peace arrives like a dark night over a full moon
fiction
edward w pritchard
Sitting upright, hours till the eve of battle begins. Peace arrives like a dark night over a full moon. Listen, the moon casts no shadow, the hour of battle approaches but I am at peace, restfully I doze.
My enemy stirs and coughs in sleep. Sounds filter, softly small animals creep about the battlefield. I am hungry with anticipation. Confident I remember. Life beckons, soon the hour of battle begins.
Two years later, after the battle of Gettysburg, I sit in Baltimore and remember the shelling. Hours and hours of merciless bombardment. Bullets so thick a man could hold up a glass jar and have it pulverized in moments. Yet I am intact. No sense worrying about shrapnel metal and minnie balls now.
Greet life anew.
Friday, August 30, 2013
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
let's reconsider our options in Syria/ part 2
let's reconsider our options in Syria/ part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dark night,
dark night, dark night.
Carrying torches, we march,
Our enemies threaten, we march, we march
It's not for us to decide who is to blame, we march, we march, we march.
As we march, tomorrow never comes; we sing.
Our leaders know who is to blame, we sing, we sing;
It's not important who our enemy is, we sing, we sing, we sing.
Tomorrow never comes; we sing, we carry torches, we march in the dark.
Our leaders know who is to blame, we salute; Heil.
Tomorrow arrives, howl; dark night, dark night, dark night, howl, howl.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Dark night,
dark night, dark night.
Carrying torches, we march,
Our enemies threaten, we march, we march
It's not for us to decide who is to blame, we march, we march, we march.
As we march, tomorrow never comes; we sing.
Our leaders know who is to blame, we sing, we sing;
It's not important who our enemy is, we sing, we sing, we sing.
Tomorrow never comes; we sing, we carry torches, we march in the dark.
Our leaders know who is to blame, we salute; Heil.
Tomorrow arrives, howl; dark night, dark night, dark night, howl, howl.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
let's reconsider our options in Syria
let's reconsider our options in Syria
fiction
edward w pritchard
There is a definite war party in America constantly urging us into foreign wars. This author is not privy to all the facts concerning intervention in Syria but based on our experience in Iraq and Afghanistan your author suggests a period of cooling off while every diplomatic avenue is considered before the United States gets involved in an expensive foreign escapade. Since the government is trying many diplomatic attempts to resolve or delay entry into the internal problems of Syria; here's is one more suggested previously by the author to keep the United States out of Syria. Any effort that delays or eliminates the US being drug into war is to be considered.
War is absurd; Gidget goes to Syria on a peace mission
fiction
edward w pritchard
Desperate to try anything to stop the violence in Syria the United States sent the fictional character Gidget, movie and television star of the 1950's, and 1960's to Syria on a peace mission. Still perky and upbeat at age 72 plus, what better emissary of the United States than Gidget to send to the war torn nation of Syria to stop the insanity of war.
Both Syrian government forces and rebels alike admitted confusion by the choice of ambassador from the powerful United States. " What's an untrained, inexperienced, broken hearted college drop-up going to do to help us settle our differences" said one of the rebels who choose to remain nameless, but who was obviously familiar with the Gidget character created by Frederick Kohner American screen writer.
Meanwhile Gidget has been staying in and touring the ancient City of Damascus as a tourist. By unspoken mutual agreement both sides in the Syrian conflict have temporarily suspended hostilities in Damascus until Miss Lawrence [maiden name] returns to Hollywood.
"Damascus is a beautiful City" said Gidget, "reminds me a little of Rome". Asked about the War in Syria Gidget Lawrence wrinkled her nose and frowned " War is simply absurd".
Ask for comment, on Gidget's peace keeping mission to Syria, from his home in America, Gidget's one time love interest actor and singer James Darren [ now married] said "Gidget's quite a character, if anyone can stop the violence in Syria, I am sure Gidget can do it. " " Gidget once worked at the United Nations you know in the peace keeping department in the 1969 telemovie " Gidget Grows Up" concluded Mr Darren.
War in Syria continues meanwhile in Aleppo.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
There is a definite war party in America constantly urging us into foreign wars. This author is not privy to all the facts concerning intervention in Syria but based on our experience in Iraq and Afghanistan your author suggests a period of cooling off while every diplomatic avenue is considered before the United States gets involved in an expensive foreign escapade. Since the government is trying many diplomatic attempts to resolve or delay entry into the internal problems of Syria; here's is one more suggested previously by the author to keep the United States out of Syria. Any effort that delays or eliminates the US being drug into war is to be considered.
War is absurd; Gidget goes to Syria on a peace mission
fiction
edward w pritchard
Desperate to try anything to stop the violence in Syria the United States sent the fictional character Gidget, movie and television star of the 1950's, and 1960's to Syria on a peace mission. Still perky and upbeat at age 72 plus, what better emissary of the United States than Gidget to send to the war torn nation of Syria to stop the insanity of war.
Both Syrian government forces and rebels alike admitted confusion by the choice of ambassador from the powerful United States. " What's an untrained, inexperienced, broken hearted college drop-up going to do to help us settle our differences" said one of the rebels who choose to remain nameless, but who was obviously familiar with the Gidget character created by Frederick Kohner American screen writer.
Meanwhile Gidget has been staying in and touring the ancient City of Damascus as a tourist. By unspoken mutual agreement both sides in the Syrian conflict have temporarily suspended hostilities in Damascus until Miss Lawrence [maiden name] returns to Hollywood.
"Damascus is a beautiful City" said Gidget, "reminds me a little of Rome". Asked about the War in Syria Gidget Lawrence wrinkled her nose and frowned " War is simply absurd".
Ask for comment, on Gidget's peace keeping mission to Syria, from his home in America, Gidget's one time love interest actor and singer James Darren [ now married] said "Gidget's quite a character, if anyone can stop the violence in Syria, I am sure Gidget can do it. " " Gidget once worked at the United Nations you know in the peace keeping department in the 1969 telemovie " Gidget Grows Up" concluded Mr Darren.
War in Syria continues meanwhile in Aleppo.
end
Saturday, August 24, 2013
3 am again, transported to Duluth Minnesota
3 am again, transported to Duluth Minnesota
fiction
edward w pritchard
I always become aware out on the highway, three miles from the airport, the busy highway with the high fences and no access. I have to run, slowly, now, this damn heart condition, along the high fences toward downtown Duluth Minnesota. No one really lives here, who ever actually was in Duluth Minnesota, nothing happens there.
I have two hours till things happen. It's explained to me carefully; go here then there and take the highway, you can travel along the fence but be on time, they are waiting in downtown Duluth for you. Over and over, get to Duluth and then it will done with, competed once and for all.
It's almost time for the meeting in Duluth Minnesota; an element of danger exists but it's important. The meeting nowhere in Duluth Minnesota.
fiction
edward w pritchard
I always become aware out on the highway, three miles from the airport, the busy highway with the high fences and no access. I have to run, slowly, now, this damn heart condition, along the high fences toward downtown Duluth Minnesota. No one really lives here, who ever actually was in Duluth Minnesota, nothing happens there.
I have two hours till things happen. It's explained to me carefully; go here then there and take the highway, you can travel along the fence but be on time, they are waiting in downtown Duluth for you. Over and over, get to Duluth and then it will done with, competed once and for all.
