February 29th, love by the Calendar
fiction
edward w pritchard
Every four years,
because of the revolving of the earth around the Sun,
Love by the Calendar needs to be adjusted,
to balance properly and timely
rotating love and hate among earth bound couples.
February 29th becomes a leap day of peace,
No sighs of love,
No threats from hate.
Every four hundredth year
the adjustment is a little different,
but no matter;
Constancy in love and hate
are properly maintained
by adding a day
at the end of February
and constraining
amorous combat
and allowing the revolving earth
to accommodate the rotating calendar of love.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Monday, February 27, 2012
every perspective requires a metaphor
every perspective requires a metaphor
fiction
edward w pritchard
It takes a lot of time to conjure up all those metaphors. Not very practical really. Sometimes we just re-use the old ones, again and again. What does it matter. It's so difficult to conjure when we only have half the facts. Here's a previously published look at romance. The idolization of apparitions.
straw dogs that talk back
Nobody cares the end of straw dogs. Somebody must burn them and Mei made her living in the destruction of straw dogs after their use had been served. Straw dogs in ancient Chinese lore were treated with respectful deference prior to their use as an offering and then summarily destroyed.
Jobs were difficult to find and life was expensive and a lone woman must be ruthless to survive. Mei learned the skill from her Father and guarded the secret of how to burn and destroy the straw dogs carefully for the technique of destruction could be learned and taught in a few minutes.
Mei came in alone to gather the straw dogs. She grabbed them carefully and circled their bodies with her arms and then closed the arms together for the straw dogs had straw that was razor sharp to human touch and the tips of the straw was sharp like the point of a surgeon's scalpel. As she walked with the straw dogs to the fire to be throw in to be burned and destroyed Mei often would gently touch her lips to the straw dog just before she threw it into the fire. Never yet, but maybe someday, Mei hoped to hear a straw dog talk to her as she carried it to the fire, so she always listened intently as she walked toward the bright crackling fire.
fiction
edward w pritchard
It takes a lot of time to conjure up all those metaphors. Not very practical really. Sometimes we just re-use the old ones, again and again. What does it matter. It's so difficult to conjure when we only have half the facts. Here's a previously published look at romance. The idolization of apparitions.
straw dogs that talk back
Nobody cares the end of straw dogs. Somebody must burn them and Mei made her living in the destruction of straw dogs after their use had been served. Straw dogs in ancient Chinese lore were treated with respectful deference prior to their use as an offering and then summarily destroyed.
Jobs were difficult to find and life was expensive and a lone woman must be ruthless to survive. Mei learned the skill from her Father and guarded the secret of how to burn and destroy the straw dogs carefully for the technique of destruction could be learned and taught in a few minutes.
Mei came in alone to gather the straw dogs. She grabbed them carefully and circled their bodies with her arms and then closed the arms together for the straw dogs had straw that was razor sharp to human touch and the tips of the straw was sharp like the point of a surgeon's scalpel. As she walked with the straw dogs to the fire to be throw in to be burned and destroyed Mei often would gently touch her lips to the straw dog just before she threw it into the fire. Never yet, but maybe someday, Mei hoped to hear a straw dog talk to her as she carried it to the fire, so she always listened intently as she walked toward the bright crackling fire.
alone in the dark
alone in the dark
fiction
edward w pritchard
Our cave is empty now.
Fill our cave with candles,
light a bonfire outside the entrance, to guide you home.
I don't want to be alone in the dark.
I'll sit quietly on our cave's floor,
among the stalagmites and listen for the echo of your voice
bouncing off the moon if you call to me.
Let the moon reflect in small puddles of water
formed drop by drop from the stalactites
weeping and hoping for your return.
I'll lay quietly here in the dark alone
until the stalagmites and stalactites meet again.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Our cave is empty now.
Fill our cave with candles,
light a bonfire outside the entrance, to guide you home.
I don't want to be alone in the dark.
I'll sit quietly on our cave's floor,
among the stalagmites and listen for the echo of your voice
bouncing off the moon if you call to me.
Let the moon reflect in small puddles of water
formed drop by drop from the stalactites
weeping and hoping for your return.
