
fiction
edward w pritchard
My Dad wanted a do over on raising us kids so bad. He hoped and prayed for so long. Well he finally got his wish, Here is our little family stuck in 1991 and we are all kids again. I am the oldest and I am twelve, I have two brothers and a sister all younger than me. They are stuck here in Hudson, Ohio in 1991 too, with me reliving their childhoods because my Dad desperately needed a do over, another chance to raise his children again.
It boring. We all sit and watch TV together every evening. Even my Mother. She never sat still in her life. She cooks too. My Dad sits on the couch and asks us about our day at school. Both parents help us with our homework.
Problem is this. Me and my two brothers and my sister can remember everything that happened between 1991 and 2011. We are children stuck back here again in 1991 but we also know everything that happen to us over the next twenty years and part of what happen in the world at large; at least the part we were aware of as adults in 2011. Get it. Dad needed a do over on raising his children. He got it somehow. Now his four children are stuck in their past as children again fully cognizant that they are really adults living in 2011. I am not sure if both of our unique lives are happening at once. Back here in 1991 my Mom and Dad don't know anything about 2011. They are oblivious. Sometimes one of us children tell them. They don't understand.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
My Dad wanted a do over on raising us kids so bad. He hoped and prayed for so long. Well he finally got his wish, Here is our little family stuck in 1991 and we are all kids again. I am the oldest and I am twelve, I have two brothers and a sister all younger than me. They are stuck here in Hudson, Ohio in 1991 too, with me reliving their childhoods because my Dad desperately needed a do over, another chance to raise his children again.
It boring. We all sit and watch TV together every evening. Even my Mother. She never sat still in her life. She cooks too. My Dad sits on the couch and asks us about our day at school. Both parents help us with our homework.
Problem is this. Me and my two brothers and my sister can remember everything that happened between 1991 and 2011. We are children stuck back here again in 1991 but we also know everything that happen to us over the next twenty years and part of what happen in the world at large; at least the part we were aware of as adults in 2011. Get it. Dad needed a do over on raising his children. He got it somehow. Now his four children are stuck in their past as children again fully cognizant that they are really adults living in 2011. I am not sure if both of our unique lives are happening at once. Back here in 1991 my Mom and Dad don't know anything about 2011. They are oblivious. Sometimes one of us children tell them. They don't understand.
end
the fraud
the fraud
fiction
edward w pritchard
I was listening to the Grateful Dead music on You Tube when I was struck by a thunderbolt. In the ad for the Christan dating service to the right of the dead video was the blond with large brown eyes and that smile. Her head was tilted a little sideways and in the fifty or so photos of beautiful woman the blond was the prettiest. I on impulse late at night clicked that ad right on the chin of that beautiful face.
Two days later I got an email. Tonya was a real woman and in time I found out the one in the photo. She looked better in person when I drove the three hundred miles to Harrisburg, Pa to meet Tonya. Three months later I live in Harrisburg now and I am now married to Tonya. Happy, yes I am very happy.
This Christian stuff is hard though. It was a given with Tonya that I was a Christian. I am trying, really trying. But with Tonya, being a Christian is every day, day by day. I have been doing this now for three months. Maybe being a Christian will get easier as I get use to it. I do like Tonya's brown eyes and that smile.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
I was listening to the Grateful Dead music on You Tube when I was struck by a thunderbolt. In the ad for the Christan dating service to the right of the dead video was the blond with large brown eyes and that smile. Her head was tilted a little sideways and in the fifty or so photos of beautiful woman the blond was the prettiest. I on impulse late at night clicked that ad right on the chin of that beautiful face.
Two days later I got an email. Tonya was a real woman and in time I found out the one in the photo. She looked better in person when I drove the three hundred miles to Harrisburg, Pa to meet Tonya. Three months later I live in Harrisburg now and I am now married to Tonya. Happy, yes I am very happy.
This Christian stuff is hard though. It was a given with Tonya that I was a Christian. I am trying, really trying. But with Tonya, being a Christian is every day, day by day. I have been doing this now for three months. Maybe being a Christian will get easier as I get use to it. I do like Tonya's brown eyes and that smile.
end
wow them with the old smile
wow them with the old smile
fiction
edward w pritchard
Something significant happens in a movie and the camera pans from actor to actor allowing each movie star a few moments in the spotlight as they give tacit approval of the significant happening in that scene in that time in that movie; tacit approval being their award winning smile. Of course each actor have become a movie star because of their confident engaging smile. Not just the beautiful people in movies flash the old grin; even the aging and uncomely smile a lot in movies; unless they are bad guys and then they scowl mostly.
Some people don't smile much in real life. Too bad, no one understands why. There can be a lot of reasons why some people don't smile. Ask them, maybe they don't quite know how to express themselves that way. It could be cultural, it could be personal, it could be from way back, maybe three or four generations.
Life isn't really like a movie. Let everybody have a role and a part in what's going on. Everyone has something to add, even those who don't smile much.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Something significant happens in a movie and the camera pans from actor to actor allowing each movie star a few moments in the spotlight as they give tacit approval of the significant happening in that scene in that time in that movie; tacit approval being their award winning smile. Of course each actor have become a movie star because of their confident engaging smile. Not just the beautiful people in movies flash the old grin; even the aging and uncomely smile a lot in movies; unless they are bad guys and then they scowl mostly.
Some people don't smile much in real life. Too bad, no one understands why. There can be a lot of reasons why some people don't smile. Ask them, maybe they don't quite know how to express themselves that way. It could be cultural, it could be personal, it could be from way back, maybe three or four generations.
Life isn't really like a movie. Let everybody have a role and a part in what's going on. Everyone has something to add, even those who don't smile much.
end
then and now
then and now
fiction
edward w pritchard
then- In ancient times in a distant place there were large crowds that must be controlled and awed by one human voice. The tradition of the fire torch was born. Who ever held the burning ceremonial torch was the only one permitted to speak. In time only a small caste of pre picked chosen ones were allowed the honor of holding the torch. Everyone else must listen in mute compliance.
Now- Who has the microphone controls the camera, who captures the camera controls the nation. It is illegal to use a microphone in New York City with out a permit. No permits will be issued for outside gatherings of crowds in New York's Parks. The crowd listen with strained ears to one voice trying to be heard. Above the din of modern civilization one straining voice calls out; fire torch.
fiction
edward w pritchard
then- In ancient times in a distant place there were large crowds that must be controlled and awed by one human voice. The tradition of the fire torch was born. Who ever held the burning ceremonial torch was the only one permitted to speak. In time only a small caste of pre picked chosen ones were allowed the honor of holding the torch. Everyone else must listen in mute compliance.
Now- Who has the microphone controls the camera, who captures the camera controls the nation. It is illegal to use a microphone in New York City with out a permit. No permits will be issued for outside gatherings of crowds in New York's Parks. The crowd listen with strained ears to one voice trying to be heard. Above the din of modern civilization one straining voice calls out; fire torch.
threesome
threesome
fiction
edward w pritchard
I had all the advantages then. Me and Kara both wanted the same girl. The girl Jules neutrally bi.
I was a poker playing madman, lucky then in the only thing I excelled at and crazy and impulsive enough to spend everything I had on Jules.
Kara connived and planned. She was the type that always gets ahead, always win and always get what they want. But, not this time. Two hundred, four hundred once, even six hundred seventy eight dollars. I showered Jules with expensive gifts, daily sometimes.
Jules gone now. Kara after half a dozen rich female friends very wealthy now. I asked Kara for a loan. I wanted to buy that picture of Jules. Kara says no that picture will make either of us too sad. For my own good it's better if the picture from before just goes away.
fiction
edward w pritchard
I had all the advantages then. Me and Kara both wanted the same girl. The girl Jules neutrally bi.
I was a poker playing madman, lucky then in the only thing I excelled at and crazy and impulsive enough to spend everything I had on Jules.
Kara connived and planned. She was the type that always gets ahead, always win and always get what they want. But, not this time. Two hundred, four hundred once, even six hundred seventy eight dollars. I showered Jules with expensive gifts, daily sometimes.
Jules gone now. Kara after half a dozen rich female friends very wealthy now. I asked Kara for a loan. I wanted to buy that picture of Jules. Kara says no that picture will make either of us too sad. For my own good it's better if the picture from before just goes away.
the power of positive thinking
the power of positive thinking
fiction
edward w pritchard
after reading about two hundred books and tapes
you know by those people you secretly can't ever like
positive thinking authors, preachers and pains in the as'es
you know sanctimonious Sob's
well anyway, positive thinking has sunken in with me
by osmosis it seems
despite my fatal flaws
broke, down and out, no money, no friends, no prospects
that's OK, It can only get better
howdy, yippee and and a giant Texas Christian yelp
I am a new convert to positive thinking
I liked myself so much better before
when i knew things could only get worse
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
after reading about two hundred books and tapes
you know by those people you secretly can't ever like
positive thinking authors, preachers and pains in the as'es
you know sanctimonious Sob's
well anyway, positive thinking has sunken in with me
by osmosis it seems
despite my fatal flaws
broke, down and out, no money, no friends, no prospects
that's OK, It can only get better
howdy, yippee and and a giant Texas Christian yelp
I am a new convert to positive thinking
I liked myself so much better before
when i knew things could only get worse
end
Thursday, October 20, 2011
back up water board employee
back up water board employee
fiction
edward w pritchard
Officer Robinson is the complete package, me, I am just a trainee; in training here in Pakistan to be on the US team political prisoners division. I have got a lot to learn. I have finished my training in military history, ethics, and comparative religions. Thank goodness that is behind me. Now I can start my in field experience, where the action is so to speak. Officer Robinson is a tough boss but I am glad to learn from the best in the water boarding techniques.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Officer Robinson is the complete package, me, I am just a trainee; in training here in Pakistan to be on the US team political prisoners division. I have got a lot to learn. I have finished my training in military history, ethics, and comparative religions. Thank goodness that is behind me. Now I can start my in field experience, where the action is so to speak. Officer Robinson is a tough boss but I am glad to learn from the best in the water boarding techniques.
end
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
nothing ruins an onboard ship romance like
nothing ruins an onboard ship romance like
fiction
edward w pritchard
Nothing ruins an on board ship romance like the realization that the moment has arrived for another tawdry affair to end. I have come to dread that bolt from the blue of realization that ruins a perfect evening at sea with a beautiful compliant assessable woman, a star filled sky, a perfect table of fine wines and my favorite Russian gourmet foods.
At a late night dinner off shore Venezuela my favorite cruise line for a change of pace had an owl playing piano to entertain the guests at the Captains table. The realization hit me as the bolt from the blue that my affair at sea with Donna the school teacher from Harrisburg Pa, was ended abruptly. Still I had to endure twenty minutes or so of the owl's talons scraping at the keys and then the owls beak banging at the black notes improvising Swanee River boogie before I could diplomatically end things with Donna and with the Captain's blessing depart early from the first class dining room.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Nothing ruins an on board ship romance like the realization that the moment has arrived for another tawdry affair to end. I have come to dread that bolt from the blue of realization that ruins a perfect evening at sea with a beautiful compliant assessable woman, a star filled sky, a perfect table of fine wines and my favorite Russian gourmet foods.