It's almost time for the meeting in Duluth Minnesota; an element of danger exists but it's important. The meeting nowhere in Duluth Minnesota.
Friday, August 23, 2013
three days on a chain gang part 4
three days on a chain gang
fiction
edward w pritchard
I found my notes from what Ed Williams told me one day when we worked together picking up papers out on Route 30 back then in the 1980's. He was brooding that there was so much suffering everywhere. He refused to be comforted I remember by the fact that 80% of everybody was doing fine. He was 61 years old I remember and had spent his life reading ten thousand books. While everyone else was happy he saw the blue part of the world.
Why I have the blues sometimes
a work of tired satire,
why do so many people suffer
how do we accept suffering without religion, without the promise that
salvation later makes up for suffering now and our pathetic woes in the here and now should be endured
can we take solace in the philosophy of the greatest good for the greatest number?
sub title
There's Just too Many People
fiction/ writing as
edward williams
The problem with my Country of America is there's just too many people. We the People have so successfully conquered our environment here in America that we have overfilled everything and there are no natural enemies, no wars and no epidemics too cull the herds of people. No better example in history of a successful prosperous society has existed than our American society now. Three hundred million Americans in aggregate have conquered and controlled our environment overly successfully.
The problem is in any environment a species has a lot members who can't cut it. The unsuccessful. Those who believe in evolutionary theories think five or ten or twenty percent of the species who aren't the elite physically, mentally or psychologically are culled by the invisible forces of survival of the fittest. To keep the numbers manageable and ideal in the environment nature eliminates the weak. Unfortunately with humans now those unsuccessful don't just disappear like animals out on the savanna. What to do with those who can't cut it, can't make the grade in the schools, the workforce, or the jungle of accumulating and investing money to provide security for their some-day. How do we get rid in American society of the unsuccessful members who are economically and physically weak.
The schools have a certain percentage of students who just can't cut it. Some students can't sit in a chair for a whole class period, won't or can't call the Teacher Mr. or Mrs., they just can't conform. What are we to do with students who can't sacrifice today to prepare for tomorrow's challenges. A certain percentage of students can't conform and since they don't conform they don't prepare and the unprepared students don't ever reap tomorrow's harvest. Twenty percent of America's students don't cut it.
The workforce has a certain percentage of workers who can't stay in a job. Can't call the boss or owner Mr. or Mrs., can't work a whole shift, can't stay in their own field no matter what and if their field disappears can't retrain successfully. What happens to the twenty percent of American workers Who can't successful retrain and successfully pick the next right work-field to be in?
Twenty percent of Americans in all endeavors can't cut it. It's the natural order of things. What to do with twenty percent of the three hundred million Americans who can't cut it and who the Country doesn't want to carry? Families won't take care of their own anymore, churches can't be expected to take care of sixty million Americans who can't cut it. Government made too many promises already; Government they can't take care of fifty million Americans.
. What to do with the sixty million Americans who can't cut it.
Nature won't help it seems. It's been a long time since anything bad enough happened to cull off sixty million Americans. If something did happen to kill off sixty million, something real real bad, the rest of the surviving Americans would have to deal with the loss of one fifth of their Countrymen. The weak it's true but some of them would be missed and such a loss would make some of us sad.
Perhaps America should start changing our philosophy now to prepare for the worse, the reduction of a large number of our population by a catastrophic event, be it maybe inevitable.
Let's look to one of our Asian neighbors with a successful long history as a society. India has a five thousand year history. How did the Country of India in the past deal with a similar problem to what we discuss here. How did the Country of India develop a philosophy to promote individual success among it's elite members that would enable them to turn a blind eye to the suffering of a large number of people at hand but out of sight, even though that large number of people was right in their midst?
Interestingly one of ancient India's philosophies called Artha focuses in part on how should the individual act to succeed in life and society. What's the best philosophy for an individual to acquire towards others who are the unfortunates in society according to one of the ancient philosophies of India. It's simple, says an ancient philosophy of India. Just look upon them [ the unsuccessful in society] like you would look upon on a door. Treat everyone else like you would a door. As an object. Then you can be successful in life without feeling undo conscious toward the misfortunes and woes suffered by the weak in society.
When you must speak of the suffering of others speak as you have steeled your heart to say, through conformity to the general rules, designed to enable you to succeed, and not be unduly concerned with what you see of the woes of others around you. By all means do not speak your heart or your feelings but act expediently to promote the general good for the greatest number of people in society. Then you can take heart in the fact that 80% of the folk will be successfully educated, successfully working, and successfully happy in life. That is the greatest good for the greatest number.
three days on a chain gang / part 3
three days on a chain gang / part 3
fiction
edward w pritchard
The second day I was working on the " chain gang" under the supervision of deputy Watkins I had to do double duty; I had to pick up trash like everybody else out along route 30 near Louisville, Ohio and I had to carry water to the five other guys and Coach Watkins. Still it was a very enjoyable day, despite the hot sun, despite bending over and picking up all sorts of garbage and debris along the roadside, and despite wearing a bright orange shirt that said Stark County work farm on it. Everyone that drove by knew that work farm was a euphemism for prison.
I learned the word euphemism from another member of our work crew, an old guy named Ed Williams. He is quite an intellectual and on the day I had to carry water for being argumentative I was fortunate to be able to work along side of Williams that day in the blazing sun, twenty plus long years ago.
Williams was one of those guys who reads a lot of great books but never got anywhere in life for all his study and learning. He was however interesting to be around because no matter what happened he had an example or little story to embellish what had just really happened. For example suppose someone cut their hand open on a bottle working our trash detail team, Williams would say to me, " You know a similar thing happen to Goethe in Venice in July of 1774, or Dante cut his wrist actually when he was leaving Florence after He was ostracized, well not ostracized, more like...." You get what I mean, Williams was always living in the past and was so busy reading about other people that he seldom had time to live himself. But, if you had to pick up trash for 7 hours in the hot sun he was a good guy to work along. He gave me a bit of good advice...
end part 3
fiction
edward w pritchard
The second day I was working on the " chain gang" under the supervision of deputy Watkins I had to do double duty; I had to pick up trash like everybody else out along route 30 near Louisville, Ohio and I had to carry water to the five other guys and Coach Watkins. Still it was a very enjoyable day, despite the hot sun, despite bending over and picking up all sorts of garbage and debris along the roadside, and despite wearing a bright orange shirt that said Stark County work farm on it. Everyone that drove by knew that work farm was a euphemism for prison.
I learned the word euphemism from another member of our work crew, an old guy named Ed Williams. He is quite an intellectual and on the day I had to carry water for being argumentative I was fortunate to be able to work along side of Williams that day in the blazing sun, twenty plus long years ago.
