my dear dear Theo
fiction
edward w pritchard
my dear dear Theo,
Brother,
Have I told you how I admire the work of William Shakespeare. How do I miss London now that I am no longer in Belgium, no longer preaching to the poor. Now poor myself.
Thank-you, thank you Theo for the check, it is a loan really. Please try again to sell some of my paintings. I enclose a few more. Maybe one of your dealers will look at the picture of the Sunflowers. I know they are hard to please.
I wrote another Jesus story. I know, I am no longer a preacher. Read it if you wish. Maybe you can sell one of my pictures. I do want so to make good in the world.
Vincent
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
poor Martha Mc Coy
poor Martha Mc Coy
fiction
edward w pritchard
Poor Martha Mc Coy.
True what happened to her was a long time ago,
Cleveland, Ohio in 1894.
It's probably different now,
people don't scrimp and suffer to save money today,
but Martha Mc Coy did.
No heat at night in winter
and never any sugar to cook with, except on Sunday's
and married to a fool.
He spent three years savings
on one sketch by a Dutchman, Rembrandt,
the eyes intrigued Martha's husband.
The money was half Martha's,
but she gave in at last
tired of arguing with a fool.
The picture was hung in their house until her husband died;
Martha sold the sketch.
But in 1907 times were hard
and Martha lost money on the picture.
Poor Martha, poor Martha Mc Coy
a fool for a husband
who would rather have a picture
than sugar throughout the week.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Poor Martha Mc Coy.
True what happened to her was a long time ago,
Cleveland, Ohio in 1894.
It's probably different now,
people don't scrimp and suffer to save money today,
but Martha Mc Coy did.
No heat at night in winter
and never any sugar to cook with, except on Sunday's
and married to a fool.
He spent three years savings
on one sketch by a Dutchman, Rembrandt,
the eyes intrigued Martha's husband.
The money was half Martha's,
but she gave in at last
tired of arguing with a fool.
The picture was hung in their house until her husband died;
Martha sold the sketch.
But in 1907 times were hard
and Martha lost money on the picture.
Poor Martha, poor Martha Mc Coy
a fool for a husband
who would rather have a picture
than sugar throughout the week.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Jesus of the highly motivated, Jesus edits the gospel
Jesus of the highly motivated, Jesus edits the gospel
fiction
edward w pritchard
Executive summary:
This case is an arbitration as required by prior agreement between Sauri Sanders teaching assistant and the Youngstown Public School District [YPS]. The disciplinary committee of YPS seeks to terminate employment of Ms. Sauri [ defendant] defendant objects.
Facts:
From 09/09/2008 to 01/18/2012 defendant was a teaching assistant with YPS. Since 01/03/2012 defendant has worked under supervision of class room teacher Mrs. Jenifer [ not a party in this action] at South high school. YPS. Class room has only five students one of whom is under full time observation and tutoring by defendant. Student is HS/MD and is IQ 82, age 16 grade 7, non aggressive described previously by teachers as highly motivated and eager to please. Student named Roberto.
After 3 days of working with student defendant begins to report bizarre things to teacher Jenifer about Roberto, including student is Jesus Christ.
Teacher reports situation to Principal who moves to have defendant relieved of duty and evaluated per contract. Defendant refused district disciplinary committee YPS moves to terminate defendant's employment.
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
Executive summary:
This case is an arbitration as required by prior agreement between Sauri Sanders teaching assistant and the Youngstown Public School District [YPS]. The disciplinary committee of YPS seeks to terminate employment of Ms. Sauri [ defendant] defendant objects.
Facts:
From 09/09/2008 to 01/18/2012 defendant was a teaching assistant with YPS. Since 01/03/2012 defendant has worked under supervision of class room teacher Mrs. Jenifer [ not a party in this action] at South high school. YPS. Class room has only five students one of whom is under full time observation and tutoring by defendant. Student is HS/MD and is IQ 82, age 16 grade 7, non aggressive described previously by teachers as highly motivated and eager to please. Student named Roberto.
After 3 days of working with student defendant begins to report bizarre things to teacher Jenifer about Roberto, including student is Jesus Christ.
Teacher reports situation to Principal who moves to have defendant relieved of duty and evaluated per contract. Defendant refused district disciplinary committee YPS moves to terminate defendant's employment.
end part 1
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Eloise is a very beautiful girl indeed
Eloise is a very beautiful girl indeed
fiction
edward w pritchard
Eloise is a very beautiful girl indeed. Father will be upset with me, although a rich man Father will not be happy with his favorite train being destroyed and the loss of life of me his son and Eloise, who should her and I and Father's train get out of here in Western France alive, Eloise who will be my Bride as soon as it can be arranged.
Luck has turned against me. Luck which I always before counted on has placed me and Eloise and Father's favorite train of his fleet in the middle of the fighting in World War one in August of 1914. Of course I am not so stupid as to put Eloise my love at risk without proper cause. She lives in France and as the War has escalated I have risk my life traveling from my home in Russia to rescue her from the small town near Verdun France where she lives and the War has chosen to surround.
We were safe a few hours ago. Ten miles from the fighting, the Germans and the French were dug into trenches going nowhere and us charging through this area by train at top speed. Then the front shifted. We now sit trapped on the elevated track in the third car of Father's small expensive train with Germans to our right and French and a few British to our left. Soldiers placed logs in front and back of the train when we stopped to avoid the cannon fire. There is a lull in the horrible carnage of battle and both sides are scurrying about rapidly to retrench, gather the wounded and dieing and prepare for the next stage of battle. Meanwhile Eloise and I are sitting ducks. We calmly sitting in plain sight for all to see are eating our extravagant lunch. We are alive I am sure because of Eloise' beauty. Eloise has on a beautiful chiffon pink Summer dress and it is so out of character and place that I am sure the soldiers do not know how to perceive us. Maybe they literally can't see us for they have been ignoring us for half an hour.
The situation has changed for a badly wounded French soldier has been slowly crawling toward the train for a few minutes in plain sight of both armies. He is very close to the train now and I can see he is young with a handsome face and blue eyes. Eloise is taking him some water. There is nearly complete silence as both armies watch the poignant scene unfold.
Twenty five years later Eloise and I are talking to our only son in St Petersburg, Russia. Our son has signed up to fight in World War two against the Germans. I am desperately trying to tell my son about his Grandfather's train, his Mother's pink dress and the dieing French soldier. My son is very handsome and his eyes are bewitching like his Mothers as he smiles at me. I cannot find the words to say what I desperately wish to express.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Eloise is a very beautiful girl indeed. Father will be upset with me, although a rich man Father will not be happy with his favorite train being destroyed and the loss of life of me his son and Eloise, who should her and I and Father's train get out of here in Western France alive, Eloise who will be my Bride as soon as it can be arranged.
Luck has turned against me. Luck which I always before counted on has placed me and Eloise and Father's favorite train of his fleet in the middle of the fighting in World War one in August of 1914. Of course I am not so stupid as to put Eloise my love at risk without proper cause. She lives in France and as the War has escalated I have risk my life traveling from my home in Russia to rescue her from the small town near Verdun France where she lives and the War has chosen to surround.
We were safe a few hours ago. Ten miles from the fighting, the Germans and the French were dug into trenches going nowhere and us charging through this area by train at top speed. Then the front shifted. We now sit trapped on the elevated track in the third car of Father's small expensive train with Germans to our right and French and a few British to our left. Soldiers placed logs in front and back of the train when we stopped to avoid the cannon fire. There is a lull in the horrible carnage of battle and both sides are scurrying about rapidly to retrench, gather the wounded and dieing and prepare for the next stage of battle. Meanwhile Eloise and I are sitting ducks. We calmly sitting in plain sight for all to see are eating our extravagant lunch. We are alive I am sure because of Eloise' beauty. Eloise has on a beautiful chiffon pink Summer dress and it is so out of character and place that I am sure the soldiers do not know how to perceive us. Maybe they literally can't see us for they have been ignoring us for half an hour.
The situation has changed for a badly wounded French soldier has been slowly crawling toward the train for a few minutes in plain sight of both armies. He is very close to the train now and I can see he is young with a handsome face and blue eyes. Eloise is taking him some water. There is nearly complete silence as both armies watch the poignant scene unfold.