At a late night dinner off shore Venezuela my favorite cruise line for a change of pace had an owl playing piano to entertain the guests at the Captains table. The realization hit me as the bolt from the blue that my affair at sea with Donna the school teacher from Harrisburg Pa, was ended abruptly. Still I had to endure twenty minutes or so of the owl's talons scraping at the keys and then the owls beak banging at the black notes improvising Swanee River boogie before I could diplomatically end things with Donna and with the Captain's blessing depart early from the first class dining room.
voyeur fait multiplient
voyeur faire multiplient
fiction
edward w pritchard
It started when I was twelve watching the hullabaloo dance show. Eight girls in white boots, short skirts with broadway boogie woogie tie dyed boxed patterned shirts dancing in synchronized controlled edited for American television provocatively.
On my first trip to France I snuck away from the high school art lectures to watch the crazy horse dancers in Montmartre can can dancing six abreast.
Now it takes twenty dancers to pick my curiosity. French of course. Boots optional. But, no matter what mon cherie you are always second from the left in line, and no matter what the costume de jour; you always have the white boots and short skirt that in my minds eye enhance your joie de vivre as it exploded into my life half century ago.
fiction
edward w pritchard
It started when I was twelve watching the hullabaloo dance show. Eight girls in white boots, short skirts with broadway boogie woogie tie dyed boxed patterned shirts dancing in synchronized controlled edited for American television provocatively.
On my first trip to France I snuck away from the high school art lectures to watch the crazy horse dancers in Montmartre can can dancing six abreast.
Now it takes twenty dancers to pick my curiosity. French of course. Boots optional. But, no matter what mon cherie you are always second from the left in line, and no matter what the costume de jour; you always have the white boots and short skirt that in my minds eye enhance your joie de vivre as it exploded into my life half century ago.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
new orleans of my dreams/alternate version 2
Your Ad Here
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
new orleans of my dreams/ draft one
New Orleans of my dreams/ alternate version 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
Life and death stand nose to nose in New Orleans; sometimes back to back.
Below sea level; you may wake part of the lake.
Water is sweet when it overflows; salty waves or Pontchartrain brine.
Liquor softens sorrows at the death of friends
and music soothes, swaying from the cemetery back.
Women lose inhibitions Saturday nights,
then holy hymns Sunday mornings sing.
Food too, spicy but sweet;
neighbors close, all discrete.
Morning start early with choices and plans,
afternoons a warm rain soaks our tired souls,
late nights end with drifting jazz,
stars are low in the sky,
and heat inundates the quarter.
One night in the quarter
is worth a thousand days anywhere else.
Bury me beneath sea level,
until rising waters carry me away.
end
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
new orleans of my dreams/ draft one
New Orleans of my dreams/ alternate version 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
Life and death stand nose to nose in New Orleans; sometimes back to back.
Below sea level; you may wake part of the lake.
Water is sweet when it overflows; salty waves or Pontchartrain brine.
Liquor softens sorrows at the death of friends
and music soothes, swaying from the cemetery back.
Women lose inhibitions Saturday nights,
then holy hymns Sunday mornings sing.
Food too, spicy but sweet;
neighbors close, all discrete.
Morning start early with choices and plans,
afternoons a warm rain soaks our tired souls,
late nights end with drifting jazz,
stars are low in the sky,
and heat inundates the quarter.
One night in the quarter
is worth a thousand days anywhere else.
Bury me beneath sea level,
until rising waters carry me away.
end
new orleans of my dreams/ draft one
New Orleans of my dreams/ draft one
fiction
edward w pritchard
Life and death stand nose to nose in New Orleans; sometimes back to back
Below sea level; you may wake part of the lake.
Water is sweet when it overflows; salty waves or Pontchartrain brine.
Liquor softens sorrows at the death of friends
and music soothes, swaying from the cemetery back.
Women lose inhibitions Saturday nights,
then holy hymns Sunday mornings sing.
Food too spicy but sweet;
neighbors close, all discrete.
Morning start early with choices and plans,
afternoons a warm rain soaks our tired souls,
late nights end with drifting jazz,
stars are low in the sky,
and heat inundates the quarter.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Life and death stand nose to nose in New Orleans; sometimes back to back
Below sea level; you may wake part of the lake.
Water is sweet when it overflows; salty waves or Pontchartrain brine.
Liquor softens sorrows at the death of friends
and music soothes, swaying from the cemetery back.
Women lose inhibitions Saturday nights,
then holy hymns Sunday mornings sing.
Food too spicy but sweet;
neighbors close, all discrete.
Morning start early with choices and plans,
afternoons a warm rain soaks our tired souls,
late nights end with drifting jazz,
stars are low in the sky,
and heat inundates the quarter.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
rome and carthage
rome and carthage
fiction
edward w pritchard
Rome had become indestructible and Carthage an annoyance. Carthage was destroyed and not one stone stood upon another to display past existences.
Pirates preyed on Rome's soft underbelly. Rome annihilated all for expediency sake.
Commodus, Caligula, and Tiberius; spirited excesses insignificant in the sweep of history.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Rome had become indestructible and Carthage an annoyance. Carthage was destroyed and not one stone stood upon another to display past existences.
Pirates preyed on Rome's soft underbelly. Rome annihilated all for expediency sake.
Commodus, Caligula, and Tiberius; spirited excesses insignificant in the sweep of history.
dream loading part 2
see dream loading part one
fiction
edward w pritchard
Trying to communicate with one's subconscious is daunting. Like speaking with a woman it seems. This means that, and that will only be revealed much later. My subconscious has directed me to meditate on this piece I wrote before. The Father, the helot and the girl are apparently all parts of my subconscious looking to be integrated. As for the real girl in the first story, my sub conscious says look to the [ xxxxxx ], that's rather personal but I get the message loud and clear. Anyway here's what I wrote before. The named character's in my story are parts of ourselves. We chase ourself until we understand.
chasing his helot
fiction
edward w pritchard
A Spartan Father couldn't enjoy peace and quiet and wouldn't let anyone else either.
Kit's Father was more strict then normal toward his 11 year old Son because he fretted Kit didn't fit the mold required of young men of Sparta, here in Greece in 489bc.
Yes, I am Kit and my Father has ordered me to kill my friend Lyn, my slave technically, although we call them helots, unfortunates kept and made poor by our system. I am well trained to kill since age six; I have been tortured and starved to teach me to be manly. It hasn't worked all too well; for I am reluctant to kill my friend even though duty bound to find, pursue and kill him.
end part 1
opening sentence thanks to un-named and forgotten Corinthian delegate to Sparta-circa 420BC [ he was speaking of Athens but the points the same]
chasing his helot-part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
see part 1
I never thought I would be using all my training in running to chase my Helot [slave] Lyn. I have been training myself to run, on top of the usual tortures and calisthenics we Spartan trainees must do. I have been training myself to run to catch a maiden, Hermione. She is twelve, a year older than me and her peplem [skirt] is always short and split in the back and I can't quit thinking of her. We have a saying in Sparta, if you can't outrun your bride [ girlfriend] not only will you never catch her but she won't respect you.
Alas I am not chasing Hermione, I am chasing Lyn my slave, He is my friend but my Father has ordered me to kill him. I have been running and running after him. Lyn taught me to walk, then taught me to hold a sword, then he coached me daily to survive my training to be a Spartan warrior, taken from home and family at age 7. Now I must kill him, I don't want to and in reality he is a brutal adversary. Only his honor kept him a slave, for he was a captured foe, and feels honor bound not to escape. If he would want to escape, during the last 11 years he watched over me he could have escaped a hundred times. Now if I catch him and he should want to he could easily kill me with his sword; although I am no slouch, mastering what he taught me, but Lyn is a master at warfare.
end part2
Now for the real girl that Hermione was the ideal for:
Hermione,
I run away
not towards you
my eyes directed elsewhere
yet my heart is stuck
a traitor to our Spartan cause
help me my Father to be manly
and destroy without mercy
those who would harm me
you were there, my subconcious
speak in soldier's brutal talk
what you know and understand.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Trying to communicate with one's subconscious is daunting. Like speaking with a woman it seems. This means that, and that will only be revealed much later. My subconscious has directed me to meditate on this piece I wrote before. The Father, the helot and the girl are apparently all parts of my subconscious looking to be integrated. As for the real girl in the first story, my sub conscious says look to the [ xxxxxx ], that's rather personal but I get the message loud and clear. Anyway here's what I wrote before. The named character's in my story are parts of ourselves. We chase ourself until we understand.
chasing his helot
fiction
edward w pritchard
A Spartan Father couldn't enjoy peace and quiet and wouldn't let anyone else either.
Kit's Father was more strict then normal toward his 11 year old Son because he fretted Kit didn't fit the mold required of young men of Sparta, here in Greece in 489bc.
Yes, I am Kit and my Father has ordered me to kill my friend Lyn, my slave technically, although we call them helots, unfortunates kept and made poor by our system. I am well trained to kill since age six; I have been tortured and starved to teach me to be manly. It hasn't worked all too well; for I am reluctant to kill my friend even though duty bound to find, pursue and kill him.
end part 1
opening sentence thanks to un-named and forgotten Corinthian delegate to Sparta-circa 420BC [ he was speaking of Athens but the points the same]
chasing his helot-part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
see part 1
I never thought I would be using all my training in running to chase my Helot [slave] Lyn. I have been training myself to run, on top of the usual tortures and calisthenics we Spartan trainees must do. I have been training myself to run to catch a maiden, Hermione. She is twelve, a year older than me and her peplem [skirt] is always short and split in the back and I can't quit thinking of her. We have a saying in Sparta, if you can't outrun your bride [ girlfriend] not only will you never catch her but she won't respect you.
Alas I am not chasing Hermione, I am chasing Lyn my slave, He is my friend but my Father has ordered me to kill him. I have been running and running after him. Lyn taught me to walk, then taught me to hold a sword, then he coached me daily to survive my training to be a Spartan warrior, taken from home and family at age 7. Now I must kill him, I don't want to and in reality he is a brutal adversary. Only his honor kept him a slave, for he was a captured foe, and feels honor bound not to escape. If he would want to escape, during the last 11 years he watched over me he could have escaped a hundred times. Now if I catch him and he should want to he could easily kill me with his sword; although I am no slouch, mastering what he taught me, but Lyn is a master at warfare.
end part2
Now for the real girl that Hermione was the ideal for:
Hermione,
I run away
not towards you
my eyes directed elsewhere
yet my heart is stuck
a traitor to our Spartan cause
help me my Father to be manly
and destroy without mercy
those who would harm me
you were there, my subconcious
speak in soldier's brutal talk
what you know and understand.
end
Saturday, October 15, 2011
dream loading
dream loading
fiction
edward w pritchard
To influence and then later remember my dreams I have taken to the technique of dream loading. Dream loading is a procedure that to the best of my knowledge I have invented. While far from perfected, I use the technique of dream loading to allow the various strata of my sub conscious to successfully communicate and advise me.
For example; tonight it is near time for me to slumber, I am relaxed, no events in my specious present overly concern me, so I will attempt to communicate with my sub conscious tonight. I do not follow a Freudian or Jungian course but I directly communicate what I wish to discuss by way of a few power concepts. Tonight's concept is " are there truly ever happy times" second is did " an interval of time without change occur or was one merely oblivious to the changes occurring" and lastly for we mustn't load too many such concepts into our subconscious, " can we totally miss reality.
