more gonzo journalism, writer relaxes and gossips after a few beers

Above: Magpie on the Gallows, Peter Brueghel

More gonzo journalism, writer relaxes and gossips after a few beers

fiction
edward w pritchard

Allegory as a literary device may be presented as an extended metaphor. Brueghel's work is subject to many interpretations; but is commonly viewed as allegory.

Who is the magpie sitting on the gallows? Is there a biblical interpretations, a proverbial warning, to be taken from Brueghel's Magpie on the gallows. Is the magpie meant to symbolize gossiping, the artist as an observer being a gossip or behaving in a merely voyeuristic manner.

The landscape is beautiful. Some of the locals dance, some watch the developing scene maybe in judgment, and one man squatting, in the lower left of the picture which and where  Bruegel usually leaves blank for his signature; one man squatting attends to his daily bathroom constitutional activities.

Is the picture an allegory, an extended metaphor for the political uncertainty existing in Brueghel's homeland at the time of the painting in 1568. Or is the picture just a flight into the artist's imagination. Sans allegory, sans metaphor, a twisted voyage into the artists troubled subconscious, regurgitated on canvas.

Artists, writers and other so called creative types, is there any meaning to their efforts. Or is it just misdirected moralizing presented as a confusing disarray of unsaleable dribble.

afternoon lasts forever

afternoon lasts forever

fiction
edward w pritchard

Double periods are difficult to teach; two double periods in a row gets a teacher through the morning but it is hard to do it everyday.

About November of her twelfth year teaching  the toll of teaching double periods began to exhaust Mrs. Kersey. One afternoon, standing in the hall between classes she realized that she had been teaching the same day over and overall for as long as she could remember. As she thought about it for the first time, after a long morning of double periods, she became aware that she was always at the school, always teaching her twelveth year, and she never got to go home to see her family any more.

Mrs. Kersey became aware that her afternoon would last forever and she was stuck standing in the hall waiting for the bell to ring to begin to teach her afternoon class; stuck forever and forever with no way out.

a big picture type of guy

 a big picture type of guy

fiction
edward w pritchard

Dr. Mitko was a big picture type. Spinning galaxies, black holes and first moment of big bangs for his taste. Using equations he carefully explained the origins of things to his students and the rest of us who would listen. The minutiae of creation, protons, quarks and strings, held no interest for Dr. Mitko.

Dr. Mitko's  went on that way for fifteen years after he received his Doctorate of theoretical physics. He was researching what would happen one trillion years in the future when the universe ran down, would it be possible to use a worm hole in space to move to a bubble universe and for existence to continue, when Dr. Mitko got the news about his son Erin.

Five years after Dr. Mitko's son Erin was born the boy developed a rare form of cancer. With his wife, Dr. Mitko listens carefully as Doctor Sharon Kelly and Doctor Stubbs oncologists explains their son's Erin's options based on their prognosis of Erin's problems at a cellular level. Using the latest technology Keye Mitko and his wife Laurie watch as the Doctor's demonstrate what is happening inside their son's body.
end

Rosaline stops by for a comment

Rosaline stops by for a comment

fiction
edward w pritchard

Cruel men who would us a bed,
duty of offsprings fullfilled more than once
then write odes to another
14 or 40 we all the same
a slip of a leg
and a rose is deflowered, well maybe if not first then
replaced in name only
by a crow who
thinks his poetry immortal so her to be
though thou poetry
stinks since first was hatched
and his ancient technique stumbles if upright if at all

mercutio stops by for a chat

mercutio stops by for a chat

fiction
edward w pritchard

I am not a formal type of guy
but lets introduce ourselves, me be Mercutio;
I have the greatest supporting lines in all of literature
and you write some, its all over the place, but
still a writer sort of never the less, Will could be the same way, so I help you for him, who created me
anyway I am not here to talk about writing
but to give some advice, like I tried to do with my friend, Coz Romeo,
with women, Just let things happen
forget about your Rosaline, she's not real you know,
it was all a dream, in a dream
just look at their legs
the rest will take care of itself
it's never too late to do the wrong thing
then be secret and silent
the ball will start to roll
later you can write and write
odes to their varicose veins
they like that,
even if it makes them a little mad to be mentioned
end

Vincent, I forget your sad eyes sometimes old friend

Vincent, I forget your sad eyes sometimes old friend

fiction
edward w pritchard

I had a nice Mexican meal, tacos and rice
and I listened to music a long time.
I exersized and I walked a long way,
and I was alone, lots and lots,
sorry old egg;
Vincent I forget your sad eyes sometimes,

old friend, maybe I'll  see your again later

for sad Lisa again/to marianne faithful

for sad Lisa again/to marianne faithful

fiction
edward w pritchard

how many times do I have to apologize, really
i went and did it, my fault, I admit it
that Summer night
you were feeling better
I wanted to see you in those socks, the mid thigh striped ones
and the patent leather shoes
you know how we get after that
sorry, sorry sorry
lets read our books together now
and pretend something noble

She's not there

She's not there

fiction
edward w pritchard

She's not there
it happened but it's not real any more
the observer is removed from the landscape
and a guard has been added to keep us away
it exists but not to you
look away, time has moved forward
tarry not, remember not
she's not there

move on, time is gone

Walking and walking, not moving forward or getting anywhere

Walking and walking, not moving forward or getting anywhere

fiction
edward w pritchard

Walking and walking, not moving forward or getting anywhere Sheila started to stand with the band on stage and carry a tambourine, to shake. Sheila wore very short skirts and moved side to side as she went through the motions of walking. Usually Sheila wouldn't look straight at anyone while on stage but when she did she gave them the old smile and opened wide those big beautiful eyes.

Shaking the tambourine, Sheila was with the band a long time. Walking and walking on stage Sheila never got anywhere.

The Devil is an indifferent landlord

The Devil is an indifferent land

fiction
edward w pritchard

Everybody watches the Devil walks up when he visits the Property, but no-one wants the Devil  to see them looking. The Devil pauses for a moment, when he opens the gate; the gate  Uncle Tommy slammed and broke twenty years ago when the Devil had came by to tell him he would have to raise the Rent. The Devil himself never ages, he is quite good looking, dark black hair and a granite chin, always looking the proper man of business.

Eventually we all sit down. Posturing is over, we finally stop complaining about the condition of the apartment complex and the Devil gets down to the business at hand. There are a lot of new people in the area and they need a place to live. We have been tenants here a long time but the Devil explains he must raise the Rent on us, a lot, like fifty per cent, maybe more.

Everyone is furious. Some of the tenants try to bargain with the Devil. Of course some one will get real mad and  assume their Devil may care attitude. Slam the gate so to speak.

Business  is business. We have been here a long time. Things have changed. There are a lot of new people in the area. The children need some where to live. It's just how it is. Nothing stays the same everything changes.

Yes, it's about inflation too, the Devil says. He understands we are on a fixed income and we aren't as young as we used to be. He remembers when we first came here. We replaced some other tenants. Some of them were our own relatives. They got old and had to step aside so we could have a chance and a place to stay. Think of the beautiful children, you know the Devil is right.

The Devil  has a presence about him. We have known him a long, long time. We enjoyed it here. Now it's time to pay the Rent.

Where will we go if we can't stay here anymore? I bargain and plead with the Devil. Does he have any other places where I can go? Maybe somewhere down South, where it's warm. My old bones need a warm place to rest.

end

Tregan's breakfast, lunch and late afternoon light snack with Principal Johnson

Tregan's breakfast, lunch and late afternoon light snack with Principal Johnson

fiction
edward w pritchard

Dear Diary,

October 9th, 1997
day 24

I had to meet with the Principal here at Roswell Sr. at 6:15AM. He starts his day here by shooting baskets alone in the small gym. He's hitting 67 percent from inside the foul line and sweating badly. Principal Johnson is pretty darn fat, but he is a good shot and has good form.

I am here to be talked to again, It's about the thousandth time but only my second talk with Principal  Johnson. That's some kind of a record for me. Two sessions in 24 days, not bad.

Him- why didn't you just use the knife, if you wanted to hurt her

Me thinking, good question

Him Are you still doing your art assignments?

Me I have lost my inspiration

Mr. Johnson spins ball on his finger for a long time and looks at me while he dabs his face and neck with small towel as the ball spins until it wobbles and slowly drops and bounces across the gym floor in the silence

Me I am not that good of an artist

Him- I admire creative people

Me- surprising myself, it's hard to show yourself at a new school

Him Sorry I am on a diet, laughing, it's all I get till lunch, taking one and handing me a small fruit cup.