Twenty five years later Eloise and I are talking to our only son in St Petersburg, Russia. Our son has signed up to fight in World War two against the Germans. I am desperately trying to tell my son about his Grandfather's train, his Mother's pink dress and the dieing French soldier. My son is very handsome and his eyes are bewitching like his Mothers as he smiles at me. I cannot find the words to say what I desperately wish to express.
end
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Jesus the Most Dangerous Man in History/ as edited
fiction
edward w pritchard
previously posted, now edited
Being near Jesus was dangerous and lethal to one's past affiliations. When Jesus led us to a new town, women would often take their families and go into the hills for up to a week to keep husband's and children from his jeopardous influence. In time an element of peril surrounded us, Jesus' followers, for just being near him. Later we were the one's staying in the hills, and places obscure and hidden, for we were forbidden to enter towns, business areas and churches. However despite incredible hardships we were blissfully happy and even obscurity could not stifle Jesus' message which convulsed to be revealed.
Jesus presence had became mesmerizing. When we heard the message of profound truth Jesus taught we only wanted to be near him, abolish our sinful ways and full fill and experience the destiny Jesus promised us. More than one who met Jesus or even heard of him would abandon a faithful wife, or son and daughter, or Father and Mother in hope of following Jesus about or just doing one deed or small kindness to make Jesus' life easier, if only for a moment.
I traveled with Jesus for several years before he recruited the disciples but I was forced to leave the group because I was a link to Jesus' past, a past which Jesus himself had forsaken as the power of his message burst from his body. I had been an early friend, arranger, and bodyguard and assisted Jesus as he prayed, studied and meditated. As the aura developed around Jesus day to day I began to taste a fear in the air, the fear of disruption and destruction to every day concerns and matters. Matters such as carrying money, clothes and personal items became unimportant to Jesus and he bid us to abandon any type of planning as we traveled and trust in things working out without any preparation. We traveled in to unfamiliar towns throughout Judea with no contingencies. My job as arranger was dissolving before my eyes and incredibly the multitudes of followers took Jesus literally and many traveled in fact as wandering beggars but with complete faith and became a community of believers of his word. Jesus walked and we followed. He planned only for the next day but continued to allow me to go on with my duties as arranger for the time being.
Jesus was always an incredible judge of character and could instantly dig out the hidden obscure motivations of others often with only a glance. Initially however, I would go into a town first, with money and smooth the way for Jesus' entrance. I would meet people, arrange places for us to stay and make plans so we could avoid breaking any Roman local rules and ordinances or upsetting the Jewish hierarchy. I was loyal to Jesus, but eventually even I out of concern for Jesus' safety and those of the faithful followers had to say something about the effects on every day concerns the brutal honesty of Jesus' message was causing. The more I fought with myself to stay grounded in everyday matters of business and commerce the further I was driving myself from the bliss of Jesus' community of followers.
If I had to give an example that a modern reader could understand I would say to imagine if a prophet walked from town to town In America in 1968 and gave LSD to every man woman and child over age 16 who wasn't satisfied with his spiritual situation. Jesus wanted to awaken those who were not content, not full of conformity, and not comfortable with their skin and their situation. Then imagine if those malcontents began to spread the word that a teacher was coming who could show a brighter day, had the answers to the meaning of all things and would lead the awakened. Then imagine if Jesus in 1968 had urged those to give up their money, jobs, family, health insurance, extra clothes and shaving and make-up kits and walk with him. Often then jesus would disappear with a few favorites to think and evolve and then return to us and share greater growing insights against the thoughts and beliefs that we had been raised on and were the foundations of our everyday lives. Then imagine if those malcontents began to become perfectly at peace with themselves, selfless, and approached the world with love, joy, peace and goodwill towards all, even their enemies.
Eventually as I returned to Jesus after leaving him to arrange the affairs in the next town we were to enter I would be shocked by Jesus' appearance, especially the hollow timeless eyes. Jesus would be sitting alone, deep in thought refusing food or water and then after a while began to speak. Whatever one was doing became unimportant and the focus would be on the hidden meaning of Jesus' words and Jesus would birth ideas and concepts that were earth shaking. Later when I would try to logically fit Jesus' profound teachings into my belief system I would become afraid for us. Because Jesus' message was disturbing, revolutionary, and absolutely and perfectly anti-establishment I often wanted to silence Jesus out of fear for his safety. There were Romans everywhere and they were formidable and they controlled our world. The followers of Jesus became blind to the reality of the Romans however and bathed in the message; I however fought that bath, and drove myself from my friend Jesus, and was left behind, and could not walk with Jesus any longer.
In a small village , after a very long walk Jesus was sitting in a chair exhausted, for he had been refusing water during the trip. A woman came in, just an ordinary woman, who none of us knew and she poured an expensive ointment on Jesus' head from the Country of India, said to refresh and revitalize. Jesus was grateful and blessed the woman. Later It took me several hours to soothe the irate Husband, whose wife had spent over two years of their savings on the potion. The husband was convinced the wife had gone mad and was threatening to complain to the Romans. This was unthinkable for Roman justice was brutal and swift and the woman, the husband and Jesus would be in grave danger. The Romans were only afraid of two things, disorder and chaos and the Roman authority dealt violently with threats of either. Miraculously I shielded Jesus from himself until Jesus began to recruit the disciples and heal the malcontent-ed, and until it became humanly impossible to stop confrontation with civil authority.
We were walking along an inland sea and Jesus had just recruited two new followers. Jesus knew I was upset because I knew nothing of the men chosen, I had not checked them out in advance, as was customary and Jesus had called the two men in a flamboyant public way which only a year ago Jesus had cautioned against. Jesus was talking very fast to me in private and was convinced that the new man Simon [ later called Peter] would be a key member of the group who could spread the word and message beyond Judea and into the future. I tried to believe but I saw only a humble fisherman, and one with a sour temper. Fortunately no one objected to those two men leaving their boat. The two chosen just jumped off the boat and left. They didn't say good bye and they didn't explain to anyone. I often had told Jesus that this type of showmanship would upset the Romans because the recruits creditors and obligates would complain. Jesus however had taken to answering me in parables that made sense when we talked but later left me holding a handful of water when it came to practical ways to avoid the civil authority.
Jesus and I fell out however over the recruitment of James and John good son's of Zebedee a fisherman also. We were walking past their boat, in a very public place with the usual multitudes and Jesus called both James and John and they just came with us. The Father, Zebedee was a good man, and although he employed other fisherman was devastated by the loss of his sons who he had trained and nurtured to carry on his business. The Father also was not a bad spiritual man, he followed the laws of his people. I found later the Father, Zebedee helped the poor and unfortunate; and as I later brought up to Jesus as him and I argued over the matter Zebedee feared and respected God. The crowds saw this happen and to them such drama was becoming narcotic and the multitudes craved miracles, showmanship and razz ma taz.
Jesus was alone and it was 1AM when I was able to see him. Jesus was in a small tent, the kind goat herders use and Jesus was sitting delicately on a light chair. Jesus looked frail and had a feminine element to himself that day that frightened me more than our problems with the Romans. I had known Jesus back in Nazareth and had often punched and jostled at him and Jesus was then robust and strong. As Carpenter, I often saw Jesus carry heavy logs of wood with ease. Now the aura of death surrounded Jesus, especially at night. I knew Jesus slept poorly and had troubled dreams but his presence to me seemed to spread fear, and potential disaster and I could taste the destruction that surrounded Jesus.
Jesus and I argued for a few minutes and I told Jesus I couldn't do it any more. Jesus hugged me and bid me follow my own heart, told me he always loved me, and promised I could always come back to the community. I broke the bond between Jesus and myself. No goodbyes to my friends of several years and I had nothing to carry with me anyway so I headed East away from the direction Jesus was going tomorrow and sought to reclaim my life. Now it was my turn to fore sake my past for I had been one of the first to experience the perfect joy of Jesus' presence and I was now forsaking it.
A few weeks later I heard through my contacts that Jesus had recruited a tax collector for the Romans to be his chief scribe. Levi known as Matthew was the new recruits name. Matthew had left his coins on the table where he worked and just walked off the job. Nothing could be better orchestrated to upset and infuriate the Romans.