Williams was one of those guys who reads a lot of great books but never got anywhere in life for all his study and learning. He was however interesting to be around because no matter what happened he had an example or little story to embellish what had just really happened. For example suppose someone cut their hand open on a bottle working our trash detail team, Williams would say to me, " You know a similar thing happen to Goethe in Venice in July of 1774, or Dante cut his wrist actually when he was leaving Florence after He was ostracized, well not ostracized, more like...." You get what I mean, Williams was always living in the past and was so busy reading about other people that he seldom had time to live himself. But, if you had to pick up trash for 7 hours in the hot sun he was a good guy to work along. He gave me a bit of good advice...
end part 3
Thursday, August 22, 2013
three days on a chain gang / part 2
three days on a chain gang/ part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's funny how driving along old country roads can trigger memories. I just read what I wrote in part one. I wrote about Pounders and was going to tell about Byron Littlejohn. Both are dead now. It's twenty two years later than when I was on the chain gang and I am now riding a greyhound bus down route 30 in Ohio near Louisville, Ohio where I served time on the highway detail with Deputy Watkins, who I still think of as coach. Coach passed on about 18 years ago; I used to work for him some after meeting him on the chain gang. After he retired as a deputy sheriff Coach Watkins would drive one of those police cars that followed over sized load vehicles on country roads. He paid me $50 a day to ride with him and talk a few years after I was on the "chain gang". I know it's hard to follow when the narrator jumps from past to present like that but as I ride along here on route 30 my mind is racing from the scenery, which is beautiful; it always reminds me of being back in the 19th century, at least as I suppose it was, to be far out in the country in Ohio on back roads when Ohio was a rural area. Ohio is so nowhere now, but to me Ohio is now normal in a kind of quaint way. Anyway if I make an anachronism or two please forgive me, my mind is racing. I have had a lot on my mind that I will tell you about later, after I tell about Byron Littlejohn when he spent his first day picking up trash and litter on the chain gang.
Byron was a big black guy the kind of guy that was an old fashioned Black person, more like the kind we used to call colored back in the 1950's here in the mid west. Sadly Byron lived in the 1980',s that's when I was on the chain gang, and Byron got in trouble a lot because of how everyone treated him. Deputy Watkins wasn't everyone as far as I ever saw and he treated everyone straight, if you were decent he liked you, if you weren't watch out especially if he was on duty, in his official capacity. Immediately Coach Watkins stuck up for Byron and gave him a lot of leniency in how he treated him, rather than treating him as a prisoner or convict, which we were technically; Coach treated Byron as a friend.
We were in a kind of tough area of Canton. Ha tough, that's what the other guys on our team said. Me I am from Cleveland, Hough actually, now that's tough. Byron got forced into helping this Black weight lifter who was lifting at a bench on his grand mother's porch. We were picking up papers and trash out along the street and the guy, a teenager but very big and strong called for one of us to spot for him. He was trying to bench 375 pounds. The porch didn't look like it would hold it. Well jumping ahead, to the end of the story about Byron, after Byron spotted the weight for this kind of smart ass type guy, Byron ended up benching 400 pounds. The weightlifter guy took offense at Byron showing him up, and was calling Byron some insulting names, the kind of names only Black people between themselves can get the innuendo of and to stop a fight between the two Black guys Coach told the Grand Mother to handle her grandson. Just like that the fight was over. Black people then didn't like confrontations with the police. It was a lesson I wish I could have remembered myself later in my life. Byron died in a shooting about ten years ago. He was good guy but somehow couldn't avoid trouble. When I heard he had died that night I listened to some Mississippi delta blues and had some good red wine.
end part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's funny how driving along old country roads can trigger memories. I just read what I wrote in part one. I wrote about Pounders and was going to tell about Byron Littlejohn. Both are dead now. It's twenty two years later than when I was on the chain gang and I am now riding a greyhound bus down route 30 in Ohio near Louisville, Ohio where I served time on the highway detail with Deputy Watkins, who I still think of as coach. Coach passed on about 18 years ago; I used to work for him some after meeting him on the chain gang. After he retired as a deputy sheriff Coach Watkins would drive one of those police cars that followed over sized load vehicles on country roads. He paid me $50 a day to ride with him and talk a few years after I was on the "chain gang". I know it's hard to follow when the narrator jumps from past to present like that but as I ride along here on route 30 my mind is racing from the scenery, which is beautiful; it always reminds me of being back in the 19th century, at least as I suppose it was, to be far out in the country in Ohio on back roads when Ohio was a rural area. Ohio is so nowhere now, but to me Ohio is now normal in a kind of quaint way. Anyway if I make an anachronism or two please forgive me, my mind is racing. I have had a lot on my mind that I will tell you about later, after I tell about Byron Littlejohn when he spent his first day picking up trash and litter on the chain gang.
Byron was a big black guy the kind of guy that was an old fashioned Black person, more like the kind we used to call colored back in the 1950's here in the mid west. Sadly Byron lived in the 1980',s that's when I was on the chain gang, and Byron got in trouble a lot because of how everyone treated him. Deputy Watkins wasn't everyone as far as I ever saw and he treated everyone straight, if you were decent he liked you, if you weren't watch out especially if he was on duty, in his official capacity. Immediately Coach Watkins stuck up for Byron and gave him a lot of leniency in how he treated him, rather than treating him as a prisoner or convict, which we were technically; Coach treated Byron as a friend.
We were in a kind of tough area of Canton. Ha tough, that's what the other guys on our team said. Me I am from Cleveland, Hough actually, now that's tough. Byron got forced into helping this Black weight lifter who was lifting at a bench on his grand mother's porch. We were picking up papers and trash out along the street and the guy, a teenager but very big and strong called for one of us to spot for him. He was trying to bench 375 pounds. The porch didn't look like it would hold it. Well jumping ahead, to the end of the story about Byron, after Byron spotted the weight for this kind of smart ass type guy, Byron ended up benching 400 pounds. The weightlifter guy took offense at Byron showing him up, and was calling Byron some insulting names, the kind of names only Black people between themselves can get the innuendo of and to stop a fight between the two Black guys Coach told the Grand Mother to handle her grandson. Just like that the fight was over. Black people then didn't like confrontations with the police. It was a lesson I wish I could have remembered myself later in my life. Byron died in a shooting about ten years ago. He was good guy but somehow couldn't avoid trouble. When I heard he had died that night I listened to some Mississippi delta blues and had some good red wine.
end part 2
three days on a chain gang
three days on a chain gang
fiction
edward w pritchard
A woman policeman was responsible for me spending four nights in jail and three days on the chain gang. There are no real chains it's more of a pick up trash detail but even years later I always referred to that week as my time on a chain gang.
I was helping Druanne with her homework, that's my girl friend Rachel's twelve year old daughter; when Rachel came in drunk and hit me several times on my arms. By the time the police had arrived Rachel was laying in on the bed calling me to come and join her. Too late, Mrs. White the neighbor had called the police, Rachel yells very loud.
The policewoman sized up things in about two seconds. Rachel looked exceptionally trashy today and Druanne was sticking up for me and the policewoman said someone had to go downtown. The lady officer knew I was in a jam and had to go to jail so she was very polite to me. Before we left the officer had me and her talk with Druanne about doing her homework and stuff while I was gone. I guess she had children.
Anyway the police woman told Druanne I would call her everyday while I was in jail to follow up on things. The surprising thing was the Judge in Muni court put on an order the next morning to that effect- that I was to call Druanne everyday. The prosecutor objected to that but it was too bad, it was the Judge's home court.