I'll lay quietly here in the dark alone
until the stalagmites and stalactites meet again.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
love the second time around; a waste of laundry detergent
a waste of laundry detergent
fiction
edward w pritchard
It would be a waste of laundry detergent, she thought but didn't say, but this time I could see that along with the sexual excitement, that she was clearly agitated. And somehow, I could tell this the second time around what she was thinking, as we trotted to her bed. Now she was worrying about the silk sheets, her eyes broadcast that fact to me. Would we ruin the new sheets and would it be worth the few hours of pleasure to have the expensive color coordinated sheets ruined.
Then she thought of so and so twenty minutes into our session together. Later, I could feel the stranger she had become emerge again. How to escape, how to escape? Toil on soldier I thought as her motivations jumped at me. This the second time around; me wiser, but sadder, now understanding my once blushing partner; who before scoured the apartment to find me chocolate and sing me my favorite songs.
fiction
edward w pritchard
It would be a waste of laundry detergent, she thought but didn't say, but this time I could see that along with the sexual excitement, that she was clearly agitated. And somehow, I could tell this the second time around what she was thinking, as we trotted to her bed. Now she was worrying about the silk sheets, her eyes broadcast that fact to me. Would we ruin the new sheets and would it be worth the few hours of pleasure to have the expensive color coordinated sheets ruined.
Then she thought of so and so twenty minutes into our session together. Later, I could feel the stranger she had become emerge again. How to escape, how to escape? Toil on soldier I thought as her motivations jumped at me. This the second time around; me wiser, but sadder, now understanding my once blushing partner; who before scoured the apartment to find me chocolate and sing me my favorite songs.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
hitler's mother, the mystery of pregnancy
hitler's mother
fiction
edward w pritchard
I, Klara Hitler, once a mere maid, now pregnant for the fourth time, with three children now dead, have terrible premonitions of future hallocaustations that I am afraid to express to anyone lest of all my husband Alois; a man of violent temper. Alois Hitler , my husband, a man twenty three years my senior who has already struck me more than once. I fear that I am bringing evil onto the world myself partly to blame for I entered into this wretched union voluntarily, being sixteen, poor plain and having no options other than to work as a domestic in the home of my husband and his first sickly wife, here in Austria, in the poorest part of our Country. Now older, and pregnant for the fourth time, I see my situation more clearly, an abortion impossible because of my religion and my countries laws. I have no choice but to bring this child into the world but in my mind because of my trepidations and my willfulness I fear I will cause this child to be something unwonted.
Seven months pregnant now and often alone I have terrible forebodings that seem viscerally real. Other woman here tell me that such is a woman's lot in our time and place to be beaten, to be without hope and to fear to bear and deliver children into a hostile world. But in secret my fears are different for I feel a dread that my offspring will cause terrible destruction of a scale unknown in human history. I know I sound crazy to say this, my fears perhaps being merely the ravings of a depressed lonely pregnant woman whose husband has already began to eye another younger woman; me fearful now that I have already lost the little youth and beauty I once had.
The Doctor in the village has previously warned me that a Mother's unusual moods may be transmitted across the uterus to the child into fetal depressive tendencies that may affect a child forever. I tremble over what monster I may bring into the world. The baby's Father, my husband Alois, himself already stigmatized at birth as a bastard, which is one cause of my hardships, may pass his sour nature of an inability to convey love and kindness onto our new baby. Now I compound my poor unborn child 's problems by my will full stubbornness to accept this fourth pregnancy and my role as a wife and Mother. I fear I shall be the cause of unknown problems for this child I carry. My fears cause me to have imaginary grandoise beliefs that my unborn child will shape and change the world, perhaps in an evil way.
My Doctor now reassures me that my fears and forebodings are normal and are typical for a Mother who has previously lost a child, and I have recently lost three babies. Furthermore my Doctor tells me that my mental state alone will not cause harm to my baby. Any fetal depression causing temporary failure to thrive issues quickly disappears in a few weeks in otherwise healthy babies. My doctor adds that how a baby is born and develops is ultimately God's will. Feeling better I now look forward to having a strong healthy baby and being a loving Mother.