Is time without change possible? Can we really know anything. Tonight using the dream loading techniques I have perhaps invented I ask for a consult from my subconscious on the matter. Using the subconscious, which after all sees what we see but not through rose colored glasses is a fine place to start understanding guarded circuitous behaviors in times of alienation.
fiction
edward w pritchard
To influence and then later remember my dreams I have taken to the technique of dream loading. Dream loading is a procedure that to the best of my knowledge I have invented. While far from perfected, I use the technique of dream loading to allow the various strata of my sub conscious to successfully communicate and advise me.
For example; tonight it is near time for me to slumber, I am relaxed, no events in my specious present overly concern me, so I will attempt to communicate with my sub conscious tonight. I do not follow a Freudian or Jungian course but I directly communicate what I wish to discuss by way of a few power concepts. Tonight's concept is " are there truly ever happy times" second is did " an interval of time without change occur or was one merely oblivious to the changes occurring" and lastly for we mustn't load too many such concepts into our subconscious, " can we totally miss reality.
Is time without change possible? Can we really know anything. Tonight using the dream loading techniques I have perhaps invented I ask for a consult from my subconscious on the matter. Using the subconscious, which after all sees what we see but not through rose colored glasses is a fine place to start understanding guarded circuitous behaviors in times of alienation.
travel writing/ Italian cities
travel writing/ Italian cities
fiction
edward w pritchard
Since I was nine I have been enamoured with the Italian cities and of course the Italian beauties who live there. But this article is not about women, but about my love of Italian cities, like the women there the most beautiful in the world. Rome, Florence, Milan, Naples and many many other Italian cities, many many times have I embraced; savoring their aromas and the gentle curves of the hills and valleys skirting those cities.
Now when I travel to Italy I look for the out of the way, off the path and beyond the ordinary. Such is how I came to know Portingo, a place few travelers find and no one not even a local ever really knows.
Portingo may not be reached by any road, it has no train, no airport and no listing on a map. Portingo is a city of the mind and one may only experience it after a full life of travel to the Italian city states.
Fine wine, beautiful women, high culture and pastoral settings do not await in Portingo.
What does await you in Portingo? Sit back in your chair, throw a log on the fire, dim the lights and imagine a Tuscan countryside. Float one hundred feet in the air as you approach a small village. Listen carefully to the voices of children and the gentle hammering of craftsmen. As you get closer you can hear the gossiping of two village women as they hang their laundry under a bright blue sky.
To some the ideal Italian city is about history, antiquity, ruins and dead men and heroic deeds. Others come to Italy for food and a fine hotel bar. Pasta i fusilli , trout Piemonte and Fiano wines are the regimen dilizso to relieve stress and rekindle a lost amore for what's left of the good life. Typically, Art, music or religion; murals, orchestras or cathedrals tempt the cultured traveler to leave their comfortable armchair and navigate airport security queues to find the ideal Italian City. Portingo has all of the above and more. Whatever the erudite traveler can imagine Portingo can provide. Cheaply, conveniently and always at hand with no airport delays, no lost luggage and no disappointing hotel stays,
Portingo is an imaginary Italian city where the seasoned travelers supplies the adventures from comfortably at home, in their favorite chair, without any of the realities of actual travel.
Portingo, may you never return, may you never leave. Ciao Italia
fiction
edward w pritchard
Since I was nine I have been enamoured with the Italian cities and of course the Italian beauties who live there. But this article is not about women, but about my love of Italian cities, like the women there the most beautiful in the world. Rome, Florence, Milan, Naples and many many other Italian cities, many many times have I embraced; savoring their aromas and the gentle curves of the hills and valleys skirting those cities.
Now when I travel to Italy I look for the out of the way, off the path and beyond the ordinary. Such is how I came to know Portingo, a place few travelers find and no one not even a local ever really knows.
Portingo may not be reached by any road, it has no train, no airport and no listing on a map. Portingo is a city of the mind and one may only experience it after a full life of travel to the Italian city states.
Fine wine, beautiful women, high culture and pastoral settings do not await in Portingo.
What does await you in Portingo? Sit back in your chair, throw a log on the fire, dim the lights and imagine a Tuscan countryside. Float one hundred feet in the air as you approach a small village. Listen carefully to the voices of children and the gentle hammering of craftsmen. As you get closer you can hear the gossiping of two village women as they hang their laundry under a bright blue sky.
To some the ideal Italian city is about history, antiquity, ruins and dead men and heroic deeds. Others come to Italy for food and a fine hotel bar. Pasta i fusilli , trout Piemonte and Fiano wines are the regimen dilizso to relieve stress and rekindle a lost amore for what's left of the good life. Typically, Art, music or religion; murals, orchestras or cathedrals tempt the cultured traveler to leave their comfortable armchair and navigate airport security queues to find the ideal Italian City. Portingo has all of the above and more. Whatever the erudite traveler can imagine Portingo can provide. Cheaply, conveniently and always at hand with no airport delays, no lost luggage and no disappointing hotel stays,
Portingo is an imaginary Italian city where the seasoned travelers supplies the adventures from comfortably at home, in their favorite chair, without any of the realities of actual travel.
Portingo, may you never return, may you never leave. Ciao Italia
Halle Berry and Dorothy Dandridge, oh to be rich / edit 1, part 2
Halle Berry and dorothy Dandridge, Oh to be Rich/ edit 1, part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
Halle Berry's life as imagined: the following is previously posted
Just Another Celebrity
fiction
edward w pritchard
She was a movie star, a media star, and a great beauty, but had been at it long enough to want nothing more than her privacy.
Her half-sister and her brother in law were using her condo in Florida, and she was driving from Cleveland, Ohio to the their house in Akron, ostensibly to check on the cat and the plants, but really to have a few hours to herself.
Things hadn't started well once she hit Akron, near where she had grown up, and they had gotten worse from there. She had drove past the Grade School near her sisters house and there was one of her old boyfriends, from high school. She saw him helping a little girl with one of those heavy yellow raincoats. She instantly remembered her Aunt telling her several times at holiday's, playing the town crier, that her ex-boyfriend was an assistant principal at the old school. She remembered the mean things she had said to him near here, years ago, about his lack of ambition for himself. But, she was unable to not watch him now, as he bent down and put his knee on the ground, to help the little girl button the yellow rain coat. She of course knew it was his best suit, and the knee of the pants would be ruined, and his wife would be unable to fix it, but the wife would only pretend to be mad, and he would apologize to her a couple of extra times, but looking at him, although he was heavier, he was still tall and awkward in a good way, but gentle too, and the gentleness was something long gone in her life and she drove off feeling sad.
Later, she had went to a local convenience store, where she was sure the Arabic owner there didn't recognize her, or care who she was. She couldn't find anything to buy, because of a very limited inventory, and even though she was cold and hungry and wet from an all day rain, she couldn't find anything she wanted here, and eventually she bought an old fashioned chicken pot pie, but not a name brand.
Finally she parked the rental car in the drive of the old family house where they had lived as children, that her half sister took over when their Mother died, and sat in the drive a few minutes and listened to the rain, knowing if anyone saw her they would think it her sister. Her sister who looked like her, only prettier she thought , and she mused in a private joke against the world, for she had been named one of the twenty prettiest women of all time, but she always felt her half sister to be the prettier one, as did everyone about their own sister probably. Eventually she went in the house and went through the kitchen and living room which were still neat and homey and went to the old family room in the basement.
There was an old couch from when they were kids that had never been thrown away, but should have been, and her grandmother's, who had been part Cherokee, old Indian blanket, which she wrapped up in. She mashed up and ate the pot pie, and watched the cable, wishing she had an old fashioned TV guide rather than the onscreen version. As she finished her dinner, holding the cat, the celebrity dozed off into a deep sleep for the first time in a long time.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Halle Berry's life as imagined: the following is previously posted
Just Another Celebrity
fiction
edward w pritchard
She was a movie star, a media star, and a great beauty, but had been at it long enough to want nothing more than her privacy.
Her half-sister and her brother in law were using her condo in Florida, and she was driving from Cleveland, Ohio to the their house in Akron, ostensibly to check on the cat and the plants, but really to have a few hours to herself.
Things hadn't started well once she hit Akron, near where she had grown up, and they had gotten worse from there. She had drove past the Grade School near her sisters house and there was one of her old boyfriends, from high school. She saw him helping a little girl with one of those heavy yellow raincoats. She instantly remembered her Aunt telling her several times at holiday's, playing the town crier, that her ex-boyfriend was an assistant principal at the old school. She remembered the mean things she had said to him near here, years ago, about his lack of ambition for himself. But, she was unable to not watch him now, as he bent down and put his knee on the ground, to help the little girl button the yellow rain coat. She of course knew it was his best suit, and the knee of the pants would be ruined, and his wife would be unable to fix it, but the wife would only pretend to be mad, and he would apologize to her a couple of extra times, but looking at him, although he was heavier, he was still tall and awkward in a good way, but gentle too, and the gentleness was something long gone in her life and she drove off feeling sad.
Later, she had went to a local convenience store, where she was sure the Arabic owner there didn't recognize her, or care who she was. She couldn't find anything to buy, because of a very limited inventory, and even though she was cold and hungry and wet from an all day rain, she couldn't find anything she wanted here, and eventually she bought an old fashioned chicken pot pie, but not a name brand.
Finally she parked the rental car in the drive of the old family house where they had lived as children, that her half sister took over when their Mother died, and sat in the drive a few minutes and listened to the rain, knowing if anyone saw her they would think it her sister. Her sister who looked like her, only prettier she thought , and she mused in a private joke against the world, for she had been named one of the twenty prettiest women of all time, but she always felt her half sister to be the prettier one, as did everyone about their own sister probably. Eventually she went in the house and went through the kitchen and living room which were still neat and homey and went to the old family room in the basement.
There was an old couch from when they were kids that had never been thrown away, but should have been, and her grandmother's, who had been part Cherokee, old Indian blanket, which she wrapped up in. She mashed up and ate the pot pie, and watched the cable, wishing she had an old fashioned TV guide rather than the onscreen version. As she finished her dinner, holding the cat, the celebrity dozed off into a deep sleep for the first time in a long time.
Halle Berry and Dorothy Dandridge, oh to be rich / edit 1, part 1
Halle Berry and Dorothy Dandridge, oh to be rich / edit 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
Two beautiful women, but both seem a little sad.
Halle Berry and Dorothy Dandridge, oh to be rich. Hard times hit Dorothy Dandridge and she sinks under the forces that destroy initiative and dignity. Halle Berry rich and famous. Will her money protect her from life's sorrows or will she be like her fellow actress Dorothy Dandridge? Does a change in the times insure Halle Berry will not repeat Dorothy Dandridge's sad life?
Halle Berry may your life be blessed and never may you sink to poverty and obscurity. May your immense beauty never fade and may your luck always be good. Halle choose your parts wisely; you may identify and empathize with Dorothy Dandridge but don't repeat her sad life.
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
Two beautiful women, but both seem a little sad.
Halle Berry and Dorothy Dandridge, oh to be rich. Hard times hit Dorothy Dandridge and she sinks under the forces that destroy initiative and dignity. Halle Berry rich and famous. Will her money protect her from life's sorrows or will she be like her fellow actress Dorothy Dandridge? Does a change in the times insure Halle Berry will not repeat Dorothy Dandridge's sad life?