My punishment was four nights in local jail and also picking up papers and trash by day out along 157 west going into Canton Ohio. I was part of quite a team lead by Deputy Willie J. Watkins who used to be a famous football coach in Louisville about 40 years ago. Like all deputy sheriff's Coach Watkins, we all six inmates on the trash detail called him Coach, had about 5 jobs at once and was actually quite wealthy. Now Watkins was old, retiring next Winter at 67, although he would still be a dairy farmer, a debt collector for the probate court in Stark County part time and substitute teacher. Anyway Coach has diabetes and can't walk much, that's why he gets to do the trash detail. The interesting thing about him is he still is an amazing coach and organizer. From us six miscreants assigned to trash detail this fall between Louisville, and Canton Ohio Coach Watkins formed a fantastic team dedicated to the mundane job of picking up trash. Because of his bad legs and knees any one of us could have escaped by walking off the trash detail but none of us would out of respect to coach and because of the fact that the other five guys would beat the hell of them when they were eventually caught and came back.
Well that's how we were over at Walsh college watching the girls soccer team run around in short shorts while we ate pizza courtesy of the oldest guy in our group Ed Williams 61. We were arguing about how old a girl should be for a theoretical one of us to have sex with. As we watched these girls who were very good athletes and looked like nice young girls; poor old Coach Watkins had to hobble over because we were getting a little heated in our argument with the slime ball Pounders who kept saying a girl of 14 was fair game. I guess I was the real psycho in the group because I kept thinking of poor Druanne at home, just twelve years old, the closest thing I will ever have to my own daughter, with a Mother who didn't notice her, and a sleazeball like Pounders after her. Coach doesn't mess around I found out. Just before Pounders started to kill me, I am a little guy, coach grabbed a piece of pizza, pointed his revolver at Pounders and said " where do you want it". Then coach jumped on me for being argumentative. Next day Pounders was off the trash detail, I had to carry water to everyone as well as pickup trash for being argumentative and we had Byron Littlejohn as our sixth team member. I'll tell you about Byron next in part 2.
end part one
fiction
edward w pritchard
A woman policeman was responsible for me spending four nights in jail and three days on the chain gang. There are no real chains it's more of a pick up trash detail but even years later I always referred to that week as my time on a chain gang.
I was helping Druanne with her homework, that's my girl friend Rachel's twelve year old daughter; when Rachel came in drunk and hit me several times on my arms. By the time the police had arrived Rachel was laying in on the bed calling me to come and join her. Too late, Mrs. White the neighbor had called the police, Rachel yells very loud.
The policewoman sized up things in about two seconds. Rachel looked exceptionally trashy today and Druanne was sticking up for me and the policewoman said someone had to go downtown. The lady officer knew I was in a jam and had to go to jail so she was very polite to me. Before we left the officer had me and her talk with Druanne about doing her homework and stuff while I was gone. I guess she had children.
Anyway the police woman told Druanne I would call her everyday while I was in jail to follow up on things. The surprising thing was the Judge in Muni court put on an order the next morning to that effect- that I was to call Druanne everyday. The prosecutor objected to that but it was too bad, it was the Judge's home court.
My punishment was four nights in local jail and also picking up papers and trash by day out along 157 west going into Canton Ohio. I was part of quite a team lead by Deputy Willie J. Watkins who used to be a famous football coach in Louisville about 40 years ago. Like all deputy sheriff's Coach Watkins, we all six inmates on the trash detail called him Coach, had about 5 jobs at once and was actually quite wealthy. Now Watkins was old, retiring next Winter at 67, although he would still be a dairy farmer, a debt collector for the probate court in Stark County part time and substitute teacher. Anyway Coach has diabetes and can't walk much, that's why he gets to do the trash detail. The interesting thing about him is he still is an amazing coach and organizer. From us six miscreants assigned to trash detail this fall between Louisville, and Canton Ohio Coach Watkins formed a fantastic team dedicated to the mundane job of picking up trash. Because of his bad legs and knees any one of us could have escaped by walking off the trash detail but none of us would out of respect to coach and because of the fact that the other five guys would beat the hell of them when they were eventually caught and came back.
Well that's how we were over at Walsh college watching the girls soccer team run around in short shorts while we ate pizza courtesy of the oldest guy in our group Ed Williams 61. We were arguing about how old a girl should be for a theoretical one of us to have sex with. As we watched these girls who were very good athletes and looked like nice young girls; poor old Coach Watkins had to hobble over because we were getting a little heated in our argument with the slime ball Pounders who kept saying a girl of 14 was fair game. I guess I was the real psycho in the group because I kept thinking of poor Druanne at home, just twelve years old, the closest thing I will ever have to my own daughter, with a Mother who didn't notice her, and a sleazeball like Pounders after her. Coach doesn't mess around I found out. Just before Pounders started to kill me, I am a little guy, coach grabbed a piece of pizza, pointed his revolver at Pounders and said " where do you want it". Then coach jumped on me for being argumentative. Next day Pounders was off the trash detail, I had to carry water to everyone as well as pickup trash for being argumentative and we had Byron Littlejohn as our sixth team member. I'll tell you about Byron next in part 2.
end part one
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Movie review; "on the road" with Jack Kerouac, 2012 and "Heartbreak" with Nick Nolte as Dean Cassidy, 1980
Movie review; "On the road" with Jack Kerouac, 2012 and "Heartbreak" with Nick Nolte as Dean Cassidy, 1980
fiction
edward w pritchard
Why would the US navy discharge Jack Kerouac for a schizoid personality in 1943? Two movies, On the road" with Jack Kerouac, 2012 and "Heartbreak" with Nick Nolte as Dean Cassidy, 1980 can help us understand the US Navy's motivation.
to be continued
fiction
edward w pritchard
Why would the US navy discharge Jack Kerouac for a schizoid personality in 1943? Two movies, On the road" with Jack Kerouac, 2012 and "Heartbreak" with Nick Nolte as Dean Cassidy, 1980 can help us understand the US Navy's motivation.
to be continued
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
the Devil never cuts the cards
the Devil never cuts the cards
fiction
edward w pritchard
ed- "I thought you were supposed to visit us from time to time trying to get our souls."
The Devil- "from time to time for me is like once in your lifetime"
ed- "well, What's your proposition ?"
The Devil-"no proposition today, I am just passing by"
ed- " Would you like to talk philosophy, I enjoy a good conversation"
The Devil- " No, I am working, I have to let you stay a little bored if I am going to see you later at my place"
ed- " how about listening to some music"
The Devil- " Good, you pick"
ed- " here's St James Infirmary from Snooks Elgin", "seems like you would like that"
The Devil- " Good version, but I like Dave Von Ronk's rendition"
ed- " well to each his own", "how about some cards while we wait"
The Devil- " we are not waiting for anything, I told you it was a social call I am just passing by, but cards would be nice"
ed - "do you want to deal"
The devil- "you can deal, no need for me to cut the cards, I trust you"
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
ed- "I thought you were supposed to visit us from time to time trying to get our souls."
The Devil- "from time to time for me is like once in your lifetime"
ed- "well, What's your proposition ?"
