buried on boot hill with no marker

buried on boot hill with no marker

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


For over a century I felt a certain distinction to be buried on boot hill with no marker. Eventually however my lack of respectability and status began to gnaw at me and I began to contemplate how to remedy my situation by changing how I would face the rest of my time in eternity.

I've decided  to become a tourist attraction. Now that I know what I want it shouldn't be so hard to accomplish my goals.

different day different lunch location

different day different lunch location

fiction
edward w Pritchard


So many vacant buildings here in Detroit it would give me the Blues if it wasn't for the flash lunch phenomena that I am participating in.

Every day I am on the short list to get a text message to locate  another vacant mystery building that me and those in the know will rush to at lunch hour to share a filthy room and cold stale food brought to us in brown paper bags from the central kitchen at the closed High school.

I don't have to remember anybody's names on the wait staff or who I share a table with and I don't have to fuss over the menu. This can't go on forever for the police and health department are becoming more competent in their efforts to us shut down.

Thirty days  is a long time to be excited about lunch here in Detroit. Everyday, every day I have the blues.  I  always tip well and throw my trash in the receptacles.

looking up authoress Katherine Porter's skirts, it's never too late to learn how to understand women/draft 1

looking up authoress Katherine Porter's skirts, it's never too late to learn how to understand women/draft 1

fiction
edward w pritchard


Katherine Porter the American author published two remarkable short stories, "Rope" and " the Jilting of Granny Witherill." In both stories Porter reveals the female psyche in a unique and insightful unexpected way that is " original and not conventional. "

Women authors like women painters often are given short shift in terms of recognition and critical acclaim.

Who are the best Women authors?

Certainly Agatha Christie the prolific and highly published mystery writer and Joanna Bowling of Harry Potter fame have achieved enviable sales totals of books sold. However for this discussion of the great female writers they will be excluded, as will Anne Rice, perhaps because they all wrote formula novels for a popular audience.

George Elliot who wrote "Middlemarch", Jane Austin, Charlotte Bronte, and Virginia Wolfe belong on any list of the greatest female authors. 

Katherine Porter's work reflects her stormy life. Married several times, unable to have children, often sick or ill she suffered greatly and her life experiences are reflected in her writing. A beautiful woman who once wanted to be an actress or singer Katherine Porter was often at the center and fringes of the American literary and Hollywood scene.

Katherine Porter more than any writer this male reader has read most captures the intricacies of the male/female dance of love, hate and silent discord that is hiding in the heart of many relationships. If not at the heart somewhere suspected deep under the surface. 

Katherine Porter was an insightful psychologist of the female psyche. In addition to her novels such as " Ship of fools" made into an interesting movie starring Vivian Leigh at the end of her career and short stories Miss Porter's essays are excellent. See " the collected Essays and occasional writings" of Katherine Porter, Delacorte Press 1970. In particular two essays are '' original with unconventional insights"; see " The Necessary Enemy" regarding husband and wives, and " Marriage is Belonging" same subject same author.

Katherine Porter, an excellent female writer with something revealing and memorable to say whose work will stand the test of time. Would that I had been exposed to her sooner.   

 

a short list

a short list

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Ancient wisdom; it has survived the strict test of Time.

" Having food and raiment let us be therewith content".

1 Timothy chapter6-verse 8

Hinduism goes into Space/ draft 2

space lamentation number 4c/draft 1

Hinduism goes into Space

fiction
edward w Pritchard


The ultimate second chance is the hope for rebirth. With new heart, new wisdom and new vision of the future we start over.

Where have we been before this? In our dreams we swirl tid bits of a thousand life times into a few seconds of lucidity.

What did your original face look like; before?

Here's what I wrote about rebirth, reincarnation and returning to the sanctuary of Earth:



Silent be my wagon bumping along rutted pioneerless trails

Becalmed am I, aship windless seas far from the cape of good hope

Friendless in perpetual night, blinded am I in astarless darkness

Loneliness accelerates alone, daily salt brings sudden death

Sadness times sorrow, the moon is my pillow, space dust my final resting place

Softly silent melancholy melody drifting from earth;  recollection rekindles rebirth

Spheres in motion produce trade winds and I begin to drift homeward.

Yahoo, Google, Facebook, and the New York Attorney General

Yahoo, Google, Facebook,  and the New York Attorney General

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Yahoo, Google, Facebook, and the New York Attorney General have been sharing information about me. I have indisputable proof of their most recent spying efforts against me.

I have begun a file on them. In case, just in case I must document their conspiracy.

I am not at liberty at this time to say but I will give one example.