Every night now my dreams are alive with the presence of Jesus' death and I fear and tremble for Jesus out of the love I still have for him. Nothing seems real any more but the comfort of the message of Jesus is gone. It all seems like a mirage. The Romans however are every where I look. I can't believe we were able to avoid the Romans these last 18 months because they are easily angered. Everything I believed is gone and I have lost my faith. I never feared death, it is always at hand in our times, but now something seems missing. As I face the future I sometimes hope that the new scribe Matthew will be able to write down for others who come later what I could not hold in my mind of Jesus' message. I often pray that others once they experience the bliss of Jesus and his Father's kingdom to come do not backslide like I did because of business concerns but remain faithful to the message and not brood, worry and persecute and strangle themselves with tomorrows disquietations.
end
this mournful traveler/ lamentation 7
this mournful traveler/ lamentation 7
fiction
edward w pritchard
This mournful traveler, myself, having arrived at this place; without recognition, friendship or admiration, did I come here of my own initiative. Or, was my path pre-determined. Was I placed here and now, fighting to stay this dejected reputation, as preparation for future battles. Or, was my path random, of no meaning or significance. And, did I arrive here through lack of resolve, insignificance of character, and stint of judgment.
Stumble on, refuse to fall, dream despite reality and probability and hope for victory over the next hill. The script if written is not in my hands and my eyes cannot see beyond this abyss.
fiction
edward w pritchard
This mournful traveler, myself, having arrived at this place; without recognition, friendship or admiration, did I come here of my own initiative. Or, was my path pre-determined. Was I placed here and now, fighting to stay this dejected reputation, as preparation for future battles. Or, was my path random, of no meaning or significance. And, did I arrive here through lack of resolve, insignificance of character, and stint of judgment.
Stumble on, refuse to fall, dream despite reality and probability and hope for victory over the next hill. The script if written is not in my hands and my eyes cannot see beyond this abyss.
grandma is my waitress today
grandma is my waitress today
fiction
edward w pritchard
this is a work of fantasy, story has no meaning
Grandma is my waitress today for dinner at the fish restaurant where I often stop. Not Grandma as she is now, which is actually dead the last thirty years but as my Grandma was when she was seventeen. I heard my waitress talking to the cook while I waited for my food about her one year old daughter Eloise, and that, Elosie being my Mother's name as a girl, and the fact that the waitress looked exactly like my sister and a lot like me and my Mother brought me to the realization that impossible as it might be my waitress was actually my Grandma as she was as a seventeen year old girl. A seventeen year old girl who had quit school and had to work because she had had a daughter Eloise out of wedlock.
What I didn't like about the situation was how my grandma flirted and wagged at my two friends as she took our order and brought our food and drinks. Grandma gave me a funny look when she noticed I took offense to how she had to act to earn her living as a waitress when my Mother was baby.
fiction
edward w pritchard
this is a work of fantasy, story has no meaning
Grandma is my waitress today for dinner at the fish restaurant where I often stop. Not Grandma as she is now, which is actually dead the last thirty years but as my Grandma was when she was seventeen. I heard my waitress talking to the cook while I waited for my food about her one year old daughter Eloise, and that, Elosie being my Mother's name as a girl, and the fact that the waitress looked exactly like my sister and a lot like me and my Mother brought me to the realization that impossible as it might be my waitress was actually my Grandma as she was as a seventeen year old girl. A seventeen year old girl who had quit school and had to work because she had had a daughter Eloise out of wedlock.
What I didn't like about the situation was how my grandma flirted and wagged at my two friends as she took our order and brought our food and drinks. Grandma gave me a funny look when she noticed I took offense to how she had to act to earn her living as a waitress when my Mother was baby.
the ages of woman/ draft 1
the ages of woman/ draft 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
All women are beautiful in their own way at any age.
Childhood- Energy and insightful judgment abound
Youth- Time for the blushing emergence of sexuality
25- Select your chosen one and offer them an apple, unleash your demons, hide it from the world
35- Give yourself unselfishly to family
45- Woman at peak, sacrifice less, tentatively look for yourself
55- Gather and store apples for later
65- Hide your fear
75- Energy and Insightful judgment abound
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
All women are beautiful in their own way at any age.
Childhood- Energy and insightful judgment abound
Youth- Time for the blushing emergence of sexuality
25- Select your chosen one and offer them an apple, unleash your demons, hide it from the world
35- Give yourself unselfishly to family
45- Woman at peak, sacrifice less, tentatively look for yourself
55- Gather and store apples for later
65- Hide your fear
75- Energy and Insightful judgment abound
end
my nightly dreams are directed in my subconscious by an idiot
my nightly dreams are directed in my subconscious by an idiot
fiction
edward w pritchard
More in desperation than spite the various layers of characterization of being of myself representing my subconscious chose an idiot to advise, compose and direct my nightly dreams; the same nightly dreams that my daytime self consulted for direction on how to run my life in the reality of existence. For several years my nightly dreams are directed in my subconscious by an idiot. Meanwhile, upon waking I take thought on the significance of my dreams and in a flurry of activity write down snippets of those wispy memories of misinterpreted factoids that the idiot director of my dreams has chosen Salvidor Dali like to represent the mirrored reality of my life.
Changes need to be made. Oh for one night of dreamless sleep.
fiction
edward w pritchard
More in desperation than spite the various layers of characterization of being of myself representing my subconscious chose an idiot to advise, compose and direct my nightly dreams; the same nightly dreams that my daytime self consulted for direction on how to run my life in the reality of existence. For several years my nightly dreams are directed in my subconscious by an idiot. Meanwhile, upon waking I take thought on the significance of my dreams and in a flurry of activity write down snippets of those wispy memories of misinterpreted factoids that the idiot director of my dreams has chosen Salvidor Dali like to represent the mirrored reality of my life.
Changes need to be made. Oh for one night of dreamless sleep.
Monday, January 16, 2012
lamentation number 6
lamentation number 6
fiction
edward w pritchard
I am cast in a pit but I wait patiently for the return of your favor Lord. Hear my quiet prayer and take note of my suffering. Night is long and darkness interminable, raise your hand Lord and guide me into the the light of your grace. Humbly I endure the punishment for my sins. Send winds and light rain to cleanse my soul and heal my spirit. Birds sing and gardens grow when the Lord is pleased. Drinking water is sweet and food flavorful when the Lord smiles upon his prodigal sons.
fiction
edward w pritchard
I am cast in a pit but I wait patiently for the return of your favor Lord. Hear my quiet prayer and take note of my suffering. Night is long and darkness interminable, raise your hand Lord and guide me into the the light of your grace. Humbly I endure the punishment for my sins. Send winds and light rain to cleanse my soul and heal my spirit. Birds sing and gardens grow when the Lord is pleased. Drinking water is sweet and food flavorful when the Lord smiles upon his prodigal sons.
my second ever prayer to the Lord
my second ever prayer to the Lord
fiction
edward w pritchard
Lord, I am just a speck in all your magnificence of creation
yet I have managed to fall short of my potential
head in the clouds and feet in quicksand
for the second time I come to you in prayer, this time for myself.
The first time you promptly delivered but at a cost I shudder to remember.
Now I ask again.
Having passed on to the future
the miracle of life
direct my steps, motivate my daily activity,
guide me through the last group of days of my brief existence
to redeem myself in your eyes and bloom one time before final decay.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Lord, I am just a speck in all your magnificence of creation
yet I have managed to fall short of my potential
head in the clouds and feet in quicksand
for the second time I come to you in prayer, this time for myself.
The first time you promptly delivered but at a cost I shudder to remember.
Now I ask again.
Having passed on to the future
the miracle of life
direct my steps, motivate my daily activity,
guide me through the last group of days of my brief existence
to redeem myself in your eyes and bloom one time before final decay.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
walking in the medieval gardens at the cloisters museum, Manhattan
walking in the medieval gardens at the cloisters museum, Manhattan
fiction
edward w pritchard
I walk in silence around and around the covered arcades in the perfect square walkways of the highest spot in Manhattan, at the cloisters museum. The smell of lavender wafts from the warm gardens as I stroll up and down the seven columns of each arcade, 4 walkways each with seven columns, each column capped with a Romanesque style ornamental capital high up along the Hudson River. Looking across the River I see new Jersey but as I walk my heart is always in Manhattan until I drift back to the Pyrenees in the cloister of St Michael de cloche in Northern Spain in the year 1115 which is where the cloisters museum garden where I now stand is modeled after. I know that because I feel in my bones that I lived at that original cloister as a monk in the year 1115. I walk now in my present life here in Manhattan nearly everyday at lunch and sometimes after work to remember my past life and to think again of Justa a girl I once loved and was unable to marry. I entered the Monastery from Jaca a medieval town to escape my life in 1114 and now in 2010 everyday at noon I walk around the walkways of the summer garden at the Cloisters medieval museum here in Manhattan in silence and think of Justa my love. Sometimes a visitor here will ask me a question about the gardens and I will politely tell them a little about the monastery where I once stayed for four years until my death in 1118. I am no longer bound by my vows of silence as I once was as a monk at St Michael and I enjoy telling the visitors and foreign tourists here a little about the monastery and Northern Spain where I was born originally, long before my life here in New York.