The Devil-"no proposition today, I am just passing by"
ed- " Would you like to talk philosophy, I enjoy a good conversation"
The Devil- " No, I am working, I have to let you stay a little bored if I am going to see you later at my place"
ed- " how about listening to some music"
The Devil- " Good, you pick"
ed- " here's St James Infirmary from Snooks Elgin", "seems like you would like that"
The Devil- " Good version, but I like Dave Von Ronk's rendition"
ed- " well to each his own", "how about some cards while we wait"
The Devil- " we are not waiting for anything, I told you it was a social call I am just passing by, but cards would be nice"
ed - "do you want to deal"
The devil- "you can deal, no need for me to cut the cards, I trust you"
end
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
sexist aging writer 61 attends a school budget meeting
sexist aging writer 61 attends a school budget meeting
fiction
edward w pritchard
story rewritten and edited; missed previously by my many critics
School budget shortfall
fiction
edward w pritchard
the cynic's apothecary part 2
Our town's local treasurer Mr. Another Accountant announced Tuesday, July 28. 2013 that layoffs were planned at the end of this school year.
After summer vacation, 17 teachers, two administrative assistants and a security guard and one custodial staff would be permanently let go said Mr. Accountant. Among the teachers were two coaches but not the head coach of our fighting tigers said Miss Bookings also of the finance department. No lays offs were planned yet in Administration but that could be forthcoming if the budget crisis continues.
At the announcement meeting on the matter local business woman and sports booster Miss Irish Whiskey owner of Toni's Drive-thru expressed disgust, anger, and resigned acceptance that no-one from administration was effected. "This is the third layoff and the finance, personnel and executive administration continue to sleep like a baby", cooed the Drive thru owner, Miss Whiskey, a demur brunette who often water boards in a string bikini over at the lake when its sunny.
Miss Bookings, a green eyed, red headed, long legged, long distance runner reported on the numbers behind the decision, while facing the auditorium meeting sans podium. Her and Mr. Accountant, who have been spending a lot of extra time on this matter, together believe the layoffs are fairly placed across the gene pool of employees; said the young Miss, as she sighed deeply when confronted by this reporter at the August meeting. "Mr. Accountant and I have spent many an evening working on this often involving Miss Ratio Analysis, also of the finance department, a blue-eyed blond of 26, and a member of the fitness club over at sand run." Miss Ratio analysis was not formally dressed for the meeting but appeared perky and ready in a pink jogging suit to this reporter as she a-waited further after hours liaisons if the situation presents itself.
Students were unavailable for comment. Local homeowners were not consulted. Mr. Accountant's wife claimed lack of information concerning her husband and Miss Ratio analysis and Miss Bookings, at this time.
ewp your roving reporter
End
fiction
edward w pritchard
story rewritten and edited; missed previously by my many critics
School budget shortfall
fiction
edward w pritchard
the cynic's apothecary part 2
Our town's local treasurer Mr. Another Accountant announced Tuesday, July 28. 2013 that layoffs were planned at the end of this school year.
After summer vacation, 17 teachers, two administrative assistants and a security guard and one custodial staff would be permanently let go said Mr. Accountant. Among the teachers were two coaches but not the head coach of our fighting tigers said Miss Bookings also of the finance department. No lays offs were planned yet in Administration but that could be forthcoming if the budget crisis continues.
At the announcement meeting on the matter local business woman and sports booster Miss Irish Whiskey owner of Toni's Drive-thru expressed disgust, anger, and resigned acceptance that no-one from administration was effected. "This is the third layoff and the finance, personnel and executive administration continue to sleep like a baby", cooed the Drive thru owner, Miss Whiskey, a demur brunette who often water boards in a string bikini over at the lake when its sunny.
Miss Bookings, a green eyed, red headed, long legged, long distance runner reported on the numbers behind the decision, while facing the auditorium meeting sans podium. Her and Mr. Accountant, who have been spending a lot of extra time on this matter, together believe the layoffs are fairly placed across the gene pool of employees; said the young Miss, as she sighed deeply when confronted by this reporter at the August meeting. "Mr. Accountant and I have spent many an evening working on this often involving Miss Ratio Analysis, also of the finance department, a blue-eyed blond of 26, and a member of the fitness club over at sand run." Miss Ratio analysis was not formally dressed for the meeting but appeared perky and ready in a pink jogging suit to this reporter as she a-waited further after hours liaisons if the situation presents itself.
Students were unavailable for comment. Local homeowners were not consulted. Mr. Accountant's wife claimed lack of information concerning her husband and Miss Ratio analysis and Miss Bookings, at this time.
ewp your roving reporter
End
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Written for those we love far away, in miles or emotional distance.
Written for those we love far away, in miles or emotional distance.
Our loved one's travel far from the safety of their family, the only few who genuinely love them to search for treasure and wealth, earthly success. Travel far fair pilgrim but may God take time from his busy doings to guide those we love home one more time.
obsidian hunters/ edited
fiction
edward w pritchard
Finding the valuable obsidian was not really the difficult part. Of course it is a long trek across dangerous terrain with wild animals and inclement weather. The real danger is coming back after we get the precious obsidian for the making of knife blades, spear points, and use as reflecting surfaces [mirrors]. The obsidian is very valuable and many fierce hunters, more cruel and cunning than any wild animal, lay in wait to rob and kill us once we have toiled to gather the scarce cargo.
I go from tribe to tribe, civilization to civilization, here on the central plateau [ now Turkey}. The year is 4500 BC on your dating system. I recruit solitary and odd persons and cast offs from each society to work with me to journey to the mountainous regions and painstakingly obtain a leather pouch full of obsidian. I tell their very few loved ones of the potential gathers I recruit the hard facts. Their family member or clansman may not return. Say your goodbyes now, for the journey is treacherous. However the reward is great. As long as we find obsidian and start back toward the trading points everyone who left the mountain area gets paid, and handsomely. Those who die coming back, I pay the relatives a full share; for I want to be welcome the next time I come to their homeland to recruit new obsidian hunters.
We are an odd lot and I am one strange person. I like my misfits who I recruit. People unable to stick around a camp and tend a fire or watch the wheat come out of the ground. We are the last great explorers. Every day we put our life on the line to provide the villages the latest technology. If you know of someone not fitting in send them my way and I will make an obsidian hunter of them.
Each human must take some risks if they are to make their way in an indifferent world. Travel far away from friends and family who love you, across mountains, through storms and earthquakes, find a handful of valuable mineral wealth, and then trade it, sell it, display what you have found; you will be a success, you will have made the grade and passed your quest. Travel far but return to those you love, wandering pilgrim.
end
Saturday, August 10, 2013
we are all just a cover
we are all just a cover
fiction
edward w pritchard
A cover in music is when one artist redoes a song previously done by another musician. It's a tribute to the original artist. Of course all artists even the original musician was influenced by someone else either in style or technique.
So it is with us with our ancestors. We are a cover of the successful traits and survival techniques of our ancient relatives; that's the idea of evolution. But there's more to it than that; at a mystical level we have the cumulative wisdom and experiences of all of our line relatives going back tens of thousands of years. Our moods, whims, secret fears and hunches are not totally our own. Hundreds of spirits watch over us and protect and shelter us as we navigate through life.
fiction
edward w pritchard
A cover in music is when one artist redoes a song previously done by another musician. It's a tribute to the original artist. Of course all artists even the original musician was influenced by someone else either in style or technique.
So it is with us with our ancestors. We are a cover of the successful traits and survival techniques of our ancient relatives; that's the idea of evolution. But there's more to it than that; at a mystical level we have the cumulative wisdom and experiences of all of our line relatives going back tens of thousands of years. Our moods, whims, secret fears and hunches are not totally our own. Hundreds of spirits watch over us and protect and shelter us as we navigate through life.