I must under go a security check when I log on my computer. Cumbersome passwords to log on to my work areas.

Recently I used the name Logo as a nick name for an artificial intelligence unit in a story I was writing. You might have read it if you are one of my few human readers.

Well in an ad under the heading "Logo" that I noticed while using Yahoo to get to Google images to look at beautiful girls from Norway was a Facebook link for a dating site inducing me to pick a picture of a girl from New York to marry and bring here to where I live to help them escape the misery of their homeland.

Additionally, Yahoo and conspirators ran an ad next to the Viagra ad for me to attend an on line  University to study the History of sex and obtain my Master degree in the subject. As you may know from my writing I currently have a bachelors degree in History.

Save to file, under co/conspirators

ex's valise at airport

 ex's valise at airport


fiction
edward w Pritchard

Time was the valise would hold a present for me,
a book or a painting of a medieval castle on the Rhine;
involved in collecting tolls, Gothic in style,
but renovated in the nineteenth century to attract English tourists.

Hell, time was with kissing and hanging on the tofu rice for you would get cold
and my present would be forgotten until tomorrow morning.

Before now with perfunctory greeting; time was satisfying.

ahead of it's time; artificial intelligence honors Brian seltzer of Stray cat strut fame

ahead of it's time; artificial intelligence honors Brian Seltzer of Stray cat strut fame

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Someone ask for more dementia from writer about artificial intelligence units and their habits that will become familiar to current readers sometime in the near future when machine intelligence subjugate humans.


Help Logic magazine!

My offspring has morphed into disgusting human Brian Seltzer of Stray cat strut fame.

My offspring is a fifteen year old unit 941 artificial intelligence grocery industry service model and I am straining my programing to find any affection for Logo as he calls himself now. I shouldn't say He because my offspring has decided to become fifth gender which is all the rage here. Fifth gender is not man, woman or third gender like a human would be or uni like the rest of us machine intelligence were created as but fifth gender, a combination and fourth gender and any of the first three human genders.

Help Logic magazine! All the money I spent educating in classical music Logo, his real name is 941 configuration 99k, and now he pounds a guitar and sometimes a banjo. Do you know what its like to communicate with a machine with blond hair and lipstick?

after the volcanoes/ edit 2

after the volcanoes/ edit 2

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


in progress draft 1


Writer has been reading on Buddhism and Zen. At such times Hindu philosophy is appreciated and admired.

A severe electrical storm lit up the sky last night and I am ionized this morning. Lightening travels horizontally at such times and life reconnects with the forces that began consciousness here on Earth.

How many times in our existence do we get to experience an extreme lightening storm? Terrifying Lightening but without any thunder. It's memorable across ages.

We are so moved by the experience that we can't even listen to the baseball game on the radio while we wait to pick up a friend at the Airport. Somehow at the airport the planes modern instruments track and predict the movements of the electric storm and the plane lands a little late but safely and the passengers carry their bag along the platforms to return to their lives.

Sometimes it seems like all the past lives we have experienced here on earth reach out to us just below consciousness. Perhaps the extreme noise of a volcano or the flashed brightness of horizontal lightening awaken us to our forgotten connection to our past lives.

After the volcanoes/ to be continued

after the volcanoes

fiction
edward w pritchard

After the volcanoes, and after the earthquakes they caused and after the tsunami all was in chaos and  I walked through the disruption unfazed. Secretly I welcomed the turmoil although I saddened for the suffering of those around me. Nature had manifest our inner struggles externally and everyone must see and feel them.

After the tsunami I went to the ocean and watched for the waves. After the earthquakes I stood in the city and watched for the buildings to fall. After the volcanoes I went to the mountains to see what was anew.

After nature erupted I sat quietly and enjoyed the silence.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

the way station to the next place

• The Way station to the next place

fiction
edward w pritchard

The way station to the next place was chaotic and crowded and the workers were unable to handle the rush. It was intolerable how we were treated and the lines and the wait went on for days. We certainly weren't used to this sort of treatment.


Over and over someone would push and shove to the front of the line and demand to speak to someone and then be incredulous that someone of their importance would have to endure this ordeal. However it was to no avail and the workers treated everyone the same and all must wait in the endless lines and then complete the required documentation before they could move on towards their next destination.

In time I noticed that the Buddhists were handling the situation better than the rest of us. They seemed to be sitting quietly and meditating and waiting patiently. The Catholics and Baptists were the most impatient and expected special treatment. The Muslims and the Hindus were trying to follow procedure, at least they weren't making a fuss or a scene and seemed to have accepted that things had changed for them after their demise.  