Historical note:
Adolf Hitler was born on April 20, 1889, the fourth child of Alois Schickelgruber AKA Hiedler, AKA Hitler and Klara Hitler in the Austrian town of Braunau. Two of Adolph's siblings died from diphtheria when they were children, and one died shortly after birth. A brother, Edmond, was born two years later. Another sister, Paula, was born in 1896, the sixth of the union. Klara Hitler dotted on her son Adolph and Mother and son were unusually close throughout the rest of Klara's life. Klara Hitler died in 1907. Adolph kept his Mother, Klara's picture in his room until his death in April 1945.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
I, Klara Hitler, once a mere maid, now pregnant for the fourth time, with three children now dead, have terrible premonitions of future hallocaustations that I am afraid to express to anyone lest of all my husband Alois; a man of violent temper. Alois Hitler , my husband, a man twenty three years my senior who has already struck me more than once. I fear that I am bringing evil onto the world myself partly to blame for I entered into this wretched union voluntarily, being sixteen, poor plain and having no options other than to work as a domestic in the home of my husband and his first sickly wife, here in Austria, in the poorest part of our Country. Now older, and pregnant for the fourth time, I see my situation more clearly, an abortion impossible because of my religion and my countries laws. I have no choice but to bring this child into the world but in my mind because of my trepidations and my willfulness I fear I will cause this child to be something unwonted.
Seven months pregnant now and often alone I have terrible forebodings that seem viscerally real. Other woman here tell me that such is a woman's lot in our time and place to be beaten, to be without hope and to fear to bear and deliver children into a hostile world. But in secret my fears are different for I feel a dread that my offspring will cause terrible destruction of a scale unknown in human history. I know I sound crazy to say this, my fears perhaps being merely the ravings of a depressed lonely pregnant woman whose husband has already began to eye another younger woman; me fearful now that I have already lost the little youth and beauty I once had.
The Doctor in the village has previously warned me that a Mother's unusual moods may be transmitted across the uterus to the child into fetal depressive tendencies that may affect a child forever. I tremble over what monster I may bring into the world. The baby's Father, my husband Alois, himself already stigmatized at birth as a bastard, which is one cause of my hardships, may pass his sour nature of an inability to convey love and kindness onto our new baby. Now I compound my poor unborn child 's problems by my will full stubbornness to accept this fourth pregnancy and my role as a wife and Mother. I fear I shall be the cause of unknown problems for this child I carry. My fears cause me to have imaginary grandoise beliefs that my unborn child will shape and change the world, perhaps in an evil way.
My Doctor now reassures me that my fears and forebodings are normal and are typical for a Mother who has previously lost a child, and I have recently lost three babies. Furthermore my Doctor tells me that my mental state alone will not cause harm to my baby. Any fetal depression causing temporary failure to thrive issues quickly disappears in a few weeks in otherwise healthy babies. My doctor adds that how a baby is born and develops is ultimately God's will. Feeling better I now look forward to having a strong healthy baby and being a loving Mother.
Historical note:
Adolf Hitler was born on April 20, 1889, the fourth child of Alois Schickelgruber AKA Hiedler, AKA Hitler and Klara Hitler in the Austrian town of Braunau. Two of Adolph's siblings died from diphtheria when they were children, and one died shortly after birth. A brother, Edmond, was born two years later. Another sister, Paula, was born in 1896, the sixth of the union. Klara Hitler dotted on her son Adolph and Mother and son were unusually close throughout the rest of Klara's life. Klara Hitler died in 1907. Adolph kept his Mother, Klara's picture in his room until his death in April 1945.
end
when we slept together
when we slept together
fiction
edward w pritchard
Where we slept our bed was so big we never found our sides and the middle was so distant we ceased to commingle. Over our heads a canopy like the silk lined top of a silent double coffin kept our minds from abutting and under our backs a slab like plank of oak debarred us from rolling together. Although we were still yoked that last year we did not neighbor and although still incorporated we did not clasp or juxtapose.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Where we slept our bed was so big we never found our sides and the middle was so distant we ceased to commingle. Over our heads a canopy like the silk lined top of a silent double coffin kept our minds from abutting and under our backs a slab like plank of oak debarred us from rolling together. Although we were still yoked that last year we did not neighbor and although still incorporated we did not clasp or juxtapose.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
what if genetic engineering eliminated most differences between everyone/part 1
what if genetic engineering eliminated most differences between everyone/part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
One hundred years from now. What if genetic engineering had eliminated most differences between everyone. Would the Species as a whole without variation be better off. Would the elimination of most imperfections, handicaps and emotional aberrations lead to progress for mankind.