Friday, August 9, 2013
how Elmore James and my Father integrated the US military
how Elmore James and my Father integrated the US military
fiction
edward w pritchard
note- my Father would never discuss his military service, so this story has a lot of surmising in it, no proof exists to collaborate things.
Guam in the Pacific Ocean in 1944 smack in the middle of the air war against Japan. My Father then 20 years old was company clerk working in a Quonset hut on the edge of the jungle and he had a big problem. The company's radio was on the blink, there was no one to fix it since all the engineers were working on the bomber planes, the Captain was about to have the privates head [my Father], and drastic measures were necessary to fix the radio to allow the war effort against the Japanese from Guam to move forward.
That's how my Father Ed Pritchard Sr. US Air force company clerk came to meet Elmore James radio repairman US Navy. The radio was duly fixed by James and the two enlisted men became friends over a joint interest in music. Pritchard wanted to be a classical piano player and James played guitar, an electric guitar amplified by his own secret methods, across the American South before the war.
After a fight between white and black soldiers at the local off duty bar Pritchard, who studied piano and violin at University before he was drafted, found himself ordered by his Captain to play boogie boogie piano under the direction of Elmo James who had experience leading several pickup bands in the American South before the war. For several months Elmore James would sing and play backed up by my Father on piano as lonely white and black soldiers listened to the new style of blues music from the Mississippi delta. There were no more racially motivated fights among the American soldiers on Guam. Some credited it to the music played at the local enlisted men's club.
Later after the war both men would die early deaths from heart problems perhaps suffered from the stress of world war two, and neither received any veterans benefits. Elmore James strongly influenced world wide music in the 1960's although he never received top billing or star status and fame during his lifetime. Ed Pritchard sr., never became a classical piano player, but once in a while he fooled around with boogie woogie piano for his oldest son before his death in 1969.
fiction
edward w pritchard
note- my Father would never discuss his military service, so this story has a lot of surmising in it, no proof exists to collaborate things.
Guam in the Pacific Ocean in 1944 smack in the middle of the air war against Japan. My Father then 20 years old was company clerk working in a Quonset hut on the edge of the jungle and he had a big problem. The company's radio was on the blink, there was no one to fix it since all the engineers were working on the bomber planes, the Captain was about to have the privates head [my Father], and drastic measures were necessary to fix the radio to allow the war effort against the Japanese from Guam to move forward.
That's how my Father Ed Pritchard Sr. US Air force company clerk came to meet Elmore James radio repairman US Navy. The radio was duly fixed by James and the two enlisted men became friends over a joint interest in music. Pritchard wanted to be a classical piano player and James played guitar, an electric guitar amplified by his own secret methods, across the American South before the war.
After a fight between white and black soldiers at the local off duty bar Pritchard, who studied piano and violin at University before he was drafted, found himself ordered by his Captain to play boogie boogie piano under the direction of Elmo James who had experience leading several pickup bands in the American South before the war. For several months Elmore James would sing and play backed up by my Father on piano as lonely white and black soldiers listened to the new style of blues music from the Mississippi delta. There were no more racially motivated fights among the American soldiers on Guam. Some credited it to the music played at the local enlisted men's club.
Later after the war both men would die early deaths from heart problems perhaps suffered from the stress of world war two, and neither received any veterans benefits. Elmore James strongly influenced world wide music in the 1960's although he never received top billing or star status and fame during his lifetime. Ed Pritchard sr., never became a classical piano player, but once in a while he fooled around with boogie woogie piano for his oldest son before his death in 1969.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
anxiety causes fears
anxiety causes fears
fiction
edward w pritchard
repost/ edit
when they came
When my fears came my neighbors stout iron cyclone fence running along my property line didn't stop them.
When trepidations came two flights of stairs didn't slow them.
When anxiety came a dead bolt lock and solid oak door didn't deter them.
When fears came uncle's Smith and Wesson didn't faze them.
When misgivings occurred my wife's pleadings didn't help me.
When fear and trembling over took me my rational arguments didn't interest them.
When I looked through the stout cyclone fence up two flights of stairs through the broken down oak door at my sobbing wife her tears didn't comfort me as worry and quaking carried me away.
fiction
edward w pritchard
repost/ edit
when they came
When my fears came my neighbors stout iron cyclone fence running along my property line didn't stop them.
When trepidations came two flights of stairs didn't slow them.
When anxiety came a dead bolt lock and solid oak door didn't deter them.
When fears came uncle's Smith and Wesson didn't faze them.
When misgivings occurred my wife's pleadings didn't help me.
When fear and trembling over took me my rational arguments didn't interest them.
When I looked through the stout cyclone fence up two flights of stairs through the broken down oak door at my sobbing wife her tears didn't comfort me as worry and quaking carried me away.
divine wind
Divine wind
fiction
edward w pritchard
The boy would sit on the back stoop and listened for the wind. He called it the breath of God and his Mother had asked his Father to speak to the boy about it. The Mother was afraid the boy was becoming strange and would lose the few friends he had. Out of concern for the boy the Mother had spoken to her husband about her fears for her son.
The boy didn't want to talk about the wind with his Father. He had learned that a boy shouldn't discuss such matters with his Dad or anyone else. He had however told his Mother a few times why he watched for a special sort of wind and what it meant to him when he received messages.
The Father was confused by the boy's explanation but the Father was exhilarated by the discussion with his son in a way the Father had never experienced. It was as if a veil was lifted for the Father for a moment when the boy discussed the divine wind, the holy ghost and the boy's forebodings about what it would mean for their family and the boy himself. Many ordinary things changed for the Father when his son told him about the divine wind.
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
The boy would sit on the back stoop and listened for the wind. He called it the breath of God and his Mother had asked his Father to speak to the boy about it. The Mother was afraid the boy was becoming strange and would lose the few friends he had. Out of concern for the boy the Mother had spoken to her husband about her fears for her son.
The boy didn't want to talk about the wind with his Father. He had learned that a boy shouldn't discuss such matters with his Dad or anyone else. He had however told his Mother a few times why he watched for a special sort of wind and what it meant to him when he received messages.
The Father was confused by the boy's explanation but the Father was exhilarated by the discussion with his son in a way the Father had never experienced. It was as if a veil was lifted for the Father for a moment when the boy discussed the divine wind, the holy ghost and the boy's forebodings about what it would mean for their family and the boy himself. Many ordinary things changed for the Father when his son told him about the divine wind.
end part 1
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
He-Brew
He-Brew
fiction
edward w pritchard
Yes, Jesus was a Jew. Originally he studied and learned the Torah. Later Jesus reinterpreted some of the old wisdom. As he preached Jesus updated and re-explained some of the old teachings.
It's like coffee sometimes it's better when reheated. He-Brews
fiction
edward w pritchard
Yes, Jesus was a Jew. Originally he studied and learned the Torah. Later Jesus reinterpreted some of the old wisdom. As he preached Jesus updated and re-explained some of the old teachings.