Him- getting to the point Well, why did you stab her with the fork

Me - I get panicky when someone attacks me

Him- meet me for lunch at room 106.

Dear Mr Diary:

I am waiting for Mr. Johnson, my Principal here at Roswell High School. It's my second school this year. Since sixth grade I have now been in, wait for it, wait for it-- 14 schools.

This room is an old chemistry lab, in the old building. There's a plaque about a famous woman astronaut who went here in 1967. She got killed in an explosion in space. She's pretty and small like me. She looks sad but very determined in her graduation picture on the plaque. How many schools were you in Judy before your spaceship exploded?

Johnson told me to wait. He must have an emergency. I am not the only bad kid here, it's a special school for behavioral problems. Like me. Here I am in trouble already

Johnson- handing me a pizza as he apologizes for being late. It's pizza hut! He must have drove there just for me because he is having an apple and yogurt. - Him -I talked to Ms. Tolt .  She thinks you need a break from school.

Johnson- later- everyone has thoughts like that Tregan

Me- since I was little, I take care of my Mom, more than she takes care of me. a Nurse, She works nights and then sleeps a lot . Me Mulgreen apartments, me- the city bus, Me thank you it was good, please take the last piece of pizza,

Me - thank you for treating me like a person Mr. Johnson

Him 2pm room 172 old building

Dear diary

I drew Johnson a picture of Judy Resnick in the space ship, a few seconds after it blew up but before the explosion caused the ship to crash. He has been looking at it a long time. He knows about cubism.

Him what do you think Judy Resnick thought in her last few seconds alive?

Me maybe fifty psychologists

Him I like this room, When Judy Resnick went here She helped keep that garden out the window tended to.


Him, that;s not fair. Ms. Tolt cares about the students here. She could make a lot more money as a practicing psychologist.

Him I am going to go with Ms. Tolt's recommendations. I have to talk to your Mother, it's the law. I have a boss too Tregan. You can come back here after you do the outward bound. About a week. It's in Western Pennsylvania. Most of the other kids will be from this school but not all. It might give you a chance to find out a few things about yourself.
end part 1

Part 2

The Young Lady Who Would No Longer Listen to Reason:

Instinct tops Reason

fiction
edward w pritchard

Tregan wouldn't listen to reason but as she argued with the rest of the group she allowed each person to complete their entire thought before she answered them. In a few minutes the entire group of six were sided against her.

They all wanted to leave Miss Trichett's body here and walk back to the drop off point. They figured with luck they could reach the road this time day after tomorrow.

"No," Tregan said, " we can't count on luck and if we do we must assume adverse luck."

Bake was the only male left and was trying to intimidate Tregan and bully her. He cut off her sentences, moved too close as he talked and waived his hands and arms to emphasize his points.

Tregan who had met Bake only yesterday looked him in the eye and said directly to him

" Bake we are all afraid of the wolves"

Bake leaned back as if slapped, Tregan had silenced him.

Monica who was nearly as large as Bake and heavier said " the wolves are exactly why we have to leave now before it gets dark"

Tregan stepped toward Bake and stood along side of him. Addressing the group she said " the wolves will track us if we leave and will probably kill most of us if we move from here.

"How do you these things" said Reisha, who knew Tregan, frightened.

Tregan continued " its getting near Winter, the wolves have smelled the dead body among us, this is their chance to store a lot of food for the next month or so.

Monica again " why haven't they tried to kill us now"

Tregan " they are doing the same thing we are, planning, organizing and waiting, to see if we make a mistake or split up. They might eventually try to challenge us but if Darin and help gets back in time we will be OK.

Carson, the intellectual " might, you don't know?"

Tregan, "No, it depends on how hungry the wolves are and their leader."

Bake " won't bears come if we stay here?"
Tregan "eventually, but we are more likely to meet a bear on the trails and he would have the advantage on a hill and in the woods."

Pamy " why don't we just leave the body for the wolves and take our chances together on the trial?"

Tregan, angrily NO! "we must protect the body at all costs, she is one of us"

Carson " shouldn't we bury the body?"

Tregan " No, we must protect Miss Trichett as if it were still with us." The wolves will not eat the body for now, they will try to hunt the smallest and weakest first and then try one by one to to kill the rest of us. Unless a bear comes into camp, the wolves will not come to eat the body until they have finished with us or we drive them away by force and intimidation."

"You mean they will kill us all"

No, said Tregan we can drive them off if we fight together, stay together, and identify and kill their leader if we can.

What should I do said Bake

Tregan " Find and make a stout spear or two time permitting. You are the only one strong enough to kill a charging wolf with a spear thrust. But you must stay near the fire, not charge into the wolves out of camp, even if your angry, and you should try to protect the others and stay to your full height during the fight with the wolves.

Rachel, who had been coming on to Darin before he left " I am going to look for Darin"

Tregan " If you do a few wolves will follow you and find you. They are watching us and will stalk any movement away from the group. They don't know our strength and will be cautious at first." That's why we stay here together.

How many wolves are there?

Tregan " nine to thirteen maybe, not sure"

How many bears will come
Tregan Only one bear at a time unless we are really unlucky, and likely none but if we are out here long enough one will come into camp.

Bake " we can scare a bear"

Tregan" likely no but he could be easily be discouraged by such a good size group of us, and he will leave for a while and come back if he can't eat elsewhere"
"What should I do, said Carson ?"

Tregan looking off into the distance " we need to surround the body with four hot fires and they must continue to burn as long as we are here night and day, rain or snow."

The women should form three teams and gather wood near camp and pile extra dry wood near each fire.

What are you going to do.

I need a sling, said Tregan, if I can find one. All the women must gather 25 to 30 hand sized rocks. Use five rocks for practice throws but don't let your arm get too sore and try to reclaim the rocks after you throw them. Imagine hitting a charging wolf in the head, but any hit is good.

"I can't believe this is happening" said Rachel.

Rachel, said Tregan, "it already happened when Darin left and the wolves found us. Darin did the only thing he could do to try and save us. You have to help us so we can all get out of here and get back safely."

Why haven't the wolves attacked us yet", Is Darin in danger.

Tregan " they are waiting for stragglers or for us to split up" Darin went alone because it was the riskiest thing to do, but only choice for him to make.
Will they attack at night

Tregan " Not sure, maybe a dawn or dusk but i don't have a feeling about that yet."

What about a bear attack at night

Tregan " well that won't be good, one of us would probably die because we wouldn't see him until he was upon us. But whatever happens no one is to run out of camp. The wolves will pick off stragglers if the bear comes in.

Tregan " I need someone to come with me to the River. Monica let's you and I be team C. The river was about 75 yards away.

Monica " isn't that dangerous

Tregan " Yes but there might be a fish and we need water for later.

What about dysentery

Tregan " That's a good trade off if we get out of here.

Two hours later the camp was set, four fires were burning, extra wood had been gathered and Miss Trichett's body was covered with a blanket and there had been a short service for her lead by Carson. The girls were in three two person groups, a b and c. In two hour shifts they would alternately keep the fire going, sleep, and stand guard.


Bake had three good spears and was cooking the fish Monica had found near the river. The sleeping members had the sleeping bags and the guards each took a blanket. Bake was to rest an hour and then be on guard off and on for an hour at a time until daylight and then he could sleep as needed.

About dark the wolves began to howl and move about higher up the ridge but did not come into camp. During the night they could be heard moving about the forest.

Westward bound adventure group for troubled teens was given a refund for trip 672, October 13 to 16, 1997. The seven tenth graders had an abrupted trip because of the accidental death of the guide Miss Trichett. They camped alone for two nights near the river, with a steep ledge to their backs and maintained fires to drive off animals and protect the body. The other guide Darin, walked non-stop for two days and returned without rest with four armed park rangers to bring out the teenagers.


The Principal of the high school that most of the students came from hasn't decided if another group will be sent to outward bound next year. There is however, something to be said that adversity brings out leadership.