How might the adaptability of the species of man to unexpected challenges be changed if the race was more perfect and less differentiated. Is genetic perfection for everyone a worthy goal?
With such a premise, that one hundred years from now genetic engineering has eliminated most differences between individual people of all nations the story begins. The story begins with a challenge to the survival of everyone alive in the year 2115. It is a challenge the species of man may have passed successfully hundreds of times in the past. How would a genetically engineered stock of people fare in times of massive difficulty for the species. Would any of the perfect people survive for the human race to have a next crisis?
the story begins
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
One hundred years from now. What if genetic engineering had eliminated most differences between everyone. Would the Species as a whole without variation be better off. Would the elimination of most imperfections, handicaps and emotional aberrations lead to progress for mankind.
How might the adaptability of the species of man to unexpected challenges be changed if the race was more perfect and less differentiated. Is genetic perfection for everyone a worthy goal?
With such a premise, that one hundred years from now genetic engineering has eliminated most differences between individual people of all nations the story begins. The story begins with a challenge to the survival of everyone alive in the year 2115. It is a challenge the species of man may have passed successfully hundreds of times in the past. How would a genetically engineered stock of people fare in times of massive difficulty for the species. Would any of the perfect people survive for the human race to have a next crisis?
the story begins
end part 1
be yourself
be yourself
fiction
edward w pritchard
You don't need to climb Mount Everest to be successful.
Any five thousand foot summit will do.
The sky's the same.
Clouds and vistas, crisp clean air and a chance to think.
Want to try something higher? Go for it; now or latter.
Live in a lonesome valley in the meantime if there's where you are at.
Just be yourself; remember your first five thousand steps and rejoice for those who reach at Everest.
fiction
edward w pritchard
You don't need to climb Mount Everest to be successful.
Any five thousand foot summit will do.
The sky's the same.
Clouds and vistas, crisp clean air and a chance to think.
Want to try something higher? Go for it; now or latter.
Live in a lonesome valley in the meantime if there's where you are at.
Just be yourself; remember your first five thousand steps and rejoice for those who reach at Everest.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
John Lennon, I wanted you to be me
John Lennon, I wanted you to be me
fiction
edward w pritchard
John Lennon I wanted you to be me.
Where the swagger, where the pomp,
where the crowds of adoring fans,
where the newspaper men stirring up controversies,
where swooning girls, where that special one.
Where Mark David Chapman to end the travesty.
Where swaying candles to mourn you gone.
John Lennon you left me too soon.
John, I'll never make it alone.
John, life is so long,
it continues.
I peer forward.
John, light a candle in the dark for me,
lead me John, integrate my tired soul.
fiction
edward w pritchard
John Lennon I wanted you to be me.
Where the swagger, where the pomp,
where the crowds of adoring fans,
where the newspaper men stirring up controversies,
where swooning girls, where that special one.
Where Mark David Chapman to end the travesty.
Where swaying candles to mourn you gone.
John Lennon you left me too soon.
John, I'll never make it alone.
John, life is so long,
it continues.
I peer forward.
John, light a candle in the dark for me,
lead me John, integrate my tired soul.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Stephanie Trick & Jörg Hegemann -- "Shout for Joy"
Stephanie Trick & Jörg Hegemann -- "Shout for Joy"
fiction
edward w pritchard
Music review
Stephanie Trick & Jörg Hegemann -- "Shout for Joy", duet on You Tube
She is beautiful, precocious, likeable and charming. She starts off " doot, doot, doot, doot, / doot, doot, doot, doot, plen. Stephanie Trick
Then he begins to play. That powerful left hand. The audience takes note and maybe Albert Ammons hears that left hand from heaven. It's quite rare. Maybe not Albert, but anyone alive who ever built a fine piano must appreciate it being played like that. Then he smiles a little at the audience in the middle, after a difficult run that challenged him. Jorg Hegemann.