Halle Berry may your life be blessed and never may you sink to poverty and obscurity. May your immense beauty never fade and may your luck always be good. Halle choose your parts wisely; you may identify and empathize with Dorothy Dandridge but don't repeat her sad life.
end part 1
high school hooligan
high school hooligan
fiction
edward w pritchard
The teacher's union lost three times in their attempts to get Lawson Jenson removed from our school. Too much money was involved. The school principal was adamant; the teachers would have to learn to deal with Tiger Lawson, the hooligan. Our principal, a woman got her's later. Lawson's parents successfully got the Principal sent to three sessions of sensitivity training at the University psychology clinic, after she was deemed callous in her behavior towards handicapped persons. Principal Nan Phillips had pulled little Tiger's hair one day in the halls after the boy did something especially incorrigible.
We had a large group of handicapped students at our suburban school. It was a lucrative profit center. Our principal had taught and then worked in administration at the local inner city schools and while there she had got a reputation for the efficient and profitable operation of several schools that had previously been bleeding money. She turned financially troubled schools around by accepting large numbers of multiple handicapped students for which the State paid extra reimbursement. In time most of the local handicapped students with behavioral problems ended up at our school.
Never was there a student of any category quite like Tiger Lawson. Less than four feet tall, initially he walked down the hall slowly bending side to side on crutches. Later he used a wheelchair. Not just any wheelchair however; his transport was imported from Finland and was voted number one in mobility wordwide for all such devices three years running. Lawson's wheelchair was also very expensive. His parents both professors at the University spared no expense in there attempts to mainstream their only son.
Lawson smoked large expensive cigars at school and wore strange hats in the building both of which were of course illegal here. Lawson also had a severe anger management problem. He displayed his temper often while at our school if he felt anyone was bullying or being condescending to one of the students in the red group, our name for our handicapped students.
I first met Lawson after he tried to run down Billie Hilton with his wheelchair. The wheelchair can travel at over twenty miles an hour in short bursts and Lawon was chasing Billie down the Hall over near the gym. Billie is best known around here for just missing the State record for a fourteen year old attempting to bench press over three hundred fifty pounds. Billie dove out of the way successfully at the last minute to avoid Lawson's charges but Billie cut a large gash in his head by crashing into a locker.
I was patching up Billie's head when he told me what he had done to anger Lawson who was already out of the building. Lawson had been suspended again for being overly aggressive, for three days this tiime.
Billie said he was accused by Lawson of taunting Lashea Simms about her weight. Lashea is not one of our handicapped students but she is very obese. Maybe three hundred pounds. I called Billie an A- hole. Not very professional for a school nurse to do. I am very over weight myself, since I was in junior high.
I called Billie Hinton's Father about what Billie said to the girl. I am not sure where that went.
Lawson was with us for about a year. His health kept getting worse and worse but that didn't keep him out of trouble. Several times I was involved in incidents Involving little Tiger Lawson's bad temper. I heard Tiger's in the hospital now and not doing well. That's sad, it was nice to have someone stand up for us aroud here.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
The teacher's union lost three times in their attempts to get Lawson Jenson removed from our school. Too much money was involved. The school principal was adamant; the teachers would have to learn to deal with Tiger Lawson, the hooligan. Our principal, a woman got her's later. Lawson's parents successfully got the Principal sent to three sessions of sensitivity training at the University psychology clinic, after she was deemed callous in her behavior towards handicapped persons. Principal Nan Phillips had pulled little Tiger's hair one day in the halls after the boy did something especially incorrigible.
We had a large group of handicapped students at our suburban school. It was a lucrative profit center. Our principal had taught and then worked in administration at the local inner city schools and while there she had got a reputation for the efficient and profitable operation of several schools that had previously been bleeding money. She turned financially troubled schools around by accepting large numbers of multiple handicapped students for which the State paid extra reimbursement. In time most of the local handicapped students with behavioral problems ended up at our school.
Never was there a student of any category quite like Tiger Lawson. Less than four feet tall, initially he walked down the hall slowly bending side to side on crutches. Later he used a wheelchair. Not just any wheelchair however; his transport was imported from Finland and was voted number one in mobility wordwide for all such devices three years running. Lawson's wheelchair was also very expensive. His parents both professors at the University spared no expense in there attempts to mainstream their only son.
Lawson smoked large expensive cigars at school and wore strange hats in the building both of which were of course illegal here. Lawson also had a severe anger management problem. He displayed his temper often while at our school if he felt anyone was bullying or being condescending to one of the students in the red group, our name for our handicapped students.
I first met Lawson after he tried to run down Billie Hilton with his wheelchair. The wheelchair can travel at over twenty miles an hour in short bursts and Lawon was chasing Billie down the Hall over near the gym. Billie is best known around here for just missing the State record for a fourteen year old attempting to bench press over three hundred fifty pounds. Billie dove out of the way successfully at the last minute to avoid Lawson's charges but Billie cut a large gash in his head by crashing into a locker.
I was patching up Billie's head when he told me what he had done to anger Lawson who was already out of the building. Lawson had been suspended again for being overly aggressive, for three days this tiime.
Billie said he was accused by Lawson of taunting Lashea Simms about her weight. Lashea is not one of our handicapped students but she is very obese. Maybe three hundred pounds. I called Billie an A- hole. Not very professional for a school nurse to do. I am very over weight myself, since I was in junior high.
I called Billie Hinton's Father about what Billie said to the girl. I am not sure where that went.
Lawson was with us for about a year. His health kept getting worse and worse but that didn't keep him out of trouble. Several times I was involved in incidents Involving little Tiger Lawson's bad temper. I heard Tiger's in the hospital now and not doing well. That's sad, it was nice to have someone stand up for us aroud here.
end
Friday, October 14, 2011
the court speaks
de fact in the court speaks
fiction
edward w pritchard
the court speaks through it's journal entries,
the bureaucracy speaks through it's actions,
the underclass speak through their frivolous lawsuits;
begging for justice
justice sits far off preoccupied and indifferent
fiction
edward w pritchard
the court speaks through it's journal entries,
the bureaucracy speaks through it's actions,
the underclass speak through their frivolous lawsuits;
begging for justice
justice sits far off preoccupied and indifferent
when my friend first succumbed to drugs
when my friend first succumbed to drugs
fiction
edward w pritchard
When my friend first succumbed to drugs I leaned forward,
feet planted wide, arms strong, torso taunt, will committed
When my friend next succumbed to drugs I stood straight
back stiff, teetering on tip toes, elbows bent, palms upright, emotions mixed
When my friend last succumbed to drugs I pulled back,
head turning away, weight on heels, palms facing forward
stomach turning, tear in left eye
fiction
edward w pritchard
When my friend first succumbed to drugs I leaned forward,
feet planted wide, arms strong, torso taunt, will committed
When my friend next succumbed to drugs I stood straight
back stiff, teetering on tip toes, elbows bent, palms upright, emotions mixed
When my friend last succumbed to drugs I pulled back,
head turning away, weight on heels, palms facing forward
stomach turning, tear in left eye
Thursday, October 13, 2011
For piano man Pete Johnson/Roll Em Pete; Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
reposted and edited
10/13/2011
fiction
edward w pritchard
Monday, July 11, 2011
Roll Em Pete; Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
To Pete Johnson piano man, in 1938 Pete played back up for Big Joe Turner on maybe the first Rock and Roll song, Roll Em Pete. Later poor Pete Johnson died down and out in obscurity despite his immense talent at blues piano music.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Each sad song was sung before, the dancing couples at the clubs come and go but the melody is the same.
Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights my way.
I played the boogie woogie and let Big Joe Turner shout and sing and shine.
Now and then his lyrics would wake audiences from their slumbers, so I played back-up.
Roll Em Pete; Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
But the singer gets the credit, Big Joe is always the star.
Me, I just play piano boogie, and my struggle is always there.
Roll Em Pete; Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
Other times my own boogie woogie blues melody lifts me from my sorrow.
Roll Em Pete; Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
But life is very hard for me.
Traveling everywhere over this country to play just a little, no contract, no security, no renewals
I wash ice creams trucks and hearses for a little cash between gigs.
The crowds always cheer and follow the singer, but after the performance the tired piano man walks home alone.
When I got old, I cut off part of my finger fixing the car on the way to play, then I had a few strokes, still I had to play piano to survive.
During the 50's others harvested the crop I worked so hard to plant.
You Big Joe, I am glad you got it on, those innuendos fascinate the crowds.
I think I hear your voice Big Joe, but it's just a dream.
No one remembers me
Roll Em Pete, Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
I still need the money and I am too old to do much else.
So I play piano with just one hand. I had a stroke and every one's forgotten me.
It's winter, it's very cold and I am stuck in Buffalo, New York; far from the music scene.
Boogie this and boogie that, I am just struggling to get by.
Roll Em Pete, walking my path, no sunshine music lights the way
The young singers keep a shouting and collect all the dough but the piano players just come and go.
The blues had a baby and they called it rock and roll.
Life goes on, it's all been done before.
Someone a-new re-records your rhythms, blues becomes rock and roll.
Rock and roll singers write songs about blues singers writing songs.
Handsome new singers smile at the cameras while they can,
and everyone remembers the lyrics even after the song is done.
But the tune dies there on the keyboard
Posted by edward pritchard at 6:32 PM 0 comments Labels: boogie blues
10/13/2011
fiction
edward w pritchard
Monday, July 11, 2011
Roll Em Pete; Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
To Pete Johnson piano man, in 1938 Pete played back up for Big Joe Turner on maybe the first Rock and Roll song, Roll Em Pete. Later poor Pete Johnson died down and out in obscurity despite his immense talent at blues piano music.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Each sad song was sung before, the dancing couples at the clubs come and go but the melody is the same.
Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights my way.
I played the boogie woogie and let Big Joe Turner shout and sing and shine.
Now and then his lyrics would wake audiences from their slumbers, so I played back-up.
Roll Em Pete; Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
But the singer gets the credit, Big Joe is always the star.
Me, I just play piano boogie, and my struggle is always there.
Roll Em Pete; Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
Other times my own boogie woogie blues melody lifts me from my sorrow.
Roll Em Pete; Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
But life is very hard for me.
Traveling everywhere over this country to play just a little, no contract, no security, no renewals
I wash ice creams trucks and hearses for a little cash between gigs.
The crowds always cheer and follow the singer, but after the performance the tired piano man walks home alone.
When I got old, I cut off part of my finger fixing the car on the way to play, then I had a few strokes, still I had to play piano to survive.
During the 50's others harvested the crop I worked so hard to plant.
You Big Joe, I am glad you got it on, those innuendos fascinate the crowds.
I think I hear your voice Big Joe, but it's just a dream.
No one remembers me
Roll Em Pete, Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
I still need the money and I am too old to do much else.
So I play piano with just one hand. I had a stroke and every one's forgotten me.
It's winter, it's very cold and I am stuck in Buffalo, New York; far from the music scene.
Boogie this and boogie that, I am just struggling to get by.
Roll Em Pete, walking my path, no sunshine music lights the way
The young singers keep a shouting and collect all the dough but the piano players just come and go.
The blues had a baby and they called it rock and roll.
Life goes on, it's all been done before.
Someone a-new re-records your rhythms, blues becomes rock and roll.
Rock and roll singers write songs about blues singers writing songs.
Handsome new singers smile at the cameras while they can,
and everyone remembers the lyrics even after the song is done.