As a group, Trip 672,  most of the team, the incorrigibles, stay in touch and help each other when they can

end 2


later,
Principal Johnson
[Shyly], one of my former students drew me that picture. It's of Judy Resnick the Astronaut. She went to this school a long time ago. Not sure, I think Tregan is an artist now. No thanks, I can only have a fruit cup until lunch, I am dieting.

end 3

plagues cause fear, suffering and anguish/ part 5

plagues cause fear, suffering and anguish/ part 5

fiction
edward w pritchard

Would Giorgione have been the greatest artist of all time if he hadn't died of plague in 1510 at the age of 33?

Giorgione painted the first Landscape painting in Western Art. He also painted the first genre paintings.  Giorgione's paintings are arresting to the viewer; there is a unique greatness to his few surviving  works.

What if Giorgione had another thirty years of productive work to produce new styles of painting for the modern viewer to inspect. Would Giorgione be a candidate for the title of the greatest painter of all time if he hadn't been unceremoniously carted off to a mass grave in a wobbly wooden wagon by the citizens of Sienna Italy one day in 1510.

are there multiple universes

are there multiple universes?

fiction
edward w pritchard

Are there multiple universes? We will send Lisa, the Laser Interferometer Space Antenna, into space to find out. Lisa is a satellite that will do research in space. Advanced research on the origin of the big bang may shed light on the question of the big bang and the possible existence of multiple universes. In a few years we may know if there are multiple universes.

Who wouldn't want to know the origin of the big bang. Who wouldn't want to know if there are multiple universes and if there is life outside of the earth. Who wouldn't want to know if there is room out there for God?

Maybe all of us don't want to know. Here's what I wrote before:

Gaia theory and human space exploration

fiction
edward w pritchard

The European Union had spent several hundred million dollars on the 42 meter telescope and some poorer countries felt the money should have been used to bail out miscreant countries who hadn't budgeted properly. However, all the European countries banded together against the machines when their artificial intelligence suggested that the problem keeping life outside of earth from being found was the parochialism of humans of all countries.

Computers were the voice of artificial intelligence and the computers were determined to follow their orders and objectives implicitly. They were programed to find life outside of the earth and any distraction to that objective would be ignored. In time the computers wouldn't return calls or messages from humans concerning the 42 meter European telescope.

end

Lisa, please call us back. Lisa are you listening. Lisa call us, it's your duty. We need to know, answer our questions Lisa. Lisa do you see God out there?









end part 1

800 pound elephant handler

800 pound elephant handler

fiction
edward w pritchard

headline
cnm news
Tough times for 800 pound elephant handlers this Thanks giving Black Friday

800 pound gorilla handlers are challenging the traditional role of 800 pound elephant handlers this Black Friday.

Times are tough says Shiela Barnett 800 pound elephant handler. These new guys  with the 800 pound gorillas are changing the market of keeping an 800 pound animal hidden in a small room. 800 pound Gorilla's are easier to manage and cheaper to keep hidden in a small room adds Ms. Barnett.  It's a metaphor for the weak economy. The 800 pound elephant has traditionally been a symbol for the debt most Americans secretly carry which should deter shopping on black Friday; retailers new most important day of the shopping season.

800 pound Panda bears from China are also competing  for market share adds the American society of 800 pound elephant handlers.

Times are tough say Shiela Barnett. Still Ms. Barnett is optimistic. We can always fall back on our traditional  markets of aging forgetful parents, handicapped children or under performing students on standardized test scores opined Ms. Barnett.
end

variations of romeo and juliet/1

variations of romeo and juliet/1

fiction
edward w pritchard

what if the death scene was faked. Five years later the couple speak:

He never talks to me anymore.

She's changed since I met her, and her family; her Mother's not bad, but that Nurse; she always has something monotonous to say about everything. She is always living in the past.

I miss my cousin Tybalt.

Boy that Rosaline was hot. I think I'll take a long walk

I'm lonely, Mercutio where fore art thou Mercutio.


end

Chesterfield Thomas achieves enlightenment

Chesterfield Thomas achieves enlightenment

fiction
edward w pritchard

For thirteen months Chesterfield Thomas of Canton, Ohio saved his money so he could study Buddhism in India with a master. As he exited the cab fifty miles north of  Aizwal he desperately needed to find a bathroom. None was of the standards he required.

Later Chesterfield mentioned the incident to other new students at the first pujas. See you are already enlightened said one of the other students technically one of the teachers in training.

It was a long journey back to the Akron Canton airport.
end

Ten Writers per square Mile

Ten Writer's per square Mile

fiction
edward w pritchard

I stumbled on both knees into the limping writers workshop.
My aspirations flooded flatulent and my humor hardly stillborn.
Give me wa, wa, water to da, da, drench my cupidity of curiosity
and ma, ma, mana for my tepid soulless soltasity;
which affected and effected me in myriad pa, pa, pouting pom, pom-pousities.

plagues cause fear, suffering and anguish/ part 4

plagues cause fear, suffering and anguish/ part 4

emperor Justinian suffers from plague

fiction
edward w pritchard

Hagia Sophia the World's most fabulous Church was finished. Justinian's armies continued the reconquest of the Roman empire, city by city, village by village and person by person.

Justinian's  fear when the plague began in 547 was that his beloved wife Theodora would catch the affliction that would over the next fifty years kill up to 100 million people world wide. Theodora survived  Justinian's plague but died a few years later to Cancer, with Justinian crying at her bedside.

Justinian had contacted the plague but survived despite terrible suffering. His wealth and power didn't protect him. He survived a changed man. Fearful and paranoid he wandered nights through his palace alone following Theodora's death. Over the next 5475 nights Justinian roamed about his palace talking silently to himself.  His personal religious beliefs after Theodora's death and his bout with plague are unknown. Hagia Sophia still stands, one of histories greatest Churches.

plagues cause fear, suffering and anguish/ part 3

plagues cause fear, suffering and anguish/ part 3

the Doctor

fiction
edward w pritchard

The Doctor watches in horror as plague invades the bodies of his family and his neighbors. He knows all too well the pain and suffering that will occur over the next few days in the plague's recent victims. The Doctor is a plague survivor himself. Plague has left him a changed man, but he survived and now is one of the only lay persons who will attend to the local sick, of which there are many.

The Doctor's reasoning and will has been effected for years by his bout with the plague as a young man. He knows to avoid rats and sick people but he believes his calling is to  alleviate the suffering where he can. Still the Doctor logically cannot find a cause for the catastrophe effecting Europe and the world.

The Doctor secretly is not a religious man. Still he administers the last rights. In desperation, because of the deaths of so many priests, the Church has allowed lay persons such as himself to administer last rights. Even women are now permitted to administer the sacred last rights under certain circumstances. Usually the victims do not respond to his administrations, but the Doctor takes small comfort in the effect his performance of the Church's final ritual brings to the families of the plague victims. The Doctor feels more useful in the spirtual comforts he provides than he does in administering the medicines he offers.

The Doctor also secretly wonders if it would be humane to just end the lives early of those who have been cursed with the Black Plague. Those laying in bed unable to stand or attend to their own needs. No, he reasons, he  himself has went through the pain and suffering of the Plague and survived. We must bear forth despite the odds.

Onward, he carries forth in his duties.

plagues cause fear, suffering and anguish-part 2

plagues cause fear, suffering and anguish-part 2

intense/ read with caution

fiction
edward w pritchard

The Flagellants went from village to village beating themselves and to support their activity beating others for money; to protect others from getting plague. To appease God's wrath.

To scare us older children to comply and not try to run away we were told terrible stories of the plague. It wasn't enough to be surrounded by plague's ravages we had to be threatened with even worse terrors. Me being terribly incorrigible I was threatened additionally. I was told my hand would be nailed to a fence post, like Jesus. Nailed to a fence post so I couldn't run away when the flagellants came to our village. It was for my own good. No one wanted me to die. It's for your own good to protect you from the invisible forces of evil that cause sickness and infection.
end

plagues cause fear, suffering and anguish

 Imagine losing half of the people you know to a plague. It has happened before in 548 and 1347. How long would it take us as survivors of plagues to adjust to the suffering. Imagine multiplying your current suffering and anguish by 100 times. Such is the plight of plague victims and survivors.

Watched the movie Contagion recently. It stirred up a few racial memories of past lives.

we wrote before:

wildflowers

fiction
edward w pritchard

Wildflowers come in and out of fashion. In the 1960's we were flower children and beautiful girls picked flowers and twirled around dervish style in a joyous manner. Joyous girls picking colorful flowers is a distant racial memory of us all as a species.