He is gracious, after; deferring to her. She smiles that beautiful smile, acknowledging genius.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Music review
Stephanie Trick & Jörg Hegemann -- "Shout for Joy", duet on You Tube
She is beautiful, precocious, likeable and charming. She starts off " doot, doot, doot, doot, / doot, doot, doot, doot, plen. Stephanie Trick
Then he begins to play. That powerful left hand. The audience takes note and maybe Albert Ammons hears that left hand from heaven. It's quite rare. Maybe not Albert, but anyone alive who ever built a fine piano must appreciate it being played like that. Then he smiles a little at the audience in the middle, after a difficult run that challenged him. Jorg Hegemann.
He is gracious, after; deferring to her. She smiles that beautiful smile, acknowledging genius.
end
Sunday, February 12, 2012
a kiss before surrender
a kiss before surrender
fiction
edwad w pritchard
I was having the premonition again. About Julia. About Julia although we had just met and things were going well. Our relationship was new and everything was intense. We were very close, always.
I could just see the first signs of doubt dart across her eyes. I had done this before. Many times. A kiss my dear before surrender. I can't think about it now. Don't look at my eyes and don't stop to think. Just go with it. Julia, stay with me, Julia stay in the moment.
fiction
edwad w pritchard
I was having the premonition again. About Julia. About Julia although we had just met and things were going well. Our relationship was new and everything was intense. We were very close, always.
I could just see the first signs of doubt dart across her eyes. I had done this before. Many times. A kiss my dear before surrender. I can't think about it now. Don't look at my eyes and don't stop to think. Just go with it. Julia, stay with me, Julia stay in the moment.
Unit Ohio, NCO training section 200; rambling coyotes
Unit Ohio, NCO training section 200; rambling coyotes
fiction
edward w pritchard
Most of the new recruits were alone sitting in groups of two or three at Bob Heton's Kentucky Fried Chicken here in Kent . Some were outside in winter cold clutching dearly to girl friends, a few Mother's were sitting in the parking lot in expensive cars with Son's leaning at the window and a half dozen soon to be soldiers were standing outside the doorway having a last smoke with their new Sergeant.
My son and I had been sitting here for over an hour having the original recipe fried chicken. There was plenty of chicken left and the sides were untouched and Paulie was passing out the balance of the box to the young men sitting around us. No food was allowed on the bus to Camp Perry Joint Training Center. Paulie and I were sitting at the same table we were at nine years ago when Sheriff Winston, my high school Assistant football coach, had called me here at midnight to retrieve Paulie and Sam Murphy for being inside the fence of the East Ohio Gas building.
As I watched Paulie interact with the other boys I doodled arrows with my thumb on the frosted window. Bob needed to get some heat here in his restaurant. I was fighting off the urge to check over Paulie's small suitcase he was allowed to take on the Bus to Camp Perry. After Camp Perry Paulie had ten weeks of Basic down South and then four months of individual training before his unit of the Ohio National Guard went to Pakistan. Paulie stood by the windows a minute and watched the couples outside kissing desperately. I read over the brochure about the operation at Camp Perry again. I had under lined most of it and drawn a few arrows. Paulie didn't want to take the leaflet with him and had handed it back to me. The Adjutant General in command at the Camp Perry training center is a woman.
The Sergeant shook my hand. I hadn't been in the military but my Dad had; he wouldn't talk about World War two. I listened to the Sergeant organize the group and get them on the bus. One of the Mother's was having trouble with her car and I took a look under the hood; standing by the car I could hear hear the Sergeant on the bus giving the squad their new nickname, the Rambling Coyotes. After the bus pulled off I watched it enter 76 West toward Lake Erie. The brochure had said they had a State of the art Dining facility at Camp Perry. I didn't know if the Camp where Paulie would start his training at to be a soldier sat directly on Lake Erie. I wanted to call my ex-wife but she had said goodbye yesterday to Paulie. Driving back to my apartment over the slippery treacherous roads I kept worrying about the bus and wondered how long it would be before Paulie could give me a call.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Most of the new recruits were alone sitting in groups of two or three at Bob Heton's Kentucky Fried Chicken here in Kent . Some were outside in winter cold clutching dearly to girl friends, a few Mother's were sitting in the parking lot in expensive cars with Son's leaning at the window and a half dozen soon to be soldiers were standing outside the doorway having a last smoke with their new Sergeant.