The smells in the garden are what take me back to Jaca in 1115. I quickly forget my job on the trading floor at JP Morgan and for exercise each day I walk round and round the four walkways of the gardens and admire the Romanesque capitals on each column, some of which one hot Summer day in 1116 I helped repair after a small earth quake. Later I would often dust those exquisite monumental capitals as part of my daily duties when I wasn't praying. The work there at the monastery kept my mind off of Justa who was by the year 1116 married to a cloth weaver about two hundred miles from the Monastery I lived in.
Sometimes now in 2010 I stand in the garden among the flowers and lecture a little about life in the Monastery back in 1115. The tourists here in New York love my comments thinking me a part of the tour here at the Cloisters and the security guards don't mind thinking me merely one of Manhattan's many educated eccentrics. Also it helps that I am a patron of the museum and sometimes help raise money to expand the collections.
Justa was very beautiful and I still miss her. Of course Justa has been gone a very long time. I often wonder as I walk what became of Justa and wonder if she ever lived again after her life there in Northern Spain so many many years ago.
fiction
edward w pritchard
I walk in silence around and around the covered arcades in the perfect square walkways of the highest spot in Manhattan, at the cloisters museum. The smell of lavender wafts from the warm gardens as I stroll up and down the seven columns of each arcade, 4 walkways each with seven columns, each column capped with a Romanesque style ornamental capital high up along the Hudson River. Looking across the River I see new Jersey but as I walk my heart is always in Manhattan until I drift back to the Pyrenees in the cloister of St Michael de cloche in Northern Spain in the year 1115 which is where the cloisters museum garden where I now stand is modeled after. I know that because I feel in my bones that I lived at that original cloister as a monk in the year 1115. I walk now in my present life here in Manhattan nearly everyday at lunch and sometimes after work to remember my past life and to think again of Justa a girl I once loved and was unable to marry. I entered the Monastery from Jaca a medieval town to escape my life in 1114 and now in 2010 everyday at noon I walk around the walkways of the summer garden at the Cloisters medieval museum here in Manhattan in silence and think of Justa my love. Sometimes a visitor here will ask me a question about the gardens and I will politely tell them a little about the monastery where I once stayed for four years until my death in 1118. I am no longer bound by my vows of silence as I once was as a monk at St Michael and I enjoy telling the visitors and foreign tourists here a little about the monastery and Northern Spain where I was born originally, long before my life here in New York.
The smells in the garden are what take me back to Jaca in 1115. I quickly forget my job on the trading floor at JP Morgan and for exercise each day I walk round and round the four walkways of the gardens and admire the Romanesque capitals on each column, some of which one hot Summer day in 1116 I helped repair after a small earth quake. Later I would often dust those exquisite monumental capitals as part of my daily duties when I wasn't praying. The work there at the monastery kept my mind off of Justa who was by the year 1116 married to a cloth weaver about two hundred miles from the Monastery I lived in.
Sometimes now in 2010 I stand in the garden among the flowers and lecture a little about life in the Monastery back in 1115. The tourists here in New York love my comments thinking me a part of the tour here at the Cloisters and the security guards don't mind thinking me merely one of Manhattan's many educated eccentrics. Also it helps that I am a patron of the museum and sometimes help raise money to expand the collections.
Justa was very beautiful and I still miss her. Of course Justa has been gone a very long time. I often wonder as I walk what became of Justa and wonder if she ever lived again after her life there in Northern Spain so many many years ago.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
late night chats with Mother Knoppen
late night chats with Mother Knoppen
fiction
edward w pritchard
You had to be very quiet when you stopped by to chat with Mother Knoppen. The children were light sleepers and it took Mrs. Knoppen a long time to get them all in bed for the night. We would sit at her kitchen table to whisper late, after ten PM, and Angela Knoppen, Angie, would tell me about what she wanted to do someday. Study about space travel or join the garden club. Usually one of the seven children would have a cough or a nightmare and we would put the coffee cups in the sink, put away the Ritz crackers, and have to continue our talks in a couple of weeks.
Twenty years later I sometimes ran into Angie Knoppen over at McDonald's with one or two of her grandchildren. She would tell me about the newest theory in string theory and multiple universes. Usually as she talked she would forget about being a Grandmother for a minute when she was excited about Science or something and forget herself and brush back her hair with the back of her hand and maybe draw a diagram on the napkin there at McDonald's explaining how there might be eleven multiple universes. Before long one of her Daughter's would come in to tell her she was getting back with her husband or Mike, her boyfriend was on strike and we would have to discontinue our chat.
After I exited the McDonald's I would always stand in the glass entry way with the employee washing the double doors and watch Angie holding a baby and listening intently to the details of Mike's temporary job.
fiction
edward w pritchard
You had to be very quiet when you stopped by to chat with Mother Knoppen. The children were light sleepers and it took Mrs. Knoppen a long time to get them all in bed for the night. We would sit at her kitchen table to whisper late, after ten PM, and Angela Knoppen, Angie, would tell me about what she wanted to do someday. Study about space travel or join the garden club. Usually one of the seven children would have a cough or a nightmare and we would put the coffee cups in the sink, put away the Ritz crackers, and have to continue our talks in a couple of weeks.
Twenty years later I sometimes ran into Angie Knoppen over at McDonald's with one or two of her grandchildren. She would tell me about the newest theory in string theory and multiple universes. Usually as she talked she would forget about being a Grandmother for a minute when she was excited about Science or something and forget herself and brush back her hair with the back of her hand and maybe draw a diagram on the napkin there at McDonald's explaining how there might be eleven multiple universes. Before long one of her Daughter's would come in to tell her she was getting back with her husband or Mike, her boyfriend was on strike and we would have to discontinue our chat.
After I exited the McDonald's I would always stand in the glass entry way with the employee washing the double doors and watch Angie holding a baby and listening intently to the details of Mike's temporary job.
Friday, January 13, 2012
implant, bypass, redirect/draft 1
implant, bypass, redirect/draft 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
I struggled for years to synchronize my efforts and actions properly, but to no avail. If my daily plans were well thought out and properly directed to achieve success for me they weren't timely. If timely and properly carried out the plans and goals weren't really mine. If all systems, goals, plans and being in the here and now were appropriately attacked; failure resulted from internal self sabotage.
I saved my money and went to have the implant procedure. It's not painful but it takes a few hours to have the collective memories of two hundred of the most effective people of the last one hundred years surgically implanted in your neck.
After the operation a voice in my neck began to bypass my stumbling efforts at structuring a life for myself and instead two hundred nurturing, effective, highly efficient consultant/friends advised my every step, every thought and action I took throughout my day. I didn't have the money just yet to have the proper philosophy and morals supplemental programs rider implanted originally, but soon I will.
In the meantime my two hundred new friends, my new collective voice since my implant, inside my neck bypass my plans and schemes and methodically collectively redirects my every step throughout my day.
For me, for now I am just trying to readjust to my new way of attacking my world.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
I struggled for years to synchronize my efforts and actions properly, but to no avail. If my daily plans were well thought out and properly directed to achieve success for me they weren't timely. If timely and properly carried out the plans and goals weren't really mine. If all systems, goals, plans and being in the here and now were appropriately attacked; failure resulted from internal self sabotage.
I saved my money and went to have the implant procedure. It's not painful but it takes a few hours to have the collective memories of two hundred of the most effective people of the last one hundred years surgically implanted in your neck.
After the operation a voice in my neck began to bypass my stumbling efforts at structuring a life for myself and instead two hundred nurturing, effective, highly efficient consultant/friends advised my every step, every thought and action I took throughout my day. I didn't have the money just yet to have the proper philosophy and morals supplemental programs rider implanted originally, but soon I will.
In the meantime my two hundred new friends, my new collective voice since my implant, inside my neck bypass my plans and schemes and methodically collectively redirects my every step throughout my day.