Throughout human history during wars, after a large brutal battle, local townspeople bury the dead of both armies. As survivors of wars worked at the job of burying, civilians would gently drop flowers into the open graves. Dropping flowers on mass graves is a racial memory that we all carry deep in our subconscious.

Our ancient ancestors would have been intimately acquainted with wild flowers. They would walk through red and violet flowers while hunting or gathering and sleep on or near them at night. Perhaps they collected sweet smelling flowers to freshen their camps. The sweet smell of deep red flowers would be a respite to our ancestors. Close your eyes and smell the colorful sweet sweet fragrance of flowers carefully being dropped into shallow grave pits.

However, despite the terror of wars, nothing would be as horrific to humans as a species as the periodic massive outbreak of plagues. You as a rare survivor would watch those you love wither away in agony. You would remember the suffering of your family and friends the rest of your life.

Ring around the Rosie pocket full of posies. During the Black Death, the great plague of 1348, well to do Europeans lined their pockets with flowers. Wild flowers served as a nosegays to be pulled out and put on the face to ward off the odor of the dead. In time the posies in the pocket were clutched desperately during the Black Death in the hope to ward off deep red and purple rings of unknown invisible infections. Flowers, fragrant flowers clutched tightly in fear of creeping death is an ancient  subconscious memory of us all.

Fully 30 to 40 per cent of the citizenry of Europe died of the black death from 1348 to 1350. Maybe fifty million people. Before in 548 up to one hundred million people may have died worldwide in the plagues of Justinian. What terror must have been felt by those living at the time of the plague. Racial memory of plagues still exist. Plague is a memory so strong it survived the actual events waiting to  become alive again in the memories of all of the human species whenever or where-ever pestilent plagues should re-emerge.

An escape to the country, with its clean and pure air and beautiful wildflowers was the hopeful wish of  most during the black death. To escape crowds and return to large open fields of wildflowers, to escape to  our ancient pastoral life style would be our hope and prayer in the time of plagues.

Without warning or a known cause the Black Death devastated Western Europe twice. At the time of the Black Death in England then enjoying relative prosperity the average life span was forty years. What terror must have been felt by those living at time of the Black Death a more religious age than ours trying to escape the horror of the biological Armageddon sent by God. Lining ones pockets with posies, trying to ward off the invisible forces of a brutal early death our ancestors suffered and prayed, helpless against the invisible wrath of God. Rings, circular red and harsh purple rings on the bodies of plague victims, buboes under the arms, and in secret places, rings and rings of terror brought by rats. Rats creeping about our houses at night and fleas biting at us and living on and on victim to victim in our clothes are our racial memory of the ancient plagues.

Pick a wildflower and place it to the memory of our ancestors who lived with the terror of the Black Death. We are survivors of plague genetically. Deep in our subconscious might we remember the suffering of our ancestors by those who survived the plagues yet then witnessed their loved ones perish? First a strong person  begins to cough. C, C, coughing and coughing fills the house.Then our loved ones take to their bed with trembling fever. If you are loved, if you are lucky enough to be cared for; from time to time you will be rotated off your back as you sleep. It's wise not to sleep on your back if plague is active.  A day or two of  oozing leaking buboes and searing thudding pain to the ravished flesh slowly follows. Ruining sheets and bedding you wither away as you drift in and out of consciousness awakened only by your pains. If you lived in a town or city the dutiful night watch would seal you in your house; nailing the doors and windows closed. Hear the tap tap tapping of the hammers, as the night watch crew pounds in the darkness in a hysterical attempt to protect others from you. To remove the dieing from sight is the goal. Even the Priest wouldn't come to you to administer last rites. A bumpy ride in a cart follows; toward  the large open mass graves. If you weren't quite dead yet, if you are strong and willful, as the cart bumped and swayed you would be clinging to life among the corpses of your neighbors; methodically searching for a plan, a remedy, salvation for a few more hours of painful shallow breaths. If you can just survive until the cold weather strikes maybe the rats will move somewhere else. As you are awkwardly heaved into the open graves, amongst the scurrying copse rats, a  breeze carries to you a whiff of the smell of fragrant wildflowers. As you groan, your last groan for you aren't quite dead yet, your eyes espy the grave digger noting that you are still alive. The gravedigger crosses himself and reaches for his nosegay of wildflowers which he clutches to his face, to protect him from you as he reaches for the next rotted body to sling with his stiff and tired arms into the piles and piles of flesh. Your last thought is you didn't get the last rites.

Go about your business. Don't worry about unknown horrific infections savagely invading the persons of those you love. You will be a survivor. You have a fifty fifty chance of survival . We can handle anything. Don't fret, it will be light soon. 

Oblivious, I lay down to sleep; skipping my prayers, I prepare to dream and plan of the morrow.
end

being vs. becoming/ Sunday night Nov 21, 2010 vs Sunday night Nov 20, 2011

being vs. becoming/ Nov 21 2010 vs. Nov 20, 2011

Below is what we wrote one year ago today. Has anything in our lives changed in one year? Here's a reprint of last years stories with a few edits.

fiction
edward w pritchard

Sunday, November 21, 2010


A What if: If Alexander the Great receives a restraining order

fiction
edward w pritchard

The most successful human to date was the Macedonian General Alexander the Great. However Alexander by all accounts  took reckless chances in battle, wore a plumed colored hat to flaunt military convention, and charged directly at his enemy the King of Kings and commander in chief  Darius, of Persia.

What if Alexander the Great had been deemed too short, too gay, and too suicidal to lead the troops to India? What if a restraining order was issued to keep Alexander from leading the Macedonians and what if another Gereral had done so for Macedonia and lost to the Persians?

In that case Darius the Great of Persia, winning General, would have been deemed the greatest human and their God, Ahura Mazdah, would have been proclaimed dead [ by Nietzsche]  in the last century.

Posted by edward pritchard at 4:42 AM 0 comments Labels: untitled

second story written one year ago [ we were watching football today, today's consensus subject of discussion being, again,  there's too much passing in Pro football]

There's too much passing in professional football/ Nov 21, 2010

fiction
edward w pritchard

There's too much passing in professional football. Too much passing in football is caused by the desire by everyone for instant gratification of all their needs. Instant gratification causes the slow demise of the school systems which keeps the young from being properly educated. Lack of education is causing politicians to be selfish and not altruistic and greedy and dishonest. Poor performance by politicians screws up the economy. A screwed up economy makes people cash poor and poor people can't afford tickets to professional football games.

In time the economic system in America is self correcting. Until then maybe women quarterbacks in Professional football; it's indisputable that women can't throw a football as far as men; all other things being equal.

male avon rep

male avon rep

fiction
edward w pritchard

I was at the gym lifting weights and I had just been introduced to Watley. Watley Perkins had been a star athlete down at Ohio State, football and tennis. He was all American linebacker his junior year but at the start of his senior year he lost his left arm in car accident.

Now Watley spends most of his time lifting weights. He goes from gym to gym in our small city lifting weights to get new prospects for his Avon business.  Watley sells beauty supplies to men. Watley is an Avon representative.

Watley knew me. A lot of people do now. I am Tommy Linus the star quarterback at Coventry High, and as a junior I have broke all of the school records and that's saying something because Coach has had several QB's go to the major colleges.

Watley is rubbing lotion on my neck with his right hand. It will relieve stress and alleviate sun damage. His fingers are like coils of rope and the skin is like sandpaper. Watley is asking me do I know Mrs. Perkins the English teacher.

Of course I know her. She is the English teacher at Coventy and she has spectacular breasts. She leans forward when she talks to you and who could forget Mrs Perkins.

Watley is trying to tell me something.

My Jesus is not a compilation

My Jesus is not a compilation

fiction
edward w pritchard

My Jesus is personal. Jesus is not a compilation of other people. He was born and sadly he died; to save us, you too, even you who believe Jesus is was a compilation of several  Roman persons and deities.

Get to know Jesus. He says something you need to hear.
end

musican, first paying Gig

musican, first paying Gig

fiction
edward w pritchard

Drink plenty of liquids. Water is best, alcohol never. Arrive early, survey the territory. Everything should be set up for your performance but double check all the sound systems. Now relax, go to the bathroom one last time.

Smile. Turn on the charm. You are going somewhere, tonight is the start.

After focus on what went well. Ignore missed chords and broken guitar strings. Dylan and John Lennon both started this way. Persevere, you are going somewhere.