My son and I had been sitting here for over an hour having the original recipe fried chicken. There was plenty of chicken left and the sides were untouched and Paulie was passing out the balance of the box to the young men sitting around us. No food was allowed on the bus to Camp Perry Joint Training Center. Paulie and I were sitting at the same table we were at nine years ago when Sheriff Winston, my high school Assistant football coach, had called me here at midnight to retrieve Paulie and Sam Murphy for being inside the fence of the East Ohio Gas building.
As I watched Paulie interact with the other boys I doodled arrows with my thumb on the frosted window. Bob needed to get some heat here in his restaurant. I was fighting off the urge to check over Paulie's small suitcase he was allowed to take on the Bus to Camp Perry. After Camp Perry Paulie had ten weeks of Basic down South and then four months of individual training before his unit of the Ohio National Guard went to Pakistan. Paulie stood by the windows a minute and watched the couples outside kissing desperately. I read over the brochure about the operation at Camp Perry again. I had under lined most of it and drawn a few arrows. Paulie didn't want to take the leaflet with him and had handed it back to me. The Adjutant General in command at the Camp Perry training center is a woman.
The Sergeant shook my hand. I hadn't been in the military but my Dad had; he wouldn't talk about World War two. I listened to the Sergeant organize the group and get them on the bus. One of the Mother's was having trouble with her car and I took a look under the hood; standing by the car I could hear hear the Sergeant on the bus giving the squad their new nickname, the Rambling Coyotes. After the bus pulled off I watched it enter 76 West toward Lake Erie. The brochure had said they had a State of the art Dining facility at Camp Perry. I didn't know if the Camp where Paulie would start his training at to be a soldier sat directly on Lake Erie. I wanted to call my ex-wife but she had said goodbye yesterday to Paulie. Driving back to my apartment over the slippery treacherous roads I kept worrying about the bus and wondered how long it would be before Paulie could give me a call.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
i never built a building
i never built a building
fiction
edward w pritchard
I never built a building,
I never surveyed a new State,
I never constructed a house,
I never tried a case,
I never grew a business.
I'm glad someone built three art museums,
the Uffizi, the Prado and the Met.
I am glad someone painted paintings,
Leonardo, Van Gogh and Vermeer.
I am glad that someone built a house to keep off the rain and snow.
I am glad that soldiers stand in the ready to deter attack.
Mostly I just think, and ask questions and challenge God's motives.
Someday I'll be gone,
I hope somebody looks after the paintings.
fiction
edward w pritchard
I never built a building,
I never surveyed a new State,
I never constructed a house,
I never tried a case,
I never grew a business.
I'm glad someone built three art museums,
the Uffizi, the Prado and the Met.
I am glad someone painted paintings,
Leonardo, Van Gogh and Vermeer.
I am glad that someone built a house to keep off the rain and snow.
I am glad that soldiers stand in the ready to deter attack.
Mostly I just think, and ask questions and challenge God's motives.
Someday I'll be gone,
I hope somebody looks after the paintings.
teaching handicapped students
teaching handicapped students
fiction
edward w pritchard
Teaching handicapped students is too sad.
Jesus, Genetics, do you make tottering people how they are? Why is it so?
Jesus, Why are things like they are,
it's just not fair.
I want to reach out my hands and
pull the barb wire wrapped around and around the handicapped students
and break the sharp parts connected deep underground, from the distant past
an unwelcome gift, from where and when?
Sometimes I want to fly up high
and take shaking people somewhere else,
to get another chance.
Sometimes the barb wire cuts my hands and wrists and it hurts too bad.
Somtimes I try to fly high
but my wings get clipped and fall off
and wings are fried in boiling oil in scalding pain,
until I can't lift my hands or move my arms
.
Help me Jesus,
flex your hands
spread your arms,
show me what to do.
Jesus,
can you help,
Jesus,
can you do anything?
fiction
edward w pritchard
Teaching handicapped students is too sad.
Jesus, Genetics, do you make tottering people how they are? Why is it so?
Jesus, Why are things like they are,
it's just not fair.