For me, for now I am just trying to readjust to my new way of attacking my world.
end
Thursday, January 12, 2012
John Mc masters, the secret life of a choir director in Mayberry North Carolina
John Mc masters, the secret life of a choir director in Mayberry North Carolina
fiction
edward w pritchard
A work of parody. No copy right infringement is intended of characters created by Mr. Andrew Griffith.
It's difficult to be stuck in a small town in the middle of North Carolina. It's not even on the ocean. First working as a desk clerk at a very small hotel and then as the choir director. As choir director we always do traditional things and for excitement we let a farmer/moonshiner or a gas station mechanic sing solo.
The reason I started the choir director job was to meet girls. Not that there are many here to meet. The local Sheriff gets all the desirable girls here anyway. The Sheriff, what can I say about a guy who shoots rats at the dump for fun. Still he sings well and plays the guitar.
My perversion started at the try outs for the founders day pageant. I became fixated on women wearing a bonnet, you know the kind of hat proper women wore in the late 1700's. I had each woman here in town who auditioned for the best part in the pageant as the leading female citizen of our town just before the battle of Mayberry read in character by wearing an early pioneer style dress and a bonnet. It's the bonnet that has come to possess my thoughts.
Clara E. widow should have got the part for she has the most acting talent and she plays piano. I didn't pick Clara for the lead, begging off that I needed her at piano and she bought that. Miss Bee was just ordinary at tryouts so I selected her to be in charge of cooking pies and cakes.
I picked the nurse Miss Peggy as the female lead. She sings well but I picked Peggy for how she looked in that bonnet. I think about her all the time now, years later even after she left town. I didn't get anywhere with Peggy. Miss Peggy dated that Sheriff I mentioned earlier who got all the women here. Sometimes I fantasize about Miss Peggy coming by and cooking me dinner and us eating by candle light. After we would sit on the porch and sing together.
That was a long time ago. I live in a much bigger City now. I moved to Morgan town WVA for a while but now I am in Mt. Pilot, just twelve miles from Mayberry, but it seems worlds apart. Looking back now all that happened in Mayberry seems less than real to me at times.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
A work of parody. No copy right infringement is intended of characters created by Mr. Andrew Griffith.
It's difficult to be stuck in a small town in the middle of North Carolina. It's not even on the ocean. First working as a desk clerk at a very small hotel and then as the choir director. As choir director we always do traditional things and for excitement we let a farmer/moonshiner or a gas station mechanic sing solo.
The reason I started the choir director job was to meet girls. Not that there are many here to meet. The local Sheriff gets all the desirable girls here anyway. The Sheriff, what can I say about a guy who shoots rats at the dump for fun. Still he sings well and plays the guitar.
My perversion started at the try outs for the founders day pageant. I became fixated on women wearing a bonnet, you know the kind of hat proper women wore in the late 1700's. I had each woman here in town who auditioned for the best part in the pageant as the leading female citizen of our town just before the battle of Mayberry read in character by wearing an early pioneer style dress and a bonnet. It's the bonnet that has come to possess my thoughts.
Clara E. widow should have got the part for she has the most acting talent and she plays piano. I didn't pick Clara for the lead, begging off that I needed her at piano and she bought that. Miss Bee was just ordinary at tryouts so I selected her to be in charge of cooking pies and cakes.
I picked the nurse Miss Peggy as the female lead. She sings well but I picked Peggy for how she looked in that bonnet. I think about her all the time now, years later even after she left town. I didn't get anywhere with Peggy. Miss Peggy dated that Sheriff I mentioned earlier who got all the women here. Sometimes I fantasize about Miss Peggy coming by and cooking me dinner and us eating by candle light. After we would sit on the porch and sing together.
That was a long time ago. I live in a much bigger City now. I moved to Morgan town WVA for a while but now I am in Mt. Pilot, just twelve miles from Mayberry, but it seems worlds apart. Looking back now all that happened in Mayberry seems less than real to me at times.
end
Theo and Vincent, Doctor and Theo are concerned
Theo and Vincent, Doctor and Theo are concerned
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dear Doctor;
Thank you for the recent note about my Brother Vincent. I will try to get over to Arles very soon.
I too share your concern. However, in the case about my brother's comments about his right hand I think I can explain it so you will understand what I think is Vincent's motivation in threatening to smash one of his fingers so he couldn't continue to refine and edit one of his paintings of a vase of sunflowers.
The critics call the style Vincent and others paint in impressionism. It is a derisive label but has a grain of insight about it. Vincent and others of the style of impressionism believe that the artist's first impression or glimpse of a scene or an object is the reason to paint the picture. Any further refinement or editing of the painting makes it less authentic and the essence of the original subject is lost. This I think explains my brother's recent action.
Thank you Doctor. Please find my check for your services and accept my gratitude for your attention to the affairs of my Brother Vincent.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dear Doctor;
Thank you for the recent note about my Brother Vincent. I will try to get over to Arles very soon.
I too share your concern. However, in the case about my brother's comments about his right hand I think I can explain it so you will understand what I think is Vincent's motivation in threatening to smash one of his fingers so he couldn't continue to refine and edit one of his paintings of a vase of sunflowers.
The critics call the style Vincent and others paint in impressionism. It is a derisive label but has a grain of insight about it. Vincent and others of the style of impressionism believe that the artist's first impression or glimpse of a scene or an object is the reason to paint the picture. Any further refinement or editing of the painting makes it less authentic and the essence of the original subject is lost. This I think explains my brother's recent action.
Thank you Doctor. Please find my check for your services and accept my gratitude for your attention to the affairs of my Brother Vincent.
vampires versus humans, how to fight if outnumbered
vampires versus humans, how to fight if outnumbered
fiction
edward w pritchard
I have been doing my vampire thing a very long time. Every night searching searching for victims. Its a chore really and sometimes I can't motivate myself to go on.
Sometimes I go down by the railroad tracks over in the industrial area where the desperate people stay. They gang up for safety and when they hear a lone intruder they get aggressive. I have a huge advantage over humans at night, even three or four but they don't know it yet. Very soon some of them will remember though.
They usually fling a heavy metal bar of some sort at me, first thing, in the dark. Humans have fought that way against me for many centuries and it never works for I can see perfectly in the dark and I move very fast.
I just pick up the iron bar and use it against them. Once they realize what I am they never stick together. It's instinctual for them to run and charge when they confront one of us and that's why they always lose.
I love the first few seconds of the fight. I can see their faces in the dark and they are fierce and confident in their groups and they fight instinctively as a pack and its beautiful to behold. First one of them throws the iron bar at me. Then they charge in the dark. For a minute its exciting to me as they fan out and try to surround and flank me standing tall and running at me with abandon. They are a pack, it's very ancient and challenging for me and I always get a rush. Three or four humans against one vampire. Then I have to get ferocious and it's over quickly as they flee and scatter and then just a bloody mess.
I have a lot of trouble sleeping all day after. Troubling dreams and fretful tossing and turning. Then comes the musings about my past. Just before dark I begin to stir and always get myself up and get to the going looking for human victims again and again. Me vampirie.
fiction
edward w pritchard
I have been doing my vampire thing a very long time. Every night searching searching for victims. Its a chore really and sometimes I can't motivate myself to go on.
Sometimes I go down by the railroad tracks over in the industrial area where the desperate people stay. They gang up for safety and when they hear a lone intruder they get aggressive. I have a huge advantage over humans at night, even three or four but they don't know it yet. Very soon some of them will remember though.
They usually fling a heavy metal bar of some sort at me, first thing, in the dark. Humans have fought that way against me for many centuries and it never works for I can see perfectly in the dark and I move very fast.
I just pick up the iron bar and use it against them. Once they realize what I am they never stick together. It's instinctual for them to run and charge when they confront one of us and that's why they always lose.
I love the first few seconds of the fight. I can see their faces in the dark and they are fierce and confident in their groups and they fight instinctively as a pack and its beautiful to behold. First one of them throws the iron bar at me. Then they charge in the dark. For a minute its exciting to me as they fan out and try to surround and flank me standing tall and running at me with abandon. They are a pack, it's very ancient and challenging for me and I always get a rush. Three or four humans against one vampire. Then I have to get ferocious and it's over quickly as they flee and scatter and then just a bloody mess.