But the tune dies there on the keyboard
Posted by edward pritchard at 6:32 PM 0 comments Labels: boogie blues
escape from our nursing home
escape from our nursing home
fiction
edward w pritchard
I know I am supposed to tell some things about my six cohorts in our escape from the nursing home; to build some empathy for my characters for the reader. But, I won't for now, maybe latter. I want to get right to the part about how Mrs. Clast, Larry Owens, and a few of the others at the New Horizons Senior Citizens Retirement home and myself went to the Chasers Strip Club out at new Diamond Center Road last Thursday night. Thursdays are half price drinks for women and we abused the discount that night.
We planned our escape from the nursing home carefully. Each week for six weeks at our meditation and yoga group we each championed a part of the activities necessary to leave the nursing home for a few hours and later return undetected successfully. We didn't account for the fact that Mrs. Palmer, a ninety year old widow would take the stage at the Chaser's strip bar and the complications that would ensure to the rest of us.
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
I know I am supposed to tell some things about my six cohorts in our escape from the nursing home; to build some empathy for my characters for the reader. But, I won't for now, maybe latter. I want to get right to the part about how Mrs. Clast, Larry Owens, and a few of the others at the New Horizons Senior Citizens Retirement home and myself went to the Chasers Strip Club out at new Diamond Center Road last Thursday night. Thursdays are half price drinks for women and we abused the discount that night.
We planned our escape from the nursing home carefully. Each week for six weeks at our meditation and yoga group we each championed a part of the activities necessary to leave the nursing home for a few hours and later return undetected successfully. We didn't account for the fact that Mrs. Palmer, a ninety year old widow would take the stage at the Chaser's strip bar and the complications that would ensure to the rest of us.
end part 1
I'll get that ghost soon
I'll get that ghost soon
fiction
edward w pritchard
Since I decided to sell my house that I live alone in I sense a ghost about the premises. The other day the TV volume jumped higher expectedly when I was out of the TV room.
I'll get that ghost soon. I won't be kind to him. If he takes me down that's OK. I just want a shot at some of those who are running things, beyond this world.
I move fast about my house when I sense that ghost about. I never seem to find him but I'll get that ghost soon.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Since I decided to sell my house that I live alone in I sense a ghost about the premises. The other day the TV volume jumped higher expectedly when I was out of the TV room.
I'll get that ghost soon. I won't be kind to him. If he takes me down that's OK. I just want a shot at some of those who are running things, beyond this world.
I move fast about my house when I sense that ghost about. I never seem to find him but I'll get that ghost soon.
Major League Baseball/ is it a simulation
Major League Baseball/ is it a simulation
fiction
edward w pritchard
Who hasn't spent hundreds of hours watching the slot machines as they feed in coins who hasn't wondered who the programmer who skillfully prefigured my experience there in front of the slot machine today infinitely random but distantly familiar and predictable?
Major League Baseball seems the same experience to me a long time fan as I watch various games now in the playoff season. As the short stop snatches a grounder and races the runner dashing from first toward second base for a forced inning ending third out; it seems preprogrammed. As if I have seen the same young player do the same procedure thousands of times since I first began watching televised baseball in 1959.
Life and sport seem a simulation to me now. Distantly predictable and repetitive despite the pre-programmmed attempts at randomness by an unknown programmer.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Who hasn't spent hundreds of hours watching the slot machines as they feed in coins who hasn't wondered who the programmer who skillfully prefigured my experience there in front of the slot machine today infinitely random but distantly familiar and predictable?
Major League Baseball seems the same experience to me a long time fan as I watch various games now in the playoff season. As the short stop snatches a grounder and races the runner dashing from first toward second base for a forced inning ending third out; it seems preprogrammed. As if I have seen the same young player do the same procedure thousands of times since I first began watching televised baseball in 1959.
Life and sport seem a simulation to me now. Distantly predictable and repetitive despite the pre-programmmed attempts at randomness by an unknown programmer.
geography, gaia and interconncetions between animal behavior and and humans
Second story is a repost. with new commentary
My house is near the highest spot in the County which was once important as the highest elevation on the Ohio and Erie canals. The land slopes down from that elevation point on the Ohio Canal and unusual behavior by animals is known to occur there. One year an usually large number of rats congregated at that highest spot in my County, along the Ohio canal and then unexpectedly a migration downward from that highest spot suddenly occurred sending thousands of large rats scurrying through our neighborhoods.
an unpleasant story
fiction
edward w pritchard
I lived in a part of the City, trying to pass as a suburban neighborhood, quiet respectable, neat lawns with lots of older people. At 2:06 AM I awoke with a chemically induced sensation in my mind, caused by hearing and feeling an unnatural phenomena somewhere just outside my house; producing a terror that something was horribly wrong in my neighborhood. I was not having a nightmare but the sense of dread and foreboding was chemical in nature and I couldn't shake the horror, although I had done nothing to cause it. I knew that the solution to what was wrong was just outside my door.
A low rumble met me as I exited my house and at a guttural level I sensed the movement of thousands of animals. My neighbor rushed to me as I left my home to warn me that we were needed at the bottom of our street about a quarter of a mile east of my house. It was unseasonably hot and humid as I hurried South by East and the unnatural rhythmic sound and smell of the movement of animals became stronger as I entered the street.
Hundreds of thousands of rats were running through the sewer networks beneath our road and I was stationed at the sewer at the bottom of our hill, given a baseball bat and for the next four hours I clubbed hundreds and hundreds of rats who in confusion left the rush Eastward and attempted to exit into our neighborhood. My neighbor who also had a bat told me that rats were coming up into houses through drains and things and over a hundred thousand had exited the sewers at the small creek a mile or so east of the end of my street. After about four hours I collapsed from the labor and combat and was given a half hour break. In a minute or two I must return to work for it's my turn again to man the sewer opening with the bat.
end
My house is near the highest spot in the County which was once important as the highest elevation on the Ohio and Erie canals. The land slopes down from that elevation point on the Ohio Canal and unusual behavior by animals is known to occur there. One year an usually large number of rats congregated at that highest spot in my County, along the Ohio canal and then unexpectedly a migration downward from that highest spot suddenly occurred sending thousands of large rats scurrying through our neighborhoods.
an unpleasant story
fiction
edward w pritchard
I lived in a part of the City, trying to pass as a suburban neighborhood, quiet respectable, neat lawns with lots of older people. At 2:06 AM I awoke with a chemically induced sensation in my mind, caused by hearing and feeling an unnatural phenomena somewhere just outside my house; producing a terror that something was horribly wrong in my neighborhood. I was not having a nightmare but the sense of dread and foreboding was chemical in nature and I couldn't shake the horror, although I had done nothing to cause it. I knew that the solution to what was wrong was just outside my door.
A low rumble met me as I exited my house and at a guttural level I sensed the movement of thousands of animals. My neighbor rushed to me as I left my home to warn me that we were needed at the bottom of our street about a quarter of a mile east of my house. It was unseasonably hot and humid as I hurried South by East and the unnatural rhythmic sound and smell of the movement of animals became stronger as I entered the street.
Hundreds of thousands of rats were running through the sewer networks beneath our road and I was stationed at the sewer at the bottom of our hill, given a baseball bat and for the next four hours I clubbed hundreds and hundreds of rats who in confusion left the rush Eastward and attempted to exit into our neighborhood. My neighbor who also had a bat told me that rats were coming up into houses through drains and things and over a hundred thousand had exited the sewers at the small creek a mile or so east of the end of my street. After about four hours I collapsed from the labor and combat and was given a half hour break. In a minute or two I must return to work for it's my turn again to man the sewer opening with the bat.
end
time my sentinel
time my sentinel
fiction
edward w pritchard
Time my sentinel dissolve
and I'll walk back over your broken fractured bones
to before
before when this wasn't here
and before which would then never change
without time walking his post
back and forth towards now's future
fiction
edward w pritchard
Time my sentinel dissolve
and I'll walk back over your broken fractured bones
to before
before when this wasn't here
and before which would then never change
without time walking his post
back and forth towards now's future
viral attack/ part 6 the scam
viral attack/ part 6 the scam
fiction
edward w pritchard
I have decided to let Lillian sleep as I sit here fretting over our future. In sleep she is safe; worth the risk of her skipping the tonic for now that may shield her from the hiding virus for a few hours.
I am watching for the first streaks of light that heralds the coming of dawn like in Romeo and Juliet in Shakespeare. The couple were that night in Shakespeare's play the young lovers and it is just after their first night together as lovers. After their bliss Romeo now must leave Juliet, his new bride. The dawn was coming any minute for the couple. They listen for a distant crowing bird. Is it the Rooster that heralds the dawn or the Nightingale. The Nightingale singing means it is just the beginning of their night together again for the couple and they get to experience their bliss over again once more. In Romeo and Juliet if that night Romeo is caught with Juliet he dies. First one then the other pretends to hear the Nightingale rather than the Rooster crow the approach of the imminent dawn and their re entry into the reality of their world.
I can't hear any roosters crowing from the eight floor of this courthouse in the this large crowded City and I have never heard a Nightingale sing. I wonder what a Nightingale's song sounds like?
Streaks of dawn are just visible far far to the East.
I think I will wake Lillian now. Soon we go to look for a a Nightingale far out Eastward, far from here.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
I have decided to let Lillian sleep as I sit here fretting over our future. In sleep she is safe; worth the risk of her skipping the tonic for now that may shield her from the hiding virus for a few hours.
I am watching for the first streaks of light that heralds the coming of dawn like in Romeo and Juliet in Shakespeare. The couple were that night in Shakespeare's play the young lovers and it is just after their first night together as lovers. After their bliss Romeo now must leave Juliet, his new bride. The dawn was coming any minute for the couple. They listen for a distant crowing bird. Is it the Rooster that heralds the dawn or the Nightingale. The Nightingale singing means it is just the beginning of their night together again for the couple and they get to experience their bliss over again once more. In Romeo and Juliet if that night Romeo is caught with Juliet he dies. First one then the other pretends to hear the Nightingale rather than the Rooster crow the approach of the imminent dawn and their re entry into the reality of their world.
I can't hear any roosters crowing from the eight floor of this courthouse in the this large crowded City and I have never heard a Nightingale sing. I wonder what a Nightingale's song sounds like?
Streaks of dawn are just visible far far to the East.
I think I will wake Lillian now. Soon we go to look for a a Nightingale far out Eastward, far from here.
end
viral attack/ part 5 the scam
viral attack/ part 5 the scam
fiction
edward w pritchard
What a horrible dream. It seemed to go on for ever. I was only asleep for twenty five minutes.
It must be my subconscious trying to reprimand me for being asleep through the time to give Lillian the tonic water. She's still asleep. My dream was so disturbing it seems like the whole City should be awakened from the dreadful fear it caused in me. Yet Lillian is ten feet away from me sleeping calmly on the brown leather couch in this Judge's office. Down below us an entire city silently slumbers unaware of me or my problems.
I was dreaming over and over about carrying the forty bottles of tonic water when Lillian and I leave the City. When I was awake sipping cognac earlier it seemed easy to conceal and carry forty bottles of tonic water about and travel and protect a small sick child. But my dream was dreadful and terrifying. Everyone was sinister and malicious in my dream and I was rightly fearful of society about me.
I kept dreaming over and over about how much forty eight ounce bottles would exactly weigh, including the weight of the hard plastic bottles. Twenty pounds plus the bottles. It was critical in my dream world to know the exact weight of the bottles. The weight of the bottles meant something very special in my dream.