It's like coffee sometimes it's better when reheated. He-Brews
the apostate
the apostate
fiction
edward w pritchard
rewritten, edit 2
Jesus the Most Dangerous Man in History
fiction
edward w pritchard
Being near Jesus was dangerous and lethal to one's past affiliations. When Jesus lead 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 he taught we only wanted to be near him, abolish our sinful ways and full fill and experience the destiny he promised us. More than one who met him or even heard of him would abandon a faithful wife, or son and daughter, or Father and Mother in hope of following him about or just doing one deed or small kindness to make his life easier, if only for a moment.
I traveled with Jesus for several years before he recruited the disciples but was forced to leave the group because I was a link to his past, a past which he 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 him 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 his safety and those of the faithful followers had to say something about the effects on every day concerns the brutal honesty of his 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 he 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 his 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 his 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 his 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 him 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 and that was disorder and chaos and they dealt violently with threats of either. Miraculously I shielded Jesus from himself until he 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, had not checked them out in advance, as was customary and Jesus had called them in a flamboyant public way which only a year ago he 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. They 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 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 man spiritually, he followed the laws of his people. I found later he 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 they craved miracles, showmanship and razz ma taz.
Jesus was alone and it was 1AM when I was able to see him. He was in a small tent, the kind goat herders use and 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 he was robust and strong. As a Carpenter, I often saw Jesus carry heavy logs of wood with ease. Now the aura of death surrounded him, especially at night. I knew he 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 him.
We 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 us. 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 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. 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 him 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 them 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 however, 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.
fiction
edward w pritchard
rewritten, edit 2
Jesus the Most Dangerous Man in History
fiction
edward w pritchard
Being near Jesus was dangerous and lethal to one's past affiliations. When Jesus lead 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 he taught we only wanted to be near him, abolish our sinful ways and full fill and experience the destiny he promised us. More than one who met him or even heard of him would abandon a faithful wife, or son and daughter, or Father and Mother in hope of following him about or just doing one deed or small kindness to make his life easier, if only for a moment.
I traveled with Jesus for several years before he recruited the disciples but was forced to leave the group because I was a link to his past, a past which he 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 him 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 his safety and those of the faithful followers had to say something about the effects on every day concerns the brutal honesty of his 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 he 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 his 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 his 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 his 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 him 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 and that was disorder and chaos and they dealt violently with threats of either. Miraculously I shielded Jesus from himself until he 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, had not checked them out in advance, as was customary and Jesus had called them in a flamboyant public way which only a year ago he 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. They 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 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 man spiritually, he followed the laws of his people. I found later he 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 they craved miracles, showmanship and razz ma taz.
Jesus was alone and it was 1AM when I was able to see him. He was in a small tent, the kind goat herders use and 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 he was robust and strong. As a Carpenter, I often saw Jesus carry heavy logs of wood with ease. Now the aura of death surrounded him, especially at night. I knew he 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 him.
We 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 us. 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 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. 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 him 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 them 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 however, 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.
update; the good samaritan
update; the good Samaritan
fiction
edward w pritchard
One thing Jesus could do was tell a good story. One that endures and is relevant today is the good Samaritan. A man is robbed and left to die; as his neighbors pass him by, only a social outcast will assist him.
Today the good Samaritan is likely to be a Doctor, Lawyer, social worker or even a nurse who despite a busy schedule and many rules and much bureaucracy goes out of their way to help someone quietly in need who hasn't ask for help. Help we need more good Samaritan's. Jesus was on to something.
fiction
edward w pritchard
One thing Jesus could do was tell a good story. One that endures and is relevant today is the good Samaritan. A man is robbed and left to die; as his neighbors pass him by, only a social outcast will assist him.
Today the good Samaritan is likely to be a Doctor, Lawyer, social worker or even a nurse who despite a busy schedule and many rules and much bureaucracy goes out of their way to help someone quietly in need who hasn't ask for help. Help we need more good Samaritan's. Jesus was on to something.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
watching out for bin laden's ghost
watching out for bin laden's ghost
fiction
edward w pritchard
Today the USA is on high terrorism alert. Al Qaida, the organization started by Osama bin Laden, now deceased, has dubious plans to disrupt US interests somewhere in the world in the next few days.
Here's what I wrote about Bin Laden before, in May 2011 just after his execution.
in Bin Laden's compound
fiction
edward w pritchard
Bin Laden kept five full sized tigers in the compound behind the residence. All five were sick like him but the white Bengal, Osama's favorite tiger, was near death.
The white tiger although very ill, spent most of the time, climbed high up in the trees along the South border of the compound. When the white tiger walked it moved too much side ways and it was in obvious intense pain through the hips from it's illnesses.
The other four tigers were not so sick as the white Bengal but still seemed listless and off as they paced about the barren grounds of the compound.
I was secretly afraid that Bin Laden was too ill himself to control the five tigers. I was especially worried today for two of the neighbor children age four and five years old had come over to see the tigers and I was afraid for their safety. Although he was suffering with pain Osama bin Laden awkwardly walked down the sloping yard toward where the children and I stood. I could see Osama bin Laden was carrying something probably Swiss chocolate for our leader enjoyed delighting the neighborhood children with small gifts.
I had barricaded the children and myself behind the small wooden pic-nic table to try to provide them some protection from the tigers; particularly the white one which was high up sprawled in the trees watching the children intently. The white tiger was rumored to have nearly frozen to death once and this made him especially dangerous if in captivity. I reached out to greet Osama bin Laden all the while watching the treed white tiger and the four other tigers which were slowly following behind Bin Laden as he approached the children with the chocolate bar which was now visible to me in his left hand.
end part 1
In Bin Laden's compound-part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
After the soldiers left we received permission to sell ice cream bars in the compound. In no way is it a shrine to Osama bin Laden . The soldiers come now and then and check on things. They don't speak our language.
Business is so so. People mostly come to ask about the tigers. The tigers were moved long before Bin Laden died. The foreign soldiers never realized they were here. The soldiers are uncomfortable when they come to check on the ice cream stand.
Business is so so but not just Muslims are interested in bin Laden now. Sometimes when children from other religions or languages come for ice cream they ask about bin Laden or where the tigers are. When the American soldiers come by they never buy any ice cream. They can't do that when they are on duty.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Today the USA is on high terrorism alert. Al Qaida, the organization started by Osama bin Laden, now deceased, has dubious plans to disrupt US interests somewhere in the world in the next few days.
Here's what I wrote about Bin Laden before, in May 2011 just after his execution.
in Bin Laden's compound
fiction
edward w pritchard
Bin Laden kept five full sized tigers in the compound behind the residence. All five were sick like him but the white Bengal, Osama's favorite tiger, was near death.
The white tiger although very ill, spent most of the time, climbed high up in the trees along the South border of the compound. When the white tiger walked it moved too much side ways and it was in obvious intense pain through the hips from it's illnesses.
The other four tigers were not so sick as the white Bengal but still seemed listless and off as they paced about the barren grounds of the compound.
I was secretly afraid that Bin Laden was too ill himself to control the five tigers. I was especially worried today for two of the neighbor children age four and five years old had come over to see the tigers and I was afraid for their safety. Although he was suffering with pain Osama bin Laden awkwardly walked down the sloping yard toward where the children and I stood. I could see Osama bin Laden was carrying something probably Swiss chocolate for our leader enjoyed delighting the neighborhood children with small gifts.