I have a lot of trouble sleeping all day after. Troubling dreams and fretful tossing and turning. Then comes the musings about my past. Just before dark I begin to stir and always get myself up and get to the going looking for human victims again and again. Me vampirie.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
that first night Jesus came back
that first night Jesus came back
fiction
edward w pritchard
That first night Jesus came back he really wanted to party. He said real soon he had a lot of serious work to do and he would be real busy. First we hit the town though , times three; Vegas, Manhattan and New Orleans in a ten day period.
When we got back Jesus sort of disappeared. I knew he was working on something big so mostly I just let him do his thing. I am close to Jesus and when he needs to work I leave him to it.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
That first night Jesus came back he really wanted to party. He said real soon he had a lot of serious work to do and he would be real busy. First we hit the town though , times three; Vegas, Manhattan and New Orleans in a ten day period.
When we got back Jesus sort of disappeared. I knew he was working on something big so mostly I just let him do his thing. I am close to Jesus and when he needs to work I leave him to it.
end
boogie woogie dream number 44, President Obama
boogie woogie dream number 44, President Obama
fiction
edward w pritchard
President Obama is a good man. All men make mistakes. It's time to learn from our mistakes. Let's re-elect President Obama but let's expect him to re focus in the second term.
True there are always extenuating circumstances; given a choice choose the way of peace.
If confused by conflicting advice by driven ambitious people in solitude read Saint Mathew.
Remove America from all wars of aggression. Do not wage any war for more than a few years.
Keep your attention as close to home as possible. Protect and defend the weak.
Beware of monied interests that congregate in large cities and speak obliquely.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
President Obama is a good man. All men make mistakes. It's time to learn from our mistakes. Let's re-elect President Obama but let's expect him to re focus in the second term.
True there are always extenuating circumstances; given a choice choose the way of peace.
If confused by conflicting advice by driven ambitious people in solitude read Saint Mathew.
Remove America from all wars of aggression. Do not wage any war for more than a few years.
Keep your attention as close to home as possible. Protect and defend the weak.
Beware of monied interests that congregate in large cities and speak obliquely.
end
to yearn for something
to yearn for something
fiction
edward w pritchard
Word derivations are bursting human treasures passed to us from our nameless ancestors.
First, although everybody is unique, we all experience the same basic daily stimuli. Waves, sunrises, phases of the moon, fingers smashed, loved ones removed.
Over time we realize that sometimes we are happy and sometimes sad. Often reason unknown. Our moods are a legacy passed on to us in deep human time from our ancestors who came before us and language is the tally as our species successfully struggled to exist, uttered sounds to convince, order and express fleeting wistful emotions and moods.
To express the moods and longings they experienced our ancestors passed on to us and reluctantly sent us the words that composed the language they used in a shrinking attempt to order their lives.
I "yearn" intensely for what I have lost. My distant Grandfather, great greatly had a "yernen" to understand why he missed his dead wife. With his great great grandmother, she had a "giernan", an intense desire to know why she felt as she did, but her Great great great [ times ten] aunt used "hortari" and urged the future descendants to use "chairein" to encourage and to rejoice in the travesty of life.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Word derivations are bursting human treasures passed to us from our nameless ancestors.
First, although everybody is unique, we all experience the same basic daily stimuli. Waves, sunrises, phases of the moon, fingers smashed, loved ones removed.
Over time we realize that sometimes we are happy and sometimes sad. Often reason unknown. Our moods are a legacy passed on to us in deep human time from our ancestors who came before us and language is the tally as our species successfully struggled to exist, uttered sounds to convince, order and express fleeting wistful emotions and moods.
To express the moods and longings they experienced our ancestors passed on to us and reluctantly sent us the words that composed the language they used in a shrinking attempt to order their lives.
I "yearn" intensely for what I have lost. My distant Grandfather, great greatly had a "yernen" to understand why he missed his dead wife. With his great great grandmother, she had a "giernan", an intense desire to know why she felt as she did, but her Great great great [ times ten] aunt used "hortari" and urged the future descendants to use "chairein" to encourage and to rejoice in the travesty of life.
end
futility, me i was just trying to please everyone
Futility, me I was just trying to please everyone
fiction
edward w pritchard
There is an element of futility to our lives. If we could slow down the daily activities and then remove ourselves far above the commotion we would see our comings and goings as they are.
Me, I was just trying to please everyone. Somewhat selfless but actually bouncing about the maze rushing to keep everyone happy, or so we think. Misunderstanding many things.
Set a course for yourself. Have a philosophy. Stick to you ideals. There is much noise in our lives.
Meditate and find your inner center. The illusions you have succumbed to for many years will dissolve before your eyes and you will begin to see clearly. Balance the good and bad to find a workable routine.
Life has no meaning. The struggle for survival is a slow motion travesty for understanding.
fiction
edward w pritchard
There is an element of futility to our lives. If we could slow down the daily activities and then remove ourselves far above the commotion we would see our comings and goings as they are.
Me, I was just trying to please everyone. Somewhat selfless but actually bouncing about the maze rushing to keep everyone happy, or so we think. Misunderstanding many things.
Set a course for yourself. Have a philosophy. Stick to you ideals. There is much noise in our lives.
Meditate and find your inner center. The illusions you have succumbed to for many years will dissolve before your eyes and you will begin to see clearly. Balance the good and bad to find a workable routine.
Life has no meaning. The struggle for survival is a slow motion travesty for understanding.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
first female major league baseball player
first female major league baseball player
fiction
edward w pritchard
Brenda Hughes wanted to become the first female major league baseball player. Since the 1950's no major league team has drafted a female.
Brenda became a master of the drag bunt. Using back spin, Brenda could push the ball toward third and then using "English" spin the ball so it would curl toward first base, angling away from the third baseman and pitcher.
It's a shame major league baseball won't draft women players if they are talented enough to make a contribution to the team.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Brenda Hughes wanted to become the first female major league baseball player. Since the 1950's no major league team has drafted a female.
Brenda became a master of the drag bunt. Using back spin, Brenda could push the ball toward third and then using "English" spin the ball so it would curl toward first base, angling away from the third baseman and pitcher.
It's a shame major league baseball won't draft women players if they are talented enough to make a contribution to the team.
end
after the funeral
after the funeral
fiction
edward w pritchard
After Father's funeral the entire family was very sad. Father had chosen to have the only real asset he had left incinerated with him when he was cremated. The New York district court upheld Father's wishes as expressed in his will and a valuable early Monet sketch was burned along with Father's body.
My older Brother even petitioned the French goverment for assistance, but to no avail. The Monet sketch was cremated along with Father.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
After Father's funeral the entire family was very sad. Father had chosen to have the only real asset he had left incinerated with him when he was cremated. The New York district court upheld Father's wishes as expressed in his will and a valuable early Monet sketch was burned along with Father's body.
My older Brother even petitioned the French goverment for assistance, but to no avail. The Monet sketch was cremated along with Father.
end
jack the ripper, at the beach part 18
jack the ripper, at the beach part 18
fiction
edward w pritchard
mother: "you shouldn't talk to strangers, Carrie"
daughter: digging in the sand, "he's nice"
Mother, reading- "who is he, glancing over"
daughter -"his name is jack"
Mother- "he looks Ok but you shouldn't talk to strangers"
daughter- "he likes children, but his eyes are scary sometimes"
mother - "all the same, maybe you shouldn't talk to him"
daughter- "he wouldn't bother me, but maybe you should stay away Mother"
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
mother: "you shouldn't talk to strangers, Carrie"
daughter: digging in the sand, "he's nice"
Mother, reading- "who is he, glancing over"
daughter -"his name is jack"
Mother- "he looks Ok but you shouldn't talk to strangers"
daughter- "he likes children, but his eyes are scary sometimes"
mother - "all the same, maybe you shouldn't talk to him"
daughter- "he wouldn't bother me, but maybe you should stay away Mother"
end
jack the ripper, another part emerges-part 17
jack the ripper, another part emerges-part 17
fiction
edward w pritchard
Note: author has been using Jack the Ripper's visits metaphorically as part of his subconscious that visit only now and then. see parts 1-16 previous
Jack the ripper: So you see what I mean
Author: yes I am afraid so, about Mary Jane Kelly
Jack the ripper- you should write about it.
Author- tonight,
I know that your last victim Mary Jane Kelly was an attractive girl, but was she intelligent?