Then I was overwhelmed in my dream of how much space twenty eight ounce bottles would occupy and how I would carry the twenty ounce bottles and how I would conceal the bulky cargo.
In my dream if others found out I had the tonic water that may possibly cure or slow the progression to death of the Green Lady virus I was an easy target for others looking to steal the magic liquid.
My dream was so unsettling. How am I going to travel about with a sick child in a hostile City with police and national Guard troops searching for anyone shielding and abetting victims of the Green lady virus. What if Lillian has a relapse. What if I am not there to care for her. Who will watch over her if the virus targets me.
I have been staring out of the window worrying for fifteen minutes in this high up courthouse Judge's office where Lillian and I are temporarily camping out for the night. Tomorrow we have to leave. How will I protect a small helpless child in a hostile world.
Three fifty AM.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
What a horrible dream. It seemed to go on for ever. I was only asleep for twenty five minutes.
It must be my subconscious trying to reprimand me for being asleep through the time to give Lillian the tonic water. She's still asleep. My dream was so disturbing it seems like the whole City should be awakened from the dreadful fear it caused in me. Yet Lillian is ten feet away from me sleeping calmly on the brown leather couch in this Judge's office. Down below us an entire city silently slumbers unaware of me or my problems.
I was dreaming over and over about carrying the forty bottles of tonic water when Lillian and I leave the City. When I was awake sipping cognac earlier it seemed easy to conceal and carry forty bottles of tonic water about and travel and protect a small sick child. But my dream was dreadful and terrifying. Everyone was sinister and malicious in my dream and I was rightly fearful of society about me.
I kept dreaming over and over about how much forty eight ounce bottles would exactly weigh, including the weight of the hard plastic bottles. Twenty pounds plus the bottles. It was critical in my dream world to know the exact weight of the bottles. The weight of the bottles meant something very special in my dream.
Then I was overwhelmed in my dream of how much space twenty eight ounce bottles would occupy and how I would carry the twenty ounce bottles and how I would conceal the bulky cargo.
In my dream if others found out I had the tonic water that may possibly cure or slow the progression to death of the Green Lady virus I was an easy target for others looking to steal the magic liquid.
My dream was so unsettling. How am I going to travel about with a sick child in a hostile City with police and national Guard troops searching for anyone shielding and abetting victims of the Green lady virus. What if Lillian has a relapse. What if I am not there to care for her. Who will watch over her if the virus targets me.
I have been staring out of the window worrying for fifteen minutes in this high up courthouse Judge's office where Lillian and I are temporarily camping out for the night. Tomorrow we have to leave. How will I protect a small helpless child in a hostile world.
Three fifty AM.
end
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
car thief/ part 1
car thief/ part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
Preparation proceeds opportunity. I spent over four months studying Nietzsche before I decided to become a car thief. I stole that first car innocently and without malice. I had read and studied the message of Nietzsche's "Beyond Good and Evil"when someone left a 1994 Honda Accord idling near my apartment complex. Fourteen months later I have stolen over sixty cars and fenced all but three.
I look so nondescript any more. No one takes notice and I have been capitalizing on it. I Walk along in a jogging suit with a cap or hat on carrying a cloth grocery bag and look for cars to steal. Sometimes when I am casing an area I will chat with a few of the neighbors. Ask about the high school baseball team or where's a good place to get a hearty breakfast. I figure if I am ever remembered as being in a vicinity after a robbery I will dismissed as a harmless local.
Stealing cars is a business to me. Car parts stripped after a car is stolen are easiest to sell and turnover is fast. To steal and sell a whole car is cumbersome and I usually avoid it. The exception are Toyota's, Ford Trucks from 1992 to 1997 and of course any Honda. Luxury cars are a mixed bag, I hate to have to fix up a car I have stole before I can sell it. I am a business man, I have to watch my cash flow.
end
part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
Preparation proceeds opportunity. I spent over four months studying Nietzsche before I decided to become a car thief. I stole that first car innocently and without malice. I had read and studied the message of Nietzsche's "Beyond Good and Evil"when someone left a 1994 Honda Accord idling near my apartment complex. Fourteen months later I have stolen over sixty cars and fenced all but three.
I look so nondescript any more. No one takes notice and I have been capitalizing on it. I Walk along in a jogging suit with a cap or hat on carrying a cloth grocery bag and look for cars to steal. Sometimes when I am casing an area I will chat with a few of the neighbors. Ask about the high school baseball team or where's a good place to get a hearty breakfast. I figure if I am ever remembered as being in a vicinity after a robbery I will dismissed as a harmless local.
Stealing cars is a business to me. Car parts stripped after a car is stolen are easiest to sell and turnover is fast. To steal and sell a whole car is cumbersome and I usually avoid it. The exception are Toyota's, Ford Trucks from 1992 to 1997 and of course any Honda. Luxury cars are a mixed bag, I hate to have to fix up a car I have stole before I can sell it. I am a business man, I have to watch my cash flow.
end
part 1
viral attack/ part 4 the scam
viral attack/ part 4 the scam
fiction
edward w pritchard
Lillian and I are living in the basement of the old courthouse. We are very comfortable and at night sometimes we take the boarded up stairs up to the new courtrooms and offices and sleep up there where it's heated and dry.
When I asked a few of my homeless buddies for help, Justin a down and out musician stole three cases of the tonic water that is supposed to inhibit the contamination of the body by the virus, known as " the green lady". It's called the green lady because of the telltale greenish foamy liquid that secretes through the skin of infected victims. Lillian, who is seven, complains sometimes about the after taste of the tonic water but remembering how sick she was she always finishes the entire eight ounce bottle. We have about forty bottles left which is about thirteen days worth. I haven't been infected yet and most of the others living here in the basement aren't likely to steal any of our remaining bottles because they think tonic water is a hoax; remembering the ads for it before for treatment of hair loss and later as a purported prostrate cancer cure.
It's very late and Lillian is sleeping for a long time. We are in a Judges private offices on the eighth floor of the new courthouse. I have a nice view of the city and it is a clear starry sky. Tomorrow I have to decide if we should move out toward the country. The rioting is bad and the national guard and police are conducting building to building searches for squatters like us. Harboring an infected victim of the green lady virus is instant death but I want to leave not because of my self but to help Lillian find a place to be safe until she is feeling well.
I guess I have decided to leave the City. I am drinking Judge Ramer's cognac and smoking a cigar I found in his desk. The poor janitor will probably get in trouble so I need to find something to leave in the Judge's office to let him know that one of us homeless types broke into his private office. It's time to move on but first another glass of Cognac and in a few minutes I'll wake Lillian for another tonic water.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Lillian and I are living in the basement of the old courthouse. We are very comfortable and at night sometimes we take the boarded up stairs up to the new courtrooms and offices and sleep up there where it's heated and dry.
When I asked a few of my homeless buddies for help, Justin a down and out musician stole three cases of the tonic water that is supposed to inhibit the contamination of the body by the virus, known as " the green lady". It's called the green lady because of the telltale greenish foamy liquid that secretes through the skin of infected victims. Lillian, who is seven, complains sometimes about the after taste of the tonic water but remembering how sick she was she always finishes the entire eight ounce bottle. We have about forty bottles left which is about thirteen days worth. I haven't been infected yet and most of the others living here in the basement aren't likely to steal any of our remaining bottles because they think tonic water is a hoax; remembering the ads for it before for treatment of hair loss and later as a purported prostrate cancer cure.
It's very late and Lillian is sleeping for a long time. We are in a Judges private offices on the eighth floor of the new courthouse. I have a nice view of the city and it is a clear starry sky. Tomorrow I have to decide if we should move out toward the country. The rioting is bad and the national guard and police are conducting building to building searches for squatters like us. Harboring an infected victim of the green lady virus is instant death but I want to leave not because of my self but to help Lillian find a place to be safe until she is feeling well.
I guess I have decided to leave the City. I am drinking Judge Ramer's cognac and smoking a cigar I found in his desk. The poor janitor will probably get in trouble so I need to find something to leave in the Judge's office to let him know that one of us homeless types broke into his private office. It's time to move on but first another glass of Cognac and in a few minutes I'll wake Lillian for another tonic water.
end
stock market of future/ 04/26/2013
stock market of future/ 04/26/2013
fiction
edward w pritchard
news
yahoe finance
04/26/2013
The last individually traded stock today pulled out of the New York Exchange. We cannot afford or justify the listing fees to have our stock traded there, "said Myron Scholer" CFO of LSO group, the last company to officially trade on the exchange. "Scholer continued", trading is dominated by ETF, index funds, and discounted Government bonds units from defaulted Countries debt.
Art Casson an old time trader familiar to the floor of the exchange toasted the company LSO with champagne for old times sakes during the official two seconds of silence sponsored by the remaining members of the retail brokers association.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
news
yahoe finance
04/26/2013
The last individually traded stock today pulled out of the New York Exchange. We cannot afford or justify the listing fees to have our stock traded there, "said Myron Scholer" CFO of LSO group, the last company to officially trade on the exchange. "Scholer continued", trading is dominated by ETF, index funds, and discounted Government bonds units from defaulted Countries debt.
Art Casson an old time trader familiar to the floor of the exchange toasted the company LSO with champagne for old times sakes during the official two seconds of silence sponsored by the remaining members of the retail brokers association.
end
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
viral attack/ part 3 the scam
viral attack/ part 3 the scam
fiction
edward w pritchard
The girl is not my grand daughter but I was close to her Grand Mother once and I helped raise her Mother for two years at that time. I decided to pay for the girl's treatment at the cancer center; at least as long as my 401K lasts. Hospitals and other treatment centers won't take hospitalization insurance anymore because of the regulations imposed by our State goverment to combat spread of the virus; which is just as well for I let my health insurance lapse last year.
The staff here have earned their money. They have cleaned up Lillian, that's the girl's name, and have had her for two days on a tonic water and vitamin E treatment. The funny thing is it's the same regiment that my friend was on two years ago before he died here at this very cancer center. Still even though my friend told me just before he died the regiment here is a scam; it's worth it to me to see Lillian looking robust and feeling better.
We will be leaving tomorrow and of course Lillian is not cured of the virus but she is getting her strength back. I am worried about where we will go for there is a lot of rioting and her Mother is dead and I haven't had a proper place to stay in over a year. Actually I have been living on the streets for six months, although I still have some savings. No hotel will take Lillian because of the quarantine so it looks like we will return to the streets where hopefully my contacts can shelter us from the national guard who are detaining infected persons.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
The girl is not my grand daughter but I was close to her Grand Mother once and I helped raise her Mother for two years at that time. I decided to pay for the girl's treatment at the cancer center; at least as long as my 401K lasts. Hospitals and other treatment centers won't take hospitalization insurance anymore because of the regulations imposed by our State goverment to combat spread of the virus; which is just as well for I let my health insurance lapse last year.
The staff here have earned their money. They have cleaned up Lillian, that's the girl's name, and have had her for two days on a tonic water and vitamin E treatment. The funny thing is it's the same regiment that my friend was on two years ago before he died here at this very cancer center. Still even though my friend told me just before he died the regiment here is a scam; it's worth it to me to see Lillian looking robust and feeling better.