I want to reach out my hands and
pull the barb wire wrapped around and around the handicapped students
and break the sharp parts connected deep underground, from the distant past
an unwelcome gift, from where and when?
Sometimes I want to fly up high
and take shaking people somewhere else,
to get another chance.
Sometimes the barb wire cuts my hands and wrists and it hurts too bad.
Somtimes I try to fly high
but my wings get clipped and fall off
and wings are fried in boiling oil in scalding pain,
until I can't lift my hands or move my arms
.
Help me Jesus,
flex your hands
spread your arms,
show me what to do.
Jesus,
can you help,
Jesus,
can you do anything?
Sunday, February 5, 2012
it's just a matter of time
it's just a matter of time
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's just a matter of time
until you forget the time and date.
A policeman or doctor stops you and asks
what year is it.
You are very tired or even sick today.
What year?
2011 or 2012, or 1966.
They have every right to question you
here in front of them by chance,
it had to happen.
Where are they taking me now.
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's just a matter of time
until you forget the time and date.
A policeman or doctor stops you and asks
what year is it.
You are very tired or even sick today.
What year?
2011 or 2012, or 1966.
They have every right to question you
here in front of them by chance,
it had to happen.
Where are they taking me now.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Boiled and stuffed Neitzsche's influence on twentieth century politics
Boiled and stuffed Neitzche's influence on twentieth century politics
fiction
edward w pritchard
Story has no meaning, except to reinforce by example that attempts at irony do not provide profit to author
Boiled and stuffed after his eventual death following ten years of incapacitation by paralysis Nietzsche stuffed and incarnate was carried about Europe for exhibition as the times required.
Ironically many German soldiers who often carried copies of Thus Spoke Zarathustra into battle and who were later blown to shreds by the new American made scrap metal bombs were united bodily as well as spiritually with their dead hero Nietzsche. As the body of Nietzsche was carried about the trenches of world war one on a pole it was often the target of allied bombs and when hit missing pieces of the boiled and stuffed body of Nietzsche was repaired with actual pieces of bone and flesh from German and even French and British soldiers. The uniforms of the Allied soldiers were never added to the boiled and stuffed incarnate body of Nietzsche for as every school boy knows from the study of philosophy the influence of Nietzsche on twentieth century thought has been anything but uniform.
By World War two the idea of carrying the boiled and stuffed body of the dead philosopher Nietzsche about on a pole seemed rather passe and quaint. New methods of warfare and new ways of looking at the world doomed the idolization of the philosopher Nietzsche. However it might be added the American President Richard Nixon had a strange interest in the work of Nietzsche and often consulted the body as a whole of Nietzsche's work to help in his preparation for war against the people of Vietnam. Where the right wing fascination with the theories of Nietzsche will re-appear in the twenty first century is unknown.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Story has no meaning, except to reinforce by example that attempts at irony do not provide profit to author
Boiled and stuffed after his eventual death following ten years of incapacitation by paralysis Nietzsche stuffed and incarnate was carried about Europe for exhibition as the times required.
Ironically many German soldiers who often carried copies of Thus Spoke Zarathustra into battle and who were later blown to shreds by the new American made scrap metal bombs were united bodily as well as spiritually with their dead hero Nietzsche. As the body of Nietzsche was carried about the trenches of world war one on a pole it was often the target of allied bombs and when hit missing pieces of the boiled and stuffed body of Nietzsche was repaired with actual pieces of bone and flesh from German and even French and British soldiers. The uniforms of the Allied soldiers were never added to the boiled and stuffed incarnate body of Nietzsche for as every school boy knows from the study of philosophy the influence of Nietzsche on twentieth century thought has been anything but uniform.
By World War two the idea of carrying the boiled and stuffed body of the dead philosopher Nietzsche about on a pole seemed rather passe and quaint. New methods of warfare and new ways of looking at the world doomed the idolization of the philosopher Nietzsche. However it might be added the American President Richard Nixon had a strange interest in the work of Nietzsche and often consulted the body as a whole of Nietzsche's work to help in his preparation for war against the people of Vietnam. Where the right wing fascination with the theories of Nietzsche will re-appear in the twenty first century is unknown.
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