Jack When you are ready to write tonight, ask me then. Meanwhile see to your workouts, it's good for you, [chuckling] and whispering in a sad sardonic but quiet way,
"sublimate my amigo"
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Note: author has been using Jack the Ripper's visits metaphorically as part of his subconscious that visit only now and then. see parts 1-16 previous
Jack the ripper: So you see what I mean
Author: yes I am afraid so, about Mary Jane Kelly
Jack the ripper- you should write about it.
Author- tonight,
I know that your last victim Mary Jane Kelly was an attractive girl, but was she intelligent?
Jack When you are ready to write tonight, ask me then. Meanwhile see to your workouts, it's good for you, [chuckling] and whispering in a sad sardonic but quiet way,
"sublimate my amigo"
end
Friday, January 6, 2012
non union worker, glad to be productive
non union worker, glad to be productive
fiction
edward w pritchard
Every day I pack sixty thousand plastic forks into boxes. It's a quota here at the factory. All workers must pack accurately 60,000 forks or more each shift.
I don't worry about my quota. I just make sure that everyone who reaches for a plastic fork made by our company gets a perfect four pronged fork at least if it's from a box I packed. I take pride in my work.
I am one of the little people who keep the wheels of commerce turning here in Ohio where I live. I pack the forks and God looks out for the rest in my life.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Every day I pack sixty thousand plastic forks into boxes. It's a quota here at the factory. All workers must pack accurately 60,000 forks or more each shift.
I don't worry about my quota. I just make sure that everyone who reaches for a plastic fork made by our company gets a perfect four pronged fork at least if it's from a box I packed. I take pride in my work.
I am one of the little people who keep the wheels of commerce turning here in Ohio where I live. I pack the forks and God looks out for the rest in my life.
end
Thursday, January 5, 2012
browse thousands of local girls
browse thousands of local girls
fiction
edward w pritchard
If I was younger, and if I was doing better, and if i was feeling daring; Genene 45 might catch my eye with that red hair.
Looking again later, no she is smiling, may as well not make someone unhappy again.
eom
fiction
edward w pritchard
If I was younger, and if I was doing better, and if i was feeling daring; Genene 45 might catch my eye with that red hair.
Looking again later, no she is smiling, may as well not make someone unhappy again.
eom
no searching on facebook or twitter for me, my love is lost in Holidex,
no searching on facebook or twitter for me, my love is lost in Holidex,
fiction
edward w pritchard
Before facebook, before twitter, way back in 1971, us working nights for the Holiday Inns, clandestinely chatted by Holidex, the company's state of the art reservation system. Clicking away over the wires, then clattering loudly as it printed to large rolls of print paper bored fellow night auditors would send me messages here in Akron from exotic locations like Santa Fe, New Mexico or North Chico, California.
Sometimes when my work was done, late after the bar closed I would sit by the pool and look at the stars and think grand thoughts. After, returning to duty at the front desk I always watched for messages from Lucinda, "hippy girl" of Rochester New York.
Three times Lucinda spammed me with questions in July of 1971 and three times I blathered back to her.
On our second chat after I asked her what her favorite kind of wine was Lucinda asked me some questions about Iago from the Merchant of Venice for her Freshman English class. Later Mr Janicus, district manager Holiday Inns of New York sent me a cease and desist edict not to use Holidex for person business per Holidex manual page 24 section 4.
Sometimes now forty years later very late at night I look on the internet for information on Lucinda, " hippy girl" of Rochester New York, but it's hard to find anything relevant since I never caught her last name.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Before facebook, before twitter, way back in 1971, us working nights for the Holiday Inns, clandestinely chatted by Holidex, the company's state of the art reservation system. Clicking away over the wires, then clattering loudly as it printed to large rolls of print paper bored fellow night auditors would send me messages here in Akron from exotic locations like Santa Fe, New Mexico or North Chico, California.
Sometimes when my work was done, late after the bar closed I would sit by the pool and look at the stars and think grand thoughts. After, returning to duty at the front desk I always watched for messages from Lucinda, "hippy girl" of Rochester New York.
Three times Lucinda spammed me with questions in July of 1971 and three times I blathered back to her.
On our second chat after I asked her what her favorite kind of wine was Lucinda asked me some questions about Iago from the Merchant of Venice for her Freshman English class. Later Mr Janicus, district manager Holiday Inns of New York sent me a cease and desist edict not to use Holidex for person business per Holidex manual page 24 section 4.
Sometimes now forty years later very late at night I look on the internet for information on Lucinda, " hippy girl" of Rochester New York, but it's hard to find anything relevant since I never caught her last name.
end
the devil lives in my email search engine/part 3
the devil lives in my email search engine/part 3
fiction
edward w pritchard
I am sick and tired of my emails being scrutinized by my email provider"s search engine for advertising opportunities against me.
For revenge of sorts I have sent the following email to confuse the cloudy artificial intelligence mechanistic voyeur that is so curious about me:
" Necrophiliac activities aside, I have lobbed malokaff cocktails at Grandmother's memory over at the Fairy Queen ice cream restaurant.
True to form, a message from search engine read:
"Milk can help you lose weight, click here for new studies on vitamin D and popularity"
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
I am sick and tired of my emails being scrutinized by my email provider"s search engine for advertising opportunities against me.
For revenge of sorts I have sent the following email to confuse the cloudy artificial intelligence mechanistic voyeur that is so curious about me:
" Necrophiliac activities aside, I have lobbed malokaff cocktails at Grandmother's memory over at the Fairy Queen ice cream restaurant.
True to form, a message from search engine read:
"Milk can help you lose weight, click here for new studies on vitamin D and popularity"
end
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
quantum jumping gone astray
quantum jumping gone astray
fiction
edward w pritchard
I paid the money and I got the booklet. Quantum Jumping will take you to a parallel universe where another you is more successful, mindful, focused and thinner. You then learn the techniques and return enlightened and hyper talented.
When I awoke the next morning the bedroom I live in and everything else around me still looked the same. Determined I decided change was up to me and not which universe I lived in. For me, success is more exercise, breaking my dreams into manageable units of daily focused activities, meditation and being grateful for what I have.
Quantum jumping to another universe may be possible. However, I am sure the principles of interdependent arising still apply. In short moving around the wheel of becoming requires hard work, a realistic assessment of cause and effect and a humble acceptance of our place in this universe we live in.
fiction
edward w pritchard
I paid the money and I got the booklet. Quantum Jumping will take you to a parallel universe where another you is more successful, mindful, focused and thinner. You then learn the techniques and return enlightened and hyper talented.
When I awoke the next morning the bedroom I live in and everything else around me still looked the same. Determined I decided change was up to me and not which universe I lived in. For me, success is more exercise, breaking my dreams into manageable units of daily focused activities, meditation and being grateful for what I have.
Quantum jumping to another universe may be possible. However, I am sure the principles of interdependent arising still apply. In short moving around the wheel of becoming requires hard work, a realistic assessment of cause and effect and a humble acceptance of our place in this universe we live in.
Traci Lords and Ginger Lynn, the price of fame
Traci Lords and Ginger Lynn, the price of fame
fiction
edward w pritchard
see edit. blog 08/16/2012
This is a lament on the price one must pay to gain fame and celebrity and continues with comments on the brevity of existence.
Traci Lords and Ginger Lynn, two celebrities who paid the price to gain fame.
Traci Lords you seem to be doing Ok now with that indomitable will. At least so it seems to me from afar.
I worry about Ginger Lynn sometimes. Soft in the soul maybe she is. I don't know Ginger personally, having never met but I have admired her earlier work. Ginger is too naive, too trusting that all will work out well. Relying on the kindness of strangers.
Time pulls the rug out from under us. We stand up to Time's ravages and patiently one day at a time, Time , grinds all of us down. Puts us in our place. Our youth and beauty are gone. A few pictures as a reminder of what once was. More in the case of Tracy Lords and less for Ginger Lynn, vanishing everyday mercifully.
New characters are willing to pay the toll to chase fame. So soon they to be vanishing pictures on the internet of eternity.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
see edit. blog 08/16/2012
This is a lament on the price one must pay to gain fame and celebrity and continues with comments on the brevity of existence.
Traci Lords and Ginger Lynn, two celebrities who paid the price to gain fame.
Traci Lords you seem to be doing Ok now with that indomitable will. At least so it seems to me from afar.
I worry about Ginger Lynn sometimes. Soft in the soul maybe she is. I don't know Ginger personally, having never met but I have admired her earlier work. Ginger is too naive, too trusting that all will work out well. Relying on the kindness of strangers.