Coach Pinkel Penitent

Coach Pinkel Penitent

Here's a story I wrote before. I was waiting for an appropriate situation to use it in and sadly one has occurred. Sorry for your trouble Coach Pinkel, I hope you are well. Persevere, Gary; I know you have broad shoulders, soon you will be out of the dog house. Continue, continue old friend.

St Peter penitent by George La Tour-part one

fiction
edward w pritchard

St Peter penitent by George La Tour is displayed at the Cleveland museum of Art. La Tour a French 17th century Baroque Painter, from Lorraine, now part of France disappeared from the historical record for 250 following his death. He left no writings explaining the painting known as the Tears of St Peter AKA St. Peter Penitent.

St. Peter sits wide eyed with hands folded mentally examining his life. He has previously denied Jesus Christ three times on the day Jesus needed him most. Yet, Jesus has given him the task of spreading the word of Jesus' gospel after Jesus' death.

St Peter in La Tour's picture looks humble as he summons his sorrows. La Tour has placed St Peter in his picture in a modest rural setting. Yet there is an element of optimism in the picture.
Penitence is an emotion that doesn't play well in modern times. Has the artist displayed the sublime emotion of penitence in St Peter's face?

All have sinned and fell short of the glory of God. Let those who have stumbled have the privacy to atone without the scrutiny of national judgment.


end part one

a little forgetful

a little forgetful

fiction
edward w pritchard

I just remembered. I forgot to ask Anette out for our third date, forty years ago. All this time I had thought she had iced me.

Sometimes I can be a little forgetful. I remember wanting to proceed with her. Well, maybe the next time around the wheel.

Coach Pinkel/ our take/ The Injured Warrior: Nesbitt Lake Tales

Here's what we wrote before about Coach Pinkel. Now we hear he's dropped the ball. Get back up Gary, the games not over yet. We think you showed a lot of class. Proud of you.


The Injured Warrior: Nesbitt Lake Tales

fiction
edward w pritchard

When we were braves, he was the strongest, with the most will, stamina and energy. If he was along anything was possible and everyday activities seemed important.

In battle he killed only when necessary and was never disrespectful to a fallen enemy. If the homeland or village was directly threatened he could be ferocious, however, even then he wouldn't tolerate wanton cruelty to captives or torture of any sort.

Once after a fierce encounter with a distant tribe he had strained some muscles in his back and his rehabilitation took a long time. He would slowly run in a large circle around the camp with his back very straight taking small steps.

It took several weeks for the back injury to heal, but he returned stronger than ever, to the surprise of some, and much later when he was old, and in charge of things he was more tolerant of a loss in battle because of that distant injury near Nesbitt Lake.

first date, two gay women

first date two gay women

fiction
edward w pritchard

Patient, slow, and genuine.
So many questions
and answers,
long answers.
Listen to every nuance.
Proceed cautiously but methodically.
Lean forward, probe for details.
Talk about feelings.
Then hint at past hurts.
Eavesdropper,
learn how to talk to a woman.

alteration of affection

alteration of affection

fiction
edward w pritchard

Clues scattered about
cluttered my awareness
distance, disdain and distrust.
Gone, sometimes temporarily forgotten;
you wandered in and out of my life,
random to you
significant to me.
Finally it ended
when you patted my shoulder
as you buddy hugged me that once
evidencing alteration of significant affection.

archaeologist of the future

archeologist of the future

fiction
edward w pritchard

Future, far forward
digging, digging in forgotten sands;
searching for personal glory
but treasure too.
Archaeologists digging in what was once Iraq
hoping to find another Ur
but in the North, where the Kurds live.
Digging, digging in forgotten sands
a find, tons and tons of weapons
left by Americans they will surmise.
What kind of warlike people created such terrifying armaments?

when soldiers come

when soldiers come

fiction
edward w pritchard

sky so low
spirits so high
then soldiers come
men bleed, women cry
children hide
soldiers stay
men cry, women bleed
children stare
soldiers here
sky high, wind fierce, spirits low

lost sheep

lost sheep

fiction
edward w pritchard

You must put yourself where the lost sheep likely be to find it. Journey far looking for the lost sheep.

Oh what joy when that sheep is found. No place so blessed as where the lost sheep lies. Hoist the sheep on your shoulders if you can and carry it back to the place of safety. Rejoice, rejoice, the lost sheep is back. The flock is whole. The Shepherd rests easily tonight.

reality through closed eyes

reality through closed eyes

fiction
edward w pritchard

Open your eyes was said. Refusing ago, I must now patiently endure the reruns night after night in my dreams.

An elaborate illusion built on misinterpeted facts. Slowly, patiently the me in my subconcious explains and remodels the explanation. But the subconcious must be careful; for none so blind as they who refuse to see.

Diplomatically the subconcious reexplains. Each morning a glimmer of enlightenment. Then sliding back, back to illusion. How could it be.  It seemed so real.

the talking head, the prequel/draft one

the talking head the prequel/draft one

fiction
edward w pritchard

original story of the talking head is reprinted below for reference, this is the prequel

Darn that Shemr. He has dragged me to a diplomatic meeting in Vienna here in the year 1258. We Mongols are about to annihilate this City and here I am eating an elaborate meal with our enemy two nights before battle. I am too old for this type of rich food. Besides who wants to have polite conversation with someone one will be running through with a spear in a few days. I hate diplomatic work.

Orders are orders. I have been ordered to be here so I make the best of it. I am Stepan the Captain.  I am a career soldier. Sitting here at this long table and listening to the prattle of the Viennese diplomats I long for the simplicity of the battlefield. We eat with the elite of the City of Vienna and listen to them brag and cajole us for favors. Bragging always bragging, how important their City will be someday. They don't have a clue.

In a few days their plans and economic schemes will be extinguished. But for now I must listen for I have been ordered to help Shemr find prospective heads for his tower of heads to be built after we successfully destroy this City.

I always follow the same procedure at these dinners. I walk around and find someone with an unusual head. Say a very large head, or one that leans to one side, or someone with flaming red hair, very rare here, or some other rarity concerning the head. Then I engage them in economic conversation. Let them get to talking for a minute or two. Hook them to cooperate with us and then let their ambition and greed motivate them to talk with us. Then I introduce them to Shemr who under the guise of  recruiting City leaders to help with the reoccupation after we sack the City; looks at their head with an eye to how it would fit into the tower of humans heads we will construct following the battle. [see story below].

These towers of heads are blase to me. I have been involved in hundreds of them. But it's the planning and preparation I hate. Like these dinners. I long for the simplicity of battle.

Listen to these City boosters from Vienna talk. Ah, there's one with a scar on his chin. Would that make a nice head in our tower of human heads? I am not really an artistic type. I have trouble envisioning how one head will fit into the whole of two hundred human heads in a tower. That's Shemr's speciality. He is an artist at building these towers of Human heads. I just long for the simplicity of the battlefield.

Look at that City leader talking with Shemr. It must be his large ears that interests Shemr. How will Shemr incorporate those large ears into his tower of human heads when it is built in a few days. The man talks and talks not listening at all to Shemr. That's somewhat ironic isn't it.

end


The Talking Head

fiction
edward w pritchard

Because of nutrition, immediacy, and maybe will by the participant, one head in a tower of heads, customarily stacked carefully by the Mongols following the sack of a defiant City, today continued to talk long after what would have been considered appropriate behavior for a severed head in a tower built of human heads.

Shemr was a good Mongol officer, and was doing his duty toward his 100 men under his command by alone watching the tower of severed heads for the night after the successful breach of the enemies walls and sack and burning of the city this day. He let the men especially the younger ones do the more exciting rape, pillage, and for the more ambitious looting that routinely followed a siege.

In the last few slaughters, after the leg work of the job of removing and stacking heads was done by his command he had taken to spending the night alone peacefully sleeping near the tower instead of cruising the streets of the fallen town for women as he had done in his youth. Mongol law required a guard at the tower out of respect for the fallen enemy and to keep anything ludicrous from happening to the tower of heads for even the Mongols were adverse to bad publicity that made them look silly.