I had barricaded the children and myself behind the small wooden pic-nic table to try to provide them some protection from the tigers; particularly the white one which was high up sprawled in the trees watching the children intently. The white tiger was rumored to have nearly frozen to death once and this made him especially dangerous if in captivity. I reached out to greet Osama bin Laden all the while watching the treed white tiger and the four other tigers which were slowly following behind Bin Laden as he approached the children with the chocolate bar which was now visible to me in his left hand.
end part 1
In Bin Laden's compound-part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
After the soldiers left we received permission to sell ice cream bars in the compound. In no way is it a shrine to Osama bin Laden . The soldiers come now and then and check on things. They don't speak our language.
Business is so so. People mostly come to ask about the tigers. The tigers were moved long before Bin Laden died. The foreign soldiers never realized they were here. The soldiers are uncomfortable when they come to check on the ice cream stand.
Business is so so but not just Muslims are interested in bin Laden now. Sometimes when children from other religions or languages come for ice cream they ask about bin Laden or where the tigers are. When the American soldiers come by they never buy any ice cream. They can't do that when they are on duty.
tudo se foi
tudo se foi
fiction
edward w pritchard
Tudo se foi
was all I could say,
speaking Portugese
the language of my youth.
When I had vitality
and riches,
stocks, tapestries and silk sheets at night.
Tudo se foi I told the magistrate
No, I couldn't pay my taxes, medical bills,
mortgage or anything really.
Tudo se foi.
I could see the magistrate wasn't listening
it didn't matter officially that he didn't understand.
I wanted him to know, for the record.
Tudo se foi, every thing is gone;
the money went with youth, my health and my looks.
For a minute the Magistrate looked down at me, from the bench and smiled
and asked me to please spell it, for the court reporter.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Tudo se foi
was all I could say,
speaking Portugese
the language of my youth.
When I had vitality
and riches,
stocks, tapestries and silk sheets at night.
Tudo se foi I told the magistrate
No, I couldn't pay my taxes, medical bills,
mortgage or anything really.
Tudo se foi.
I could see the magistrate wasn't listening
it didn't matter officially that he didn't understand.
I wanted him to know, for the record.
Tudo se foi, every thing is gone;
the money went with youth, my health and my looks.
For a minute the Magistrate looked down at me, from the bench and smiled
and asked me to please spell it, for the court reporter.
suburban cowboy/2
suburban cowboy/2
fiction
edward w pritchard
Where are the heroes of old, riding the ranges alone, the cowboy of the American west of days gone by?
The cowboy is still about but now he's the suburban cowboy. Still a loner, the suburban cowboy is more likely to be building a wood kayak in the garage after work, spending weekends riding his motorcycle, or driving his old truck out to the beach to surf a little on Sundays. After his recreation, the modern cowboy stops at the Tractor Supply to look at the new one piece metal hatchet to help as he gathers sticks from his yard to build the campfire to look at while he has a beer and thinks about the stars far off to the East of his home.
The suburban cowboy treats a woman like a lady, walks along side of her always when they go anywhere together and since he's alone a lot really looks forward to hearing a lady's voice so he listens with interest to what she has to say.
Suburban cowboys are sympathetic to Indian rights now days because they know cowboys and Indians were two sides of the same old coin. Likewise Suburban cowboys don't understand why we are fighting several foreign wars, but that's about as far as his political awareness goes. Religion? Modern cowboys don't make it to church much preferring Sister Tharpe's "Down by the Riverside".
Suburban cowboy? He's just a stallion who got old, an anachronism from times gone by who makes coffee in a sauce pan and doesn't get to Starbucks much to wait on line.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Where are the heroes of old, riding the ranges alone, the cowboy of the American west of days gone by?
The cowboy is still about but now he's the suburban cowboy. Still a loner, the suburban cowboy is more likely to be building a wood kayak in the garage after work, spending weekends riding his motorcycle, or driving his old truck out to the beach to surf a little on Sundays. After his recreation, the modern cowboy stops at the Tractor Supply to look at the new one piece metal hatchet to help as he gathers sticks from his yard to build the campfire to look at while he has a beer and thinks about the stars far off to the East of his home.
The suburban cowboy treats a woman like a lady, walks along side of her always when they go anywhere together and since he's alone a lot really looks forward to hearing a lady's voice so he listens with interest to what she has to say.
Suburban cowboys are sympathetic to Indian rights now days because they know cowboys and Indians were two sides of the same old coin. Likewise Suburban cowboys don't understand why we are fighting several foreign wars, but that's about as far as his political awareness goes. Religion? Modern cowboys don't make it to church much preferring Sister Tharpe's "Down by the Riverside".
Suburban cowboy? He's just a stallion who got old, an anachronism from times gone by who makes coffee in a sauce pan and doesn't get to Starbucks much to wait on line.
Friday, August 2, 2013
the shut in; the band played on
the shut in
fiction
edward w pritchard
By then I had mostly lost my hearing but I felt the big bass drum vibrating in the long bones of my forearms, across my shoulders and up through my jugular veins. It was definitely a band, the young people of this area must be celebrating something. After I carefully closed and locked all the doors and windows I couldn't help a peep from the second story bedroom, the window that faced the state road. I couldn't see the band but I distinctly heard the vibrations and hoped the marching band might just come this way one more time. I imagined the pretty girls with nice legs and the drummer throwing his sticks twenty feet in the air as he marched. Someone needs to stop all the vehicular traffic if the band is going to march through our hometown today.
fiction
edward w pritchard
By then I had mostly lost my hearing but I felt the big bass drum vibrating in the long bones of my forearms, across my shoulders and up through my jugular veins. It was definitely a band, the young people of this area must be celebrating something. After I carefully closed and locked all the doors and windows I couldn't help a peep from the second story bedroom, the window that faced the state road. I couldn't see the band but I distinctly heard the vibrations and hoped the marching band might just come this way one more time. I imagined the pretty girls with nice legs and the drummer throwing his sticks twenty feet in the air as he marched. Someone needs to stop all the vehicular traffic if the band is going to march through our hometown today.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
suburban cowboy
suburban cowboy
fiction
edward w pritchard
for Billie Shepherd
What's America's quiet strength today? It is the suburban cowboy and the modest home that he and his family maintain.
Working nights, or maybe two part time jobs to raise the kids; taxes, health insurance and medical bills can be a real drag but there's still time for a dog or two and money to keep the truck full of gas. Sometimes he just drives around with the radio on listening to the game or his favorite old music. Still he picks up the kids timely after practice or a music lesson.
In a county township or far out on the old State route the suburban cowboy goes about his life, stop and talk to him sometime he's not a bad guy and is ready to help a neighbor out in a jam.
fiction
edward w pritchard
for Billie Shepherd
What's America's quiet strength today? It is the suburban cowboy and the modest home that he and his family maintain.
Working nights, or maybe two part time jobs to raise the kids; taxes, health insurance and medical bills can be a real drag but there's still time for a dog or two and money to keep the truck full of gas. Sometimes he just drives around with the radio on listening to the game or his favorite old music. Still he picks up the kids timely after practice or a music lesson.
In a county township or far out on the old State route the suburban cowboy goes about his life, stop and talk to him sometime he's not a bad guy and is ready to help a neighbor out in a jam.
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