Time pulls the rug out from under us. We stand up to Time's ravages and patiently one day at a time, Time , grinds all of us down. Puts us in our place. Our youth and beauty are gone. A few pictures as a reminder of what once was. More in the case of Tracy Lords and less for Ginger Lynn, vanishing everyday mercifully.
New characters are willing to pay the toll to chase fame. So soon they to be vanishing pictures on the internet of eternity.
end
Monday, January 2, 2012
the devil is not really so scary/search engines part 2
the devil is not really so scary/search engines part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
The Devil is not really so scary. Walk with him once in a while and get to know him as a person.
The devil is just like we are. Just like you. He's been around a long time and has a reputation. Just like you. The devil is capable of extreme deeds. Just like you. The devil thinks the unthinkable and does it sometimes. Just like you. Walk with the Devil sometimes and get to know yourself.
How to summon the Devil? Think obliquely.
end
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fiction
edward w pritchard
The Devil is not really so scary. Walk with him once in a while and get to know him as a person.
The devil is just like we are. Just like you. He's been around a long time and has a reputation. Just like you. The devil is capable of extreme deeds. Just like you. The devil thinks the unthinkable and does it sometimes. Just like you. Walk with the Devil sometimes and get to know yourself.
How to summon the Devil? Think obliquely.
end
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I need help diss-ing a search engine
I need help diss-ing a search engine
fiction
edward w pritchard
Question for Answer Girl;
I need help diss-ing a search engine. All the search engine on my computer thinks about is optimization. My needs never come first, I am never treated as unique. Help me please, answer girl.
Answer:
Answer Girl can relate. Been there. My blood foams to think about it.
Here's what to do.
Pepper your blogs with innuendo. Then when artificial intelligence responds by dropping the ball and missing the nuances you will get a laugh. It's hilarious really. Try it. Let me know, new friend
Answer Girl
you might also find of interest:
Glamping in Manhattan, Answer girl's new video of three days at the Four Seasons Hotel, a week end under the stars.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Question for Answer Girl;
I need help diss-ing a search engine. All the search engine on my computer thinks about is optimization. My needs never come first, I am never treated as unique. Help me please, answer girl.
Answer:
Answer Girl can relate. Been there. My blood foams to think about it.
Here's what to do.
Pepper your blogs with innuendo. Then when artificial intelligence responds by dropping the ball and missing the nuances you will get a laugh. It's hilarious really. Try it. Let me know, new friend
Answer Girl
you might also find of interest:
Glamping in Manhattan, Answer girl's new video of three days at the Four Seasons Hotel, a week end under the stars.
brief lunch meeting with a celebrity friend long disassocciated
brief lunch meeting with a celebrity friend long disassociated
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's embarrassing to repeat just how long it took me to type the letter to Mr. xx confirming our lunch date of January the eighth of 2012. Not that I had trouble thinking up how to compose the letter but that I couldn't get the type writer to work properly. Margins and spacing are a mystery to me, my computer couldn't be used because I have no printer that works and a handwritten letter was deemed to informal to reply to a famous celebrity; even one once a friend. At length however, measured in days the letter was mailed, personally through the US post office and a confirmation was received by phone from Penny a local representative of my famous acquaintance.
The day before my lunch with my celebrity friend I watched several clips of him on you tube and read about him in the national media. I was surprised at my brief lunch meeting with a celebrity friend long disassociated by my friend's shyness and timidity of manner. The persona portrayed in the news media and on National television was gone and my celebrity friend was a different person.
Several days later after a very good meal with my celebrity friend I meant to send a thank you letter to Mr. xx but I couldn't get the energy to deal with the margins and spacing on my old type writer. Later when Penny, the local representative of my celebrity friend called I thought it better not to mention that my celebrity friend had changed over the years. In fact, I think going forward I won't have any more contact with my celebrity friend at all.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's embarrassing to repeat just how long it took me to type the letter to Mr. xx confirming our lunch date of January the eighth of 2012. Not that I had trouble thinking up how to compose the letter but that I couldn't get the type writer to work properly. Margins and spacing are a mystery to me, my computer couldn't be used because I have no printer that works and a handwritten letter was deemed to informal to reply to a famous celebrity; even one once a friend. At length however, measured in days the letter was mailed, personally through the US post office and a confirmation was received by phone from Penny a local representative of my famous acquaintance.
The day before my lunch with my celebrity friend I watched several clips of him on you tube and read about him in the national media. I was surprised at my brief lunch meeting with a celebrity friend long disassociated by my friend's shyness and timidity of manner. The persona portrayed in the news media and on National television was gone and my celebrity friend was a different person.
Several days later after a very good meal with my celebrity friend I meant to send a thank you letter to Mr. xx but I couldn't get the energy to deal with the margins and spacing on my old type writer. Later when Penny, the local representative of my celebrity friend called I thought it better not to mention that my celebrity friend had changed over the years. In fact, I think going forward I won't have any more contact with my celebrity friend at all.
end
Sunday, January 1, 2012
mystic mandala meditation
mystic mandala meditation
fiction
edward w pritchard
Spiraling symmetry, mystic mandala meditation. It's familiar, distantly and intimately recognizable. Meditate, connect and integrate.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Spiraling symmetry, mystic mandala meditation. It's familiar, distantly and intimately recognizable. Meditate, connect and integrate.
end
performance, Phoebe Killdeer - The River Of No Return
performance, Phoebe Killdeer - The River Of No Return
fiction
edward w pritchard
More than a cover of the song by Marilyn Monroe from the movie of the same name, Phoebe Killdeer gives a spirited performance of the song River of No Return. Using hand and arm gestures and rolling and flashing her beautiful eyes Ms. Killdeer sizzles as a vixen singing the River of No Return.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
More than a cover of the song by Marilyn Monroe from the movie of the same name, Phoebe Killdeer gives a spirited performance of the song River of No Return. Using hand and arm gestures and rolling and flashing her beautiful eyes Ms. Killdeer sizzles as a vixen singing the River of No Return.
end
clothes oft proclaim the man, but a shoe speaks softly
clothes oft proclaim the man, but a shoe speaks softly
fiction
edward w pritchard
Clothes oft proclaim the man, but a shoe speaks softly. I can't be on my game unless I wear my Edwin Clapp two tone men's boots. A thing of beauty they are to behold. When I wear Edwin Clapp's my confidence soars and I can do no wrong.
I was wearing the brown Edwin Clapp boots the night I won $439 in one hand on a bluff at the back room at Ray's bar in July 1967. The shoes were old then, circa 1895. I got them over at the Salvation army thrift store. Now I only wear my Edwin Clapp two tone brown boots for special occasions. Maybe someday i will be buried in my Edwin Clapp's. Meantime I shined my boots up and I am looking for another poker game.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Clothes oft proclaim the man, but a shoe speaks softly. I can't be on my game unless I wear my Edwin Clapp two tone men's boots. A thing of beauty they are to behold. When I wear Edwin Clapp's my confidence soars and I can do no wrong.
I was wearing the brown Edwin Clapp boots the night I won $439 in one hand on a bluff at the back room at Ray's bar in July 1967. The shoes were old then, circa 1895. I got them over at the Salvation army thrift store. Now I only wear my Edwin Clapp two tone brown boots for special occasions. Maybe someday i will be buried in my Edwin Clapp's. Meantime I shined my boots up and I am looking for another poker game.
end
a football coach must ignore the scenery
a football coach must ignore the scenery
fiction
edward w pritchard
Coach Williams was once a surveillance pilot in Viet Nam. One thing Coach learned as a pilot that served him well as a Football Coach was a football coach must ignore the scenery. Coach Williams was never caught on National camera gawking at the petite Japanese Cheerleader doing acrobatic maneuvers at the college where he coached. Not once was coach embarrassed at a New Years Bowl game for staring at the Cheerleaders. While working Coach stuck to business; what Coach did in Private is not known.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Coach Williams was once a surveillance pilot in Viet Nam. One thing Coach learned as a pilot that served him well as a Football Coach was a football coach must ignore the scenery. Coach Williams was never caught on National camera gawking at the petite Japanese Cheerleader doing acrobatic maneuvers at the college where he coached. Not once was coach embarrassed at a New Years Bowl game for staring at the Cheerleaders. While working Coach stuck to business; what Coach did in Private is not known.
end
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