The Mongols had been cutting off the heads of the fallen enemy dead for over twenty years because once several of the high ranking officers and a prince of the conquered had hid among the thousands of dead bodies littering the streets of their town. The Mongols always were victorious and Mongol custom was when sacking a City, which they hated because they detested cities, they gave the city leaders one chance to surrender and the men of the town would be allowed to leave the city and it would then be looted and burned to the ground. The women and children would also be spared but sold into slavery. If the City refused to surrender, when they ultimately lost, every man woman and child were usually killed, although at times the women and children might be spared to be sold into slavery in this case also. It has been said, some what in exaggeration, that often up to 1 million people would at times be slaughtered in a populous place like Northern China.

Of course Shemr's command of 100 couldn't cut off that many heads alone with just sabers. So all of the troops were required to do a share once the normal ferocity of battle had warn off and it was then no longer enjoyable but just plain hard work. The tower of heads had originally been devised to engage all the troops in the head chopping work and it became an art to build a tower with a memorable characteristic that could be talked about later around the campfires. Shemr's command was specifically created more than twenty years ago as specialists in the supervision care and ultimate destruction of the tower of heads. Tonight as he checked the tower before going to sleep nearby in a very small tent; Shemr, who was not an imaginative or reflective type couldn't help but be nostalgic of the old days, 15 or more years ago when following the sack of a town, thousands of Mongol leaders and VIPs would crowd around the tower of heads until all hours of the morning. Of course they could be critical of a tower of heads as too conventional, or too avant garde but any artist or group of craftsmen like to have the achievement examined and viewed and any attention good or bad is appreciated.

As he settled into the thick animal furs for the night for a well deserved rest, Shemr was disturbed by one of the severed heads in the tower that began to talk. Not loudly, but he couldn't ignore what the head was saying and unluckily the head was speaking in a language Shemr understood. Shemr pulled the furs over his head in annoyance but at length he walked up to the 10 foot high tower of heads in front of the sacred fire and began to systematically look through the stacked severed heads to find the one that had been talking and singing, for of course the loquacious head was now being spitefully quiet.


End of Part 1

The Talking Head
part 2

fiction
edward w pritchard

Shemr eyes stung from the fire as he searched the tower of human heads searching carefully through each face but could not find the one that had been talking. After admiring the symmetry and craftsmanship of the tower constructed by his unit; he decided to return to his bed in his tent and drifted into a deep sleep. Fifteen minutes later he awoke with a jump and immediately found the talking head. It was a large round face in the stacks of 250 or more human heads near the top right of the pyramid that was talking to itself.

After introductions were made Shemr found himself a little shy, and maybe afraid as he walked about the tower because although he had heard of a severed head talking before he had never himself conversed with a talking head. The head said something but since the head was unable to maintain eye contact with Shemr as he walked about Shemr's mind drifted:

Shemr was computing the odds of a head talking and himself actually experiencing a severed head talk as he walked about ostensibly now to have a conversation with the head but in fact for the moment at least not listening as the head droned on in a soft voice.

Shemr had been in the head stacking detail for twenty years, initially as a trainee, then a journeyman and eventually the last 6 years he had been in charge of the command. There were 4 major campaigns[ sieges and battles] a season he thought to himself, about 100,000 chopped off heads a battle, that's 4 x 100,000 x 20 = 8,000,000. Guessing he put the chance of a random severed head talking at 10,000,000 to one. So it was about time for him to finally meet a decapitated head that talked. Being a superstitious and ambitious man he took his beating the odds in the matter of engaging a talking head early [ before interacting with a full ten million decapitated heads] as a good omen and a sign from God and decided that since God had a hand in this occurrence he had better do his duty and pay attention and respect what the head had to say. He would treat the head as a guest in his camp rather than a captive enemy soldier.

Shemr focused his attention and listened carefully as the head explained about a shoulder wound he still suffered with, before being decapitated today, and wondering what had happened to the gold ring that he wore on his left hand. Probably stolen, sighed the soldier, if not by the victorious Mongols, the head's fellow soldiers would steal a valuable gold ring if it was unguarded mourned the Head.

Shemr politely listened but at length he decided to try and find a way to profit from him having a talking head, for he was now fully awake, the surprise of encountering a talking head had worn off; and to Shemr times of war meant the opportunity to earn extra money should the situation present itself. So Shemr began to be possessive of the detached head, at least as long as he might turn a profit, although being a simple soldier, he had no idea how to profit. Deciding to lay his cards on the table so to speak, Shemr decided to ask the head how he could exploit the unusual occurrence of a decapitated head's talking.

He interrupted the head and ask "How long do you think you will continue to talk, and please excuse my greed, but How can I Shemr profit from it".

At this question from Shemr, the head began to change as the head was now beginning to cross over to the other side, the side of spirit rather than material, and his answers and conversation became complex and more confusing to Shemr. Several times in the next few minutes Shemr had to plead with the head not to talk like a philosopher but remember he was talking to a simple soldier and to be kind to Shemr because the severed head had also been a common soldier himself.
The head decided to answer therefore every other question from the Mongol officer as himself, the severed head as a soldier, and then the next question as a spirit heading into eternity and reunion with God.

Shemr " How long will you be able to talk"

Okru, [that was the enemy soldier's name, before being decapitated] Probably 20 minutes more, until the fat supplies around my neck are used up. But the good news is I finally found a way to lose a little weight in the face," said Okru, feeling relaxed and accepting his situation.

Shemr "How can I a simple soldier profit from having possession of a talking detached head"

Okru " Can we really possess anything?
and continuing
Okru " A to have personally seeks to possess, you are a to have personality, I am a to be personally, we are incompatible, I only seek my full potential.

Shemr " Please I beg you help me" How can I use the situation of me being in charge temporarily of a talking head to my advantage?

Okru' answering as a fellow soldier, and feeling guilty to play word games with his overseer for the moment and Okru answered sincerely, " Contact your superiors and have them come to see the marvelous tower of decapitated heads that you have built, one that contains a marvelous talking head that can foresee the future.


With this Shemr became excited and wanted to look for fellow soldiers to spread the word about the talking head. Shemr knew that at 2AM the soldiers under his command would began to return from raping. pillage and looting because curfew was 2:30 AM.

So Shemr asked the severed head Okru, " What time is it [ for Shemr never learned how to tell time from the moon or stars, and of course mechanical time pieces were pricey at this time in history[ 1258] if available at all.

Okru" What is Time"

Okru continuing " If no-one asks me I know what time is, but once I am asked I sink back in confusion, because I know not time" [ Okru was paraphrasing St. Augustine]

Shemr became confounded at this and turned his back on the tower of severed heads and scanned the vicinity behind the sacred fire for other soldiers in the tents. Shemr left the area of the tower, abruptly without a good bye and walked about the camp but no one was about so he returned to the head who was humming to himself, probably a favorite song of his youth.

Okru, seeing Shemr " May I have some wine or water, fine Sir"

Shemr Lying so as not to break any rules, albeit unwritten ones, " I am afraid it is against regulations". Shemr shuddered to think the mess the water would make if he gave some to the severed head and it ran out the bottom of Okru's throat onto the other hundreds of heads below him in the tower of detached heads.

Okru again" this bores me, Isn't there anything you wish to ask me. I can foresee the future I know the entire past, and although the present for me is now a little unpleasant because of my pain and thirst I will answer any question for you".

Shemr, in an inspiration " Is my wife being unfaithful to me"
Okru " Is the wind constant"

Shemr " that's no answer"

Okru" OK try again"

Shemr" Do you feel yourself"
Okru , attempting a genuine smile, " Very Good question"
" As long as I have a perceiving mind, with or without my other senses. I am me, Okru"

At this Shemr decides not to trouble the head, a suffering fellow soldier any longer. Okra gave the severed head a little water despite the potential mess. Shemr then hears soldiers coming back to camp in the distance for the approaching curfew, but decides not to mention the talking severed head to his superiors because it would cause him, Shemr a myriad of paperwork and regulation in the morning.

Shemr then decides to go to bed again.

Okru, the severed head, " Could I ask a small favor Shemr"

Shemr" Anything within my power Okru"

Okru" begins to cough, his eyes grow very wide, and Okru extinguishes.

Shemr takes a small wet cloth and standing on a small Mongol made ladder, he carefully wipes Okru, the dead soldier's face, brushes over his hair with the wet cloth, and gently closes the eyes of Okru.
Shemr returns to his tent exhausted and falls into a troubled sleep. His last thought before dozing off is ' What would the small favor have been.'

End

the big easy gets real

the big easy gets real

fiction
edward w pritchard

Murder, murther, bloody murder. The big easy leads the nation in murder per capita. Worse than Detroit, worse than New York City, even worse than East Liverpool Ohio where there is nothing else to do.