We will be leaving tomorrow and of course Lillian is not cured of the virus but she is getting her strength back. I am worried about where we will go for there is a lot of rioting and her Mother is dead and I haven't had a proper place to stay in over a year. Actually I have been living on the streets for six months, although I still have some savings. No hotel will take Lillian because of the quarantine so it looks like we will return to the streets where hopefully my contacts can shelter us from the national guard who are detaining infected persons.
end
viral attack/ part 2 the scam
viral attack/ part 2 the scam
fiction
edward w pritchard
The mayor has declared martial law because of the virus and the news playing on the TV at the cancer clinic where my friend died last year said that the national guard had been called in and were shooting contagious people in the area of the hospital.
end part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
The mayor has declared martial law because of the virus and the news playing on the TV at the cancer clinic where my friend died last year said that the national guard had been called in and were shooting contagious people in the area of the hospital.
end part 2
viral attack/ part 1 the scam
viral attack/ part 1 the scam
fiction
edward w pritchard
I decided to take the girl up town to the cancer clinic where my friend had died last year to try to get her some treatment. It was out of the question to attempt admission for her to the hospital because the virus was spreading fast through her neighborhood and many desperate people lined the area of the hospital. Because of the quarantine the police had been called in to control the crowds.
We took the bus. The bus driver looked away when we entered pretending not to see how sick and terrified the girl looked. The other passengers weren't so kind. The thick oily mucous on the girl's body smelled badly and the greenish foam was unsettling to espy. The shaking girl sobbed wanting her Doctor. Near the cancer clinic but not quite there we got off the bus and I carried trembling child the last few blocks to escape the hostility of the crowded bus.
fiction
edward w pritchard
I decided to take the girl up town to the cancer clinic where my friend had died last year to try to get her some treatment. It was out of the question to attempt admission for her to the hospital because the virus was spreading fast through her neighborhood and many desperate people lined the area of the hospital. Because of the quarantine the police had been called in to control the crowds.
We took the bus. The bus driver looked away when we entered pretending not to see how sick and terrified the girl looked. The other passengers weren't so kind. The thick oily mucous on the girl's body smelled badly and the greenish foam was unsettling to espy. The shaking girl sobbed wanting her Doctor. Near the cancer clinic but not quite there we got off the bus and I carried trembling child the last few blocks to escape the hostility of the crowded bus.
Monday, October 10, 2011
occupy wall street part 4
occupy wall street part 4
fiction
edward w pritchard
this is a part of objectives for occupy wall street October 10, 2011:
1.Universal health care coverage to all Americans.
2. Repudiation of all student loans entered into before today's date
3 All residential mortgages entered into prior to October 10, 2011 to be reduced by 33% immediately
4. Current unemployment status not to be used as a factor in a job interview or as a screening device for on line applications
end
Day of Prayer objectives
Brooklyn New York head quarters
March 24, 2012
1.Universal health care cover age to all Americans.
2. Repudiation of all student loans entered into before today's date
3 All residential mortgages entered into prior to October 10, 2011 to be reduced by 33% immediately
4. Current unemployment status not to be used as a factor in a job interview or as a screening device for on line applications
end
Platform [in part]
Progressive Party
July 2012
1.Universal health care cover age to all Americans.
2. Repudiation of all student loans entered into before today's date
3 All residential mortgages entered into prior to October 10, 2011 to be reduced by 33% immediately
4. Current unemployment status not to be used as a factor in a job interview or as a screening device for on line applications
5. Payment for above changes and programs to be paid by a combination of inflation, market forces and an end to all American foreign wars and overseas permanent troop entrenchments beyond one thousand soldiers.
end
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
this is a part of objectives for occupy wall street October 10, 2011:
1.Universal health care coverage to all Americans.
2. Repudiation of all student loans entered into before today's date
3 All residential mortgages entered into prior to October 10, 2011 to be reduced by 33% immediately
4. Current unemployment status not to be used as a factor in a job interview or as a screening device for on line applications
end
Day of Prayer objectives
Brooklyn New York head quarters
March 24, 2012
1.Universal health care cover age to all Americans.
2. Repudiation of all student loans entered into before today's date
3 All residential mortgages entered into prior to October 10, 2011 to be reduced by 33% immediately
4. Current unemployment status not to be used as a factor in a job interview or as a screening device for on line applications
end
Platform [in part]
Progressive Party
July 2012
1.Universal health care cover age to all Americans.
2. Repudiation of all student loans entered into before today's date
3 All residential mortgages entered into prior to October 10, 2011 to be reduced by 33% immediately
4. Current unemployment status not to be used as a factor in a job interview or as a screening device for on line applications
5. Payment for above changes and programs to be paid by a combination of inflation, market forces and an end to all American foreign wars and overseas permanent troop entrenchments beyond one thousand soldiers.
end
end
occupy wall street -3 /who is we?
occupy wall street -3 /who is we?
fiction
edward w pritchard
Protest on Wall Street. Meanwhile the stock market roars back today as the old regime continues business as usual.
In a park near Wall Street strange affinities are created among the protesters as the shifting interests of various groups jockey for position and a voice. All the while the zeitgeist modifies and shifts; beyond even the stock markets ability to predict or discount. Who is the new we? What spark will unite change?
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Protest on Wall Street. Meanwhile the stock market roars back today as the old regime continues business as usual.
In a park near Wall Street strange affinities are created among the protesters as the shifting interests of various groups jockey for position and a voice. All the while the zeitgeist modifies and shifts; beyond even the stock markets ability to predict or discount. Who is the new we? What spark will unite change?
end
Sunday, October 9, 2011
on marriage
on marriage
fiction
edward w pritchard
Who will not give themselves totally to a lover but who always holds back that part which is them self may one day find themselves alone. However, forgive yourself, the consequences of your reticence is not foreseeable when you are under the throes of loves illusion. Someday's sorrows are not something to be considered initially when you shine as a golden shield in your Love's eyes and heart. Boldly lunge forward to meet Love's thrusts. Much later regrets will be your companion
fiction
edward w pritchard
Who will not give themselves totally to a lover but who always holds back that part which is them self may one day find themselves alone. However, forgive yourself, the consequences of your reticence is not foreseeable when you are under the throes of loves illusion. Someday's sorrows are not something to be considered initially when you shine as a golden shield in your Love's eyes and heart. Boldly lunge forward to meet Love's thrusts. Much later regrets will be your companion
Saturday, October 8, 2011
occupy wallstreet-part 2
Here's something else I wrote before about abrupt social revolution in American. Where will occupy wall street lead. What event will change peaceful unfocused unrest to attempted revolution?
revolution 2 american style
fiction
edward w pritchard
Charles Dickens in A Tale Of two Cities writes of the aristocracy going about their depravities and routines as innocent wood and trees grew in France or far away Norway later to be used for guillotines to behead those same nobles.
In America in 2010 are there dusty contracts of adhesion,- mortgages,- health insurance master contracts,- or tax codes that whisper the same warnings the trees and wood did back in 1788 France?
Our majority of citizenry sinks back and falls behind. The gap between rich and poor grows in America, although both groups are losing relative position to the rest of the world. Is the situation sustainable. Will everyone peacefully and passively fall lower and lose what they once had?
The frontier is closed and the Indians have no more land for us to appropriate. Where will the growth come from to move America forward? Answer unknown, but its probably not educating everybody poorly and saddling them with borrowed tuition debt and fretting that we fall behind in math and science.
Posted by edward pritchard at 6:33 PM Labels: what's next?
revolution 2 american style
fiction
edward w pritchard
Charles Dickens in A Tale Of two Cities writes of the aristocracy going about their depravities and routines as innocent wood and trees grew in France or far away Norway later to be used for guillotines to behead those same nobles.
In America in 2010 are there dusty contracts of adhesion,- mortgages,- health insurance master contracts,- or tax codes that whisper the same warnings the trees and wood did back in 1788 France?
Our majority of citizenry sinks back and falls behind. The gap between rich and poor grows in America, although both groups are losing relative position to the rest of the world. Is the situation sustainable. Will everyone peacefully and passively fall lower and lose what they once had?
The frontier is closed and the Indians have no more land for us to appropriate. Where will the growth come from to move America forward? Answer unknown, but its probably not educating everybody poorly and saddling them with borrowed tuition debt and fretting that we fall behind in math and science.
Posted by edward pritchard at 6:33 PM Labels: what's next?
occupy wall street movement
occupy wall street movement
fiction
edward w pritchard
Listen closely, it's the sound of change. Mock if you wish but you can't stop it from occurring. Needed change is trickling up, from the parks around wall street in New York City. A hard rain will fall and wash away many things. What does it mean?
Here's what I wrote before:
any one can break a window, but
fiction
edward w pritchard
Re: London riots, 08/09/11,
Any one can break a window, but only a master craftsman can build a window. Especially if the window is stained glass of a religious theme.
I am a master craftsman of stained glass windows like my Father before me. I travel all over the English Countryside creating stained glass windows in Gothic churches for the glory of God. I do this like my Father before me , my instructor, as did his Father, and his Grandfather..
My son has decided not to be a creator and builder of stained glass windows. He is breaking with the family tradition.
Instead of creating stained glass windows my son has taken to throwing a rock through one of the stained glass windows myself or my Father or his has created previously. The amazing thing about the situation is that my son has created a living for himself destroying stained glass windows.
Patrons and worshipers at the Churches where the broken windows are housed have taken to seeing secret messages from God in the reflection on the walls of the Churches from the effect of sunlight passing through cracks in the stained glass windows. Hundreds of pilgrims are coming to the Churches to see the secret messages from God.The secret messages are visible on the walls of the churches from the effect of sunlight passing through the hole and crack a rock caused to a stained glass window; a rock that was thrown intentionally by my son. The stained glass windows were originally created to explain the messages of God to those who couldn't read. Now again secret messages from God are revealed to the faithful from interpreting the images on the Church walls caused by light passing through cracks and holes in the stain glass windows.
My son's services are now very valuable. There is a six month wait to hire him to throw a rock through a window that destroys one of the exquisite stained glass windows that I, his Father, or my Father, Grand Father or Great Grand Father has created. I keep very busy myself in and around London creating new stained glass windows for him to break.
Any one can break a window, but only a master craftsman can build a window. Especially if the window is stained glass of a religious theme. Each new generation must create it's own way of looking at the world I suppose.
end
PS author is a great admirer of London, sad about the riots
fiction
edward w pritchard
Listen closely, it's the sound of change. Mock if you wish but you can't stop it from occurring. Needed change is trickling up, from the parks around wall street in New York City. A hard rain will fall and wash away many things. What does it mean?
Here's what I wrote before:
any one can break a window, but
fiction
edward w pritchard
Re: London riots, 08/09/11,
Any one can break a window, but only a master craftsman can build a window. Especially if the window is stained glass of a religious theme.
I am a master craftsman of stained glass windows like my Father before me. I travel all over the English Countryside creating stained glass windows in Gothic churches for the glory of God. I do this like my Father before me , my instructor, as did his Father, and his Grandfather..
My son has decided not to be a creator and builder of stained glass windows. He is breaking with the family tradition.
Instead of creating stained glass windows my son has taken to throwing a rock through one of the stained glass windows myself or my Father or his has created previously. The amazing thing about the situation is that my son has created a living for himself destroying stained glass windows.
Patrons and worshipers at the Churches where the broken windows are housed have taken to seeing secret messages from God in the reflection on the walls of the Churches from the effect of sunlight passing through cracks in the stained glass windows. Hundreds of pilgrims are coming to the Churches to see the secret messages from God.The secret messages are visible on the walls of the churches from the effect of sunlight passing through the hole and crack a rock caused to a stained glass window; a rock that was thrown intentionally by my son. The stained glass windows were originally created to explain the messages of God to those who couldn't read. Now again secret messages from God are revealed to the faithful from interpreting the images on the Church walls caused by light passing through cracks and holes in the stain glass windows.