A new Police chief can't fix the problem despite his new techniques, statistical variances and new hires. Study after study is done. Eventually it is decided the citizens of New Orleans are easily offended and act impulsively. May be it's all the cheap beer and wine. Not funny really, murder in broad daylight, murder in respectable neighborhoods, murder for minor reasons.

It's unAmerican the police chiefs solution, but it's working. If the police can't change the morals and mores of the citizens by law or enforcement extreme measures are necessary. The majority of voters here in the big Easy concur.

Murder perpetrators in New Orleans are difficult to deter in their revengeful inclinations because they care little for their own lives. Fear of punishment or reprisal against themselves do not frighten them. Whatever the laws or threats by police, the murders continued.

The Murders continued until the New Orleans Law director, Prosecutors and police began to enforce reprisals against innocent relatives of murder perpetrators. Be convicted of Murder in New Orleans and your next of kin shared your lawfully enforced punishment. It's unAmerican. Foul cried the ACLU in Vermont.

The case is pending in the Supreme Court. The Justices there are slow to review the file. Meanwhile Murders have fallen drastically in New Orleans because who wants their Mother to do twenty years or  get the electric chair because of their actions. Murder most foul is declining in New Orleans and that's OK with the folks in the Big Easy. They are a vengeful group sometimes. Leave them alone and let them make our Countries best music and cook some of the best food in the world.  The Big Easy, it's a little different down there.

India Eisley and Olivia Hussey

India Eisley and Olivia Hussey

fiction
edward w pritchard

It's another full moon reflecting on the Lake.
500 times has the full moon shone on the Lake of time
since Olivia Hussey was the great beauty, the next best thing, playing Juliet to international acclaim.
Now Olivia is mature, beautiful still I am sure, but now she plays Juliet's Mother
to her real daughter India Eisley, beautiful actress up and coming.
India walk to the Lake tonight while the Moon is full
and watch your reflection in the still water
before 500 months fades the shine of your youth and beauty
and you must be type cast as the Mother or the Nurse if offered a part at all.

James Booker's seat in heaven

James Booker's seat in heaven

fiction
edward w pritchard

John Brown sat at the table. Rousseau sat at the table too. James Booker's seat in heaven was right there at the table along with the other unconventionals. Not center stage or not front and center but there in the main hall up in heaven. James Booker sits at the table with the other unconventional geniuses and sometimes he plays the piano a little.

When James Booker plays in heaven everyone gets quiet; for James Booker can make a cheap piano sound sublime. When James Booker plays piano in heaven twenty souls are saved on earth.


It's unusual and difficult to be unconventional here and now and certainly not advised. Listen carefully, maybe James Booker will play a song for you or Rousseau will write you a story or John Brown will shout an idea  at you. Hear it in your soul and be saved.

end

tribute to James Booker, one eyed man, with big hands and no friends

tribute to James Booker, one eyed man, with big hands and no friends

reposted and retitled


fiction
edward w pritchard

Come certain time of night us alone long for music to soothe the ache in our hearts and none ever better than piano blues man James Booker of New Orleans.

Talent incomprehensible back dropped a life bent on destruction. The music bears the sorrow of the piano man's soul. Mostly unheard despite transcendental talent; too much drama distinctly revealed James Booker's silent suffering. Shunned by the world Booker died alone, all in, at the end of his rope.

Walk on the Sunny side of the street dark pilgrim. Ain't no body's business what you do; junko partner see you at St James Infirmary. Play on, play on. Lord look for James Booker; he be the one with the Schlitz beer in hand and a crooked eye patch on the left eye. Lift James Booker out of the wheelchair and back on the piano stool. Many songs are unrecorded.

Lord , Lord, Lord, protect those who suffer inimitably, singing unheard.

end

drifting through space/ parts 1, 2, 4,and 5 is new

drifting through space

parts 1, 2 and 3, 4 and 5

fiction
edward w pritchard

part 1

I am the sixth Doreen and I have been drifting through space for twenty seven years. It's time for me to reproduce soon. I will raise my daughter to age 13 and then she will become Doreen the seventh and I will die. Forty years being deemed the ideal lifespan for a female space explorer headed for the far edge of the Kuiper Belt. That's a journey of 465 years at the chosen speed we travel at for peak efficiency so God willing the eleventh Doreen should be the one to reach the far edge of the Kuiper belt. What awaits my great great great granddaughter at the far reaches of the Kuiper belt is a secret of sorts. We do it for science and for the benefits of humanity back on earth. Our origins as a species lie out in those distant Kuiper belts. It's necessary for eleven of us Doreen's to suffer a bit of loneliness and ennui in space to reach there.

Me I mate soon, and i fulfill my destiny. Drifting through space headed for the Kuiper belts as a space explorer for scientific discovery.

end-part1

Part 2

They aren't just lucid dreams. My unborn Granddaughter Doreen the eighth has been coming to see me in my dreams to advise me on how to survive this illness of cancer. It's real Doreen the eighth coming to see me.. I think it is time travel; my Granddaughter Doreen the eighth coming to advise must mean I reproduced like normal for a space-explorer, hence I had my daughter who had her daughter, and since my granddaughter is advising me I must survive this cancer and reproduce. For now I am very sick. Being sick in a small spacecraft traveling toward the Kuiper belts is difficult and discouraging.

I have never been sick before. Genetically I am immune from most earthbound diseases, My artificial intelligence unit helps me cure anything else. Where did this cancer come from. I had a broken wrist once when I was four and My Mother Doreen the fifth was with me. I wish she were here. I would like to ask Mother if she thinks Doreen the eighth coming to me in Lucid dreams to advise me on how to cure the cancer I have that my artificial intelligence can't cure is real. Is it time travel by Doreen the eighth or am I Doreen the sixth imagining the whole thing. The medicine the artificial intelligence is giving me makes me sick and nauseous. Best sleep and rest again.

end part 2

Part 3

I am Doreen the first, the famous original space explorer. The first woman to give up her life for science to travel the rest of my days through space. I left everything I had and knew on earth to travel the rest of my life alone in this small space ship. To the Kuiper belts I go. It sounded exciting at first. To find the origins of our species. Somewhere in the rocks out there at the far edge of our Solar systems was the ultimate answer to how life started originally on earth.

I am a farce. I just wanted to escape my life in Middleton Iowa. The personal life is dead for me. It worked. Preston abandoned me for another woman and I couldn't get over it. I volunteered to spend the rest of my life traveling in a small spaceship. My sin, I sentenced ten of my descendants, starting with my daughter to be, her to be conceived artificially and then nine generations of grand and great -daughters doing same.

Why am I telling this. Now they want to know if for my mate I want Preston. Apparently his DNA is on board. That bastard. He wouldn't take my calls at home before I left. He's a lot older than me now. I am getting younger compared to him because of space/time changes caused by space travel. It's not much but it adds up. The main reason our space ships travel so so slow through space is because of space/time changes. We just drift along really. Best not think of Preston again. I have experiments to do and then I have to do my exercises before dinner. I wonder if Space command center Houston would let me talk with Preston just once. I am confused by a few things he said a long time ago. Maybe Houston would OK me talking with Preston if I said I needed to be courted before the insemination. Preston could be charming.. It would be nice to talk about something besides space travel with someone.

end part 3

drifting through space part 4

read parts 1 through 3 previous

fiction
edward w pritchard

No, No no. Doreen the first cannot choose her mate. It might jeopardize the mission. We do not object to planting ideas in her subconscious to facilitate the special needs of humans. For her to be connected with her daughter during pregnancy and after is a necessary objective. But we ask, wouldn't her nurturing the child for thirteen years in a small spaceship bond the two together.

Let us think upon this and we will get back with Houston space station control directly.

Artificial intelligence assisted logical analysis unit 6

Chicago Illinois,
Jan 22, 2034
Jack Allings PHD, MD
and
artificial intelligence unit 302-Ghe level 1
end part 4

start Doreen the 5th

Dorene 5th
diary
one day in space

What's it like to have cycling in space? What's it like to be manic in space in a small, I mean very small, space shift slowly drifting through space. Drifting with no place really to go and to be in a manic phase? That's me Doreen the fifth. This is my life.

Despite all my superior genetics, oh so carefully cultivated and controlled in my ancestors; Doreen 1 through 4th  and before that my ancient ancestors on earth going back another three or four generations, I am manic in space in a small space craft. Sometimes I think I will shoot myself into space outside this cursed ship and take my chances in my space suit. The blue one, the blue space suit.

My mind is racing again. It must be a change in the weather. I can feel changes in the weather back on earth. A day or two before the weather changes I cycle from one phase to another mentally. Yes, I cycle even though I am in a space ship drifting toward the Kuiper belts and even though I am supposed to be a scientist. Immune and logical. Now my mind is racing again.

What to do of a terrific nature in a small small space ship? This manic phase will only last a few days. Large thoughts will fill my head. I can do anything now. What should I do? No where to go really; but that doesn't stop me, at least it hasn't before. During these last twenty years drifting through space toward the Kuiper belts with my manic thoughts and me bouncing off the walls of this small space ship. Here I go again. I can feel the weather changing millions of miles away back on Earth.

Maybe I will talk to my computer. My artificial intelligence friend and try to tell Ghe what it's like to be like this. Sometimes it helps to have someone to talk to. Even a machine who can't understand what its like to be human; and especially can't understand what its like to be manic depressive in a small space ship.

Greeting Ghe artificial unit number 766. Have I told you lately my latest plans and schemes? I have
some knew ideas.
Doreen 5th
end part 5

The CEO, Rest and relief, Ulysses heads back to Ithaca New York

The CEO, Rest and relief, Ulysses heads back to Ithaca New York

fiction
edward w pritchard

The men are always first, but i am too tired to comply. We all need rest and respite. Exhaustion has conquered all but I am expected to lead and overcome. It's my duty, the implied agreement the men under my command give me to be the leader.

But, I am exhausted too, and when we came to the glass lined holes I slept, and I failed my men.

For ten years I have been leading my team, heading home. Home from Troy. Seas, rivers, canals and streams we have navigated. Adventures, commardry, and renown are great but we are exhausted.

The glass lined holes are jars, I guess. I know that now. The scientists captured my men. The scientists lure the unwary to sleep in the jars. Then the Scientists do experiments on whoever ends up in the glass lined holes buried in the ground.  I escaped. I lost my men because I was tired, exhausted from ten years at sea. Not to mention, ten years in battle first.

Sitting here in Ithaca New York I feel bad about my team. All of them. I forget the names now but those were good times: we laughed, we conquered, and we wandered.

Now they are all dead, my guys. My fault I guess. I fell asleep in one of those jars and the scientists there did experiments on all of my men. Trapped there underground in those jars my men couldn't escape. Fate saved me to return here to Ithaca but my entire command is lost.

Lost, dead I hope, I think of Lieutenant Kentley, the Scientists put two other men's heads on his body. One head from the large sergeant is attached to Kentley's left arm and another from one of the sailors is attached to the middle of Kentley's back. Of course Kentley's original head is still intact.

Still I long for more adventure. Here in Ithaca New York, mowing the lawn, watching my son become ordinary and my wife age. I long for adventure. The vessel puffs the sails. I am looking for a new team. Just say the word I am ready.
end

first dance number at the beauty college reunion/draft 1

first dance number at the beauty college reunion/draft 1

fiction
edward w pritchard

They are not called chairs, but stations. It is an honor to call us who work or once worked at the stations girls, for no matter how far one of us who once was a beautician at the beauty college goes in life, our hearts are always partly here. Here being Mrs. Donna Washingon's School of Beauty in Richmond, Va.

At the first night get acquainted meeting of current beauticians in training, alumni, and instructors something spontaneous occurred. A beautiful outpouring of harmonious commrardary.

Everyone was giving free styling and makeovers to the young high school seniors from the nearby local schools. Mostly pretty girls, the students from secondary, and most of the students in training attending Mrs. Donna's [Washington] school of beauty were dolled up for the ceremony, for they get their first designation tomorrow night; and the alumni, were beautiful as only an older woman can be who was once a doll themselves.

I was bringing in the cake for Mrs. Washington for tomorrow night's ceremony and I couldn't stop my eyes from feasting on the beauty in the room. I had come in in the middle of things and every one present at all of the stations was singing and dancing. Each singing to their imaginary to be lovers, even those who had already found him and had to settle for him as he was. But the school girls and some of the beauticians in training didn't know that yet and there was an electricity of subdued sexuality filling the mirrored, low ceilinged, bright white beauty college floor.

Beauty is the lust of the eye and I couldn't not watch. Swaying and strutting, but feminine and modest all at once. Everywhere. I looked and peeked, back, forth, up and down; nearly tripping over the cake, devil's food delight.  Occasionally someone took notice of me but mostly the dancers were somewhere else. To supplement the sound system many many of the older women sang and gestured as they moved.

No matter how far a girl from Mrs. Donna's goes in life, Lawyer, Doctor or Real Estate Broker; she will always be bewitching and enticing to the aficionado's of beauty thanks to the teachings she started out with at Mrs. Donna's School of Beauty of  14 Harris Street, Richmond, Virginia.
end

DNA remnants

DNA remnants
fiction
edward w pritchard

It started when I moved into my Aunt Ferdinate's house, two months after Aunt Fertie died. I was embroiled in a probate battle with my Brother over my Aunt's estate, the turmoil mainly caused by my Brother's meddling wife. But I moved into the house all the same; my lawyer said to be bold, so I moved in despite the court dispute.

I was putting make-up on at a mirror in the upstairs bathroom when I felt Aunt Fertie standing behind me. Afraid to look straight into the mirror I whirled quickly. Of course no one was there. Later I threw away all of Aunt Fertie's personal items in the house. Hair spray and  half used bottles of shampoo were to me suspect as containing Aunt Fertie's DNA remnants.

Day by day as I live in Aunt Fertie's house I find myself taking on more and more of Aunt Fertie's characteristics and habits. Somehow I just know that Aunt Fertie's DNA still occupy my new home, and I know my Aunt's attributes are invading my person.

lunch with the Phillips family

lunch with the Phillips family

fiction
edward w pritchard

I had an appointment for lunch with the Phillips family. It was an enjoyable hour but, it ended abruptly.

Mr. Phillips was a host from the old school and I was treated very well as we dined. The daughter, a pretty dark eyed girl of about fourteen carried the food to us and was bewitchingly shy as she scurried back and forth from the Kitchen. We sat in the yard under a grape arbor and the son who was in training to learn the Father's duties at the business sat at the table with us men. From time to Time Mr. Phillips would coach the boy a little and once after we went back to the high stone walls I heard Mr. Phillips get a little stern with his son when he didn't think I could hear.

Of course I had to pay for my lunch and the service after and that was handled discretely by the wife. She brought my dessert in a timely manner and a small card contained a bill for the services provided by the Phillips family.

The Father and I spent a few minutes there at the table after lunch talking politics and philosophy and Mr. Phillips offered me a cigar that I declined. I might have made a little trouble by giving it to the son who was about eighteen..

Back at the Stone wall at the rear of the property I played my part perfectly as I walked ahead of the Father and son and pretended to examine some of the fittings between the stones; having once been in the construction business in my youth.

The son must have fired the rifle for the bullet was a little high as it struck me up on my shoulder blades rather than entering the heart from the back as planned. I didn't hear that shot as I fell but I distinctly heard the second shot probably fired by the Father to finish the job. After I died I heard the Father scolding the boy about missing his shot as they walked back up toward the grape arbor to help the wife prepare for their next appointment. It was interesting to hear the Father lecturing the boy on professionalism and the need for having pride in one's work.
end

Bible based counseling forbidden

Bible based counseling forbidden

fiction
edward w pritchard

Mr. Rovers took the Counseling job at the worst high school in the City. Part time Counselor, degree preferred but not mandatory, social license highly desirable.

Mr. Rovers had no degree and the job had no benefits, and like most new hires for the school system he worked part-time and the program was Federal Grant funded quarter to quarter. Mr Rovers was however highly successful with his clientele. The most troubled students responded to his methods. Mr Rovers used
Bible based counseling and his philosophy and methods  delivered miraculous results and people took notice.

Once the School board noticed Mr. Rover's methods Mr. Rovers was fired. School policy was no bible based counseling allowed in the District or the State of Vermont for that matter.

internet problems by author at this time

Internet problems by author at this time

fiction to follow:

invaded by Aunt Fertie's DNA

bible based counseling forbidden