My son's services are now very valuable. There is a six month wait to hire him to throw a rock through a window that destroys one of the exquisite stained glass windows that I, his Father, or my Father, Grand Father or Great Grand Father has created. I keep very busy myself in and around London creating new stained glass windows for him to break.
Any one can break a window, but only a master craftsman can build a window. Especially if the window is stained glass of a religious theme. Each new generation must create it's own way of looking at the world I suppose.
end
PS author is a great admirer of London, sad about the riots
Friday, October 7, 2011
Jesus raises the dead-reposted
Jesus raises the dead-reposted
fiction
edward w pritchard
Jesus always insists that I accompany him and assist when he raises the dead. That's more than OK with the other followers because it's an ordeal when someone who has been dead for a while is brought back to life. Only Jesus can manipulate death and it's trying and disconcerting to be around the recently brought back to life and it takes it's toll on all those present at the time.
All the disciples and followers of Jesus want to be present when Jesus restores a blind persons sight or cures someone of leprosy. It's theatrical with outpourings of praise and gratitude and large crowds quickly gather as word spreads of miraculous healing. Hero's we are as followers of Jesus then.
When a child is raised from the dead it's solemn and the gratitude of the families is subdued by the presence of death. Even after death leaves a small room an overpowering melancholy surrounds the gathered. The first look that is exchanged between the recently revived child and Jesus is haunting. It follows me in my dreams for months when I have been at Jesus' side as he brings a dead child back to life. Not the parent's immense gratitude can make me forget the scrutinization when a child looks at Jesus after first being raised from the dead.
Why none of the other disciples or followers will assist Jesus when he raises a person from the dead is because of the reaction of an old adult who has been brought back to life miraculously by Jesus of Nazareth. A husband or loving friend has begged Jesus to bring someone back to life. Their faith and hope in Jesus' ability to manipulate death is enormous and Jesus sometimes succumbs and performs a miracle. Jesus out of experience insists that no one else be present in the tomb when the miracle occurs. Except me. I am always present with Jesus when death is defied.
The miracle has occurred successfully and the dead have been brought back to life. This time it's an old woman whose husband couldn't go on without her. She was dead three hours according to the best Doctors here. Now she's alive.
It's so mournful the sound she makes as she sobs. I am holding her. There is something beyond sorrow in her quiet wailing. Jesus understands. He knows what she has seen and experienced and Jesus always collapses for a few moments when death has been beguiled.
I leave the tomb and go to find the husband. The husband rushes hopefully in anticipation. The crowd takes notice. Everyone wants to see what miracle Jesus has done today.
After the miracle of raising the dead Jesus prays and prays in solitude. I approach Jesus then but do not confront him preferring to meet him later at a more appropriate time and place.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Jesus always insists that I accompany him and assist when he raises the dead. That's more than OK with the other followers because it's an ordeal when someone who has been dead for a while is brought back to life. Only Jesus can manipulate death and it's trying and disconcerting to be around the recently brought back to life and it takes it's toll on all those present at the time.
All the disciples and followers of Jesus want to be present when Jesus restores a blind persons sight or cures someone of leprosy. It's theatrical with outpourings of praise and gratitude and large crowds quickly gather as word spreads of miraculous healing. Hero's we are as followers of Jesus then.
When a child is raised from the dead it's solemn and the gratitude of the families is subdued by the presence of death. Even after death leaves a small room an overpowering melancholy surrounds the gathered. The first look that is exchanged between the recently revived child and Jesus is haunting. It follows me in my dreams for months when I have been at Jesus' side as he brings a dead child back to life. Not the parent's immense gratitude can make me forget the scrutinization when a child looks at Jesus after first being raised from the dead.
Why none of the other disciples or followers will assist Jesus when he raises a person from the dead is because of the reaction of an old adult who has been brought back to life miraculously by Jesus of Nazareth. A husband or loving friend has begged Jesus to bring someone back to life. Their faith and hope in Jesus' ability to manipulate death is enormous and Jesus sometimes succumbs and performs a miracle. Jesus out of experience insists that no one else be present in the tomb when the miracle occurs. Except me. I am always present with Jesus when death is defied.
The miracle has occurred successfully and the dead have been brought back to life. This time it's an old woman whose husband couldn't go on without her. She was dead three hours according to the best Doctors here. Now she's alive.
It's so mournful the sound she makes as she sobs. I am holding her. There is something beyond sorrow in her quiet wailing. Jesus understands. He knows what she has seen and experienced and Jesus always collapses for a few moments when death has been beguiled.
I leave the tomb and go to find the husband. The husband rushes hopefully in anticipation. The crowd takes notice. Everyone wants to see what miracle Jesus has done today.
After the miracle of raising the dead Jesus prays and prays in solitude. I approach Jesus then but do not confront him preferring to meet him later at a more appropriate time and place.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
007 turns 66
007 turns 66
fiction
edward w pritchard
M.
007 here
66 today and still spying
I admit I told her everything
Quesedaya
the beautiful Spanish double agent
she walked away when I first met her
my age, I guess I have lost my stinger
now one finds themself always following her about
and thinking of her when alone at night
thanks for the Pinot Bouchane
Golf Wednesday at ten sounds doable
fiction
edward w pritchard
M.
007 here
66 today and still spying
I admit I told her everything
Quesedaya
the beautiful Spanish double agent
she walked away when I first met her
my age, I guess I have lost my stinger
now one finds themself always following her about
and thinking of her when alone at night
thanks for the Pinot Bouchane
Golf Wednesday at ten sounds doable
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Dear Grandma/anti war Pakistan-reposted
Dear Grandma:/anti war Pakistan-reposted
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dear Grandma:
page two
I don't see myself ever having children since the divorce. Nick and I were waiting till I finished graduate school. Now, I don't see myself remarrying or having children. It makes me sad to think about it, regrets and all.
Something interesting. I went down to see cousin Ramses last July two weeks after the final divorce hearing. I always had such a crush on him. First in the ROTC uniform and then as a lieutenant going overseas. I think Ramses was the most handsome man I ever saw. At least that's what I thought when I was twelve. Nick was always jealous of Ramses, now I am glad.
Ramses lives in a small trailer park in Newell, West Virginia on the Ohio river. He's put on a lot of weight and is eccentric since he got back. He made me comfortable and went out of his way to comfort me. He only has a 10 by 10 trailer but I got the couch and he slept on the floor.
Ramses gets up very early. He doesn't sleep well. He goes down to the Ohio River at dawn and sits in an old blue lazy boy chair, the kind with the movable wood handle on the side, and writes and logs the movement of the early morning planets. He does the same thing at dusk.
He told me while I made him some fried walleye one of his white neighbors brought over that he had to chart and log the morning stars because of what he did over there in Pakistan when he was a pilot and squad leader. Apparently he did some thing that he feels he should atone for. He saw a psychologist for a while at the VA hospital in Canton, Ohio but quit driving up last winter because of the ice on the roads.
Ramses said he was part on a unit that along with the flying, pulled dirty tricks on the indigent Muslim supporters of our enemies there. One morning he orchestrated a flight of five jets in formation and with the intense bright exhaust from behind their jets they wrote anti-Muslim symbols in the early morning sky. Ramses won't tell me any further what he did wrong but he feels he was responsible and it happened during Ramadan at dawn, a sacred time to Muslims. He says God took offense and that's why he has to do the penance with the charting of the morning and evening planets.
No, Grandma I don't plan on never dating again. Let's give it some time. I will come and see you in a few weeks. By the way, Ramses doesn't cash his Veteran's monthly checks. They sit on the coffee table in his trailer. You should get Mom to drive you down to see Ramses.
Love,
Katey
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dear Grandma:
page two
I don't see myself ever having children since the divorce. Nick and I were waiting till I finished graduate school. Now, I don't see myself remarrying or having children. It makes me sad to think about it, regrets and all.
Something interesting. I went down to see cousin Ramses last July two weeks after the final divorce hearing. I always had such a crush on him. First in the ROTC uniform and then as a lieutenant going overseas. I think Ramses was the most handsome man I ever saw. At least that's what I thought when I was twelve. Nick was always jealous of Ramses, now I am glad.
Ramses lives in a small trailer park in Newell, West Virginia on the Ohio river. He's put on a lot of weight and is eccentric since he got back. He made me comfortable and went out of his way to comfort me. He only has a 10 by 10 trailer but I got the couch and he slept on the floor.
Ramses gets up very early. He doesn't sleep well. He goes down to the Ohio River at dawn and sits in an old blue lazy boy chair, the kind with the movable wood handle on the side, and writes and logs the movement of the early morning planets. He does the same thing at dusk.
He told me while I made him some fried walleye one of his white neighbors brought over that he had to chart and log the morning stars because of what he did over there in Pakistan when he was a pilot and squad leader. Apparently he did some thing that he feels he should atone for. He saw a psychologist for a while at the VA hospital in Canton, Ohio but quit driving up last winter because of the ice on the roads.
Ramses said he was part on a unit that along with the flying, pulled dirty tricks on the indigent Muslim supporters of our enemies there. One morning he orchestrated a flight of five jets in formation and with the intense bright exhaust from behind their jets they wrote anti-Muslim symbols in the early morning sky. Ramses won't tell me any further what he did wrong but he feels he was responsible and it happened during Ramadan at dawn, a sacred time to Muslims. He says God took offense and that's why he has to do the penance with the charting of the morning and evening planets.
No, Grandma I don't plan on never dating again. Let's give it some time. I will come and see you in a few weeks. By the way, Ramses doesn't cash his Veteran's monthly checks. They sit on the coffee table in his trailer. You should get Mom to drive you down to see Ramses.
Love,
Katey
end
casablanca part 2
casablanca part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
Louie was sitting at his new bar in Casablanca when the news that the Nazi's were torturing poor Rick at headquarters arrived. Louie immediately dismissed the dizzy blond he was sipping Rick's expensive champagne with and contemplated his next move. Rick had been his friend and now Rick was in desperate trouble.
It was the hottest part of the day in Casablanca. The streets would be crowded and dusty and it was a long way to headquarters. Rick, after all had brought his troubles with the Nazi's on himself by interfering and being too outspoken in his views and opinions. Louie had tried to stand up for his friend.
Uncharacteristically Louie ordered Sam his new bartender to give a free round of drinks to the small crowd at his newly acquired bar; and later him and his dizzy blond friend toasted Rick while Sam played a few sad songs on the piano.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Louie was sitting at his new bar in Casablanca when the news that the Nazi's were torturing poor Rick at headquarters arrived. Louie immediately dismissed the dizzy blond he was sipping Rick's expensive champagne with and contemplated his next move. Rick had been his friend and now Rick was in desperate trouble.
It was the hottest part of the day in Casablanca. The streets would be crowded and dusty and it was a long way to headquarters. Rick, after all had brought his troubles with the Nazi's on himself by interfering and being too outspoken in his views and opinions. Louie had tried to stand up for his friend.
Uncharacteristically Louie ordered Sam his new bartender to give a free round of drinks to the small crowd at his newly acquired bar; and later him and his dizzy blond friend toasted Rick while Sam played a few sad songs on the piano.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)