Eventually I became more patient like the Buddhists. I waited until my turn and I accepted the fact that our status had changed when we died and we just had better follow procedures and wait our turn to move to the next place. I pretended I was very delayed at an airport and I tried to act civilly while I waited to move on.

Yes, eventually I figured out how to follow the new rules.  I was able to move on after my earthly extinction but I didn't like my loss of status and  I certainly  wasn't used to how I was being treated..
end

get down to one suitcase but be sure it's cool to look at as you carry it about

get it down to one suit case but be sure it's cool to look at as you carry it about

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


I bought two books for a quarter each at a used book sale that have got me to look at myself and the world obliquely.

The books are on Buddhism and Zen by Osho a " contemporary mystic".

Osho believes in using Koans and poetry to awaken us but unlike some others he also writes in verse in traditional Western style and his insights are as Emerson would say  " original and not conventional, always the soul hears an admonition in such lines let the subject be what it may".

Osho writes of the via negativa of Buddhism. All other religions have a positive goal of adding something to yourself, salvation, self realization, union with God, etc. Buddhism takes a negative approach, everything is already inside you right now, right here.

Let go the obstacles and you are complete.

For now, as an American I am working on getting it down to one suitcase but I try to be sure it is cool to look at as I carry it about.

Yesterday with gas at about four dollars a gallon I drove to Youngstown museum to see the James Whistler portrait of a "Lady with an umbrella" and went to a small local cemetery behind a church to look at a civil war veterans grave for Memorial day.

Still as I move about my territory I am aware  I have lost many things. However, nothing essential is missed.

If I need something I no longer have I only need to look skyward.

Here's what I wrote before on that for today, Memorial day 2014.


in the end

fiction
edward w pritchard

In the end, grandpa used to go back behind the house and stare and stare up at the mountains. They are just mountains, beautiful true, but we couldn't ever figure what he was looking at.

After grandpa passed on sometimes I go back behind the house and think of him while I stare at the blue sky and distant white snow capped mountains East of the house. The wind seems to blow from the Mountains toward where we live. The Mountains seem formidable and far off as I stare at them, especially around dawn or dusk. The sun is magnificent also.

enlightenment; a rift between friends George Harrison and John Lennon

enlightenment; a rift between friends George Harrison and John Lennon

 

fiction

Edward w Pritchard

The Beatles were my heroes and John Lennon was my alter ego. Then my first girl friend bought me "all things must pass" by George Harrison. My awareness was raised.

Things stood there for a while until Yoko Ono started screaming on stage. I was so confused. Was Yoko just trying to use Zen Buddhists techniques of a primal scream to awaken us or was Yoko just very weird and John couldn't control her?

George Harrison wrote " Wah Wah" about the Beatles under the influence of Yoko. I don't need your Wah Wah.

Here's what I wrote before about John Lennon, then Yoko and then Yoko again . Yoko and her primal scream. It's wasn't music to my ears and it didn't help me find enlightenment. What's up John?


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.

 end

 

next

 

 

Friday, September 9, 2011

John Lennon and Yoko, it's just wrong sometimes

John Lennon and Yoko, it's just wrong sometimes

fiction
edward w pritchard

Sorry to report. John Lennon singing hound dog with Yoko screeching on stage or worse, John singing with his idol Chuck Berry with Yoko howling on stage; John Lennon and Yoko, it's just wrong sometimes. Strange what people see in each other. Two talented people, successful and famous, awkward to watch once in a while. Chuck Berry's expression when Yoko screams is genuine satori of something being very wrong.
end


next


So many things interrupt fine music

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

So many things interrupt fine music. As an example go to you tube again and type in and listen to if you can " baby please don't go" by John Lennon and Frank Zappa. Both are creative geniuses and fine musicians. The problem is Yoko again. As she did when John played with Chuck Berry, Yoko Ono is again howling and screeching on stage, she is howling literally when John Lennon sings with Frank Zappa.

Yoko howls. It is not the Lightening Hopkins version of " Baby please don't go" covered by John Lennon that I thought I was going to hear but Yoko again screeching. So many things interrupt fine music. John and Frank Zappa of the Mother's of invention both dead and their joint recording ruined by Yoko Ono howling over and over. Frank Zappa once produced a song called " Burnt Winnie sandwich" but what must he have thought of John and Yoko?

John Lennon bringing his lady to perform. Sometimes it's just so wrong. Howl-lll, Howl-llll, Howl-ll.


You know John Lennon is one of my idols; perhaps he and Yoko watched King Lear together once and John is letting Yoko recreate Act 5 scene 3, of "King Lear" the " I'd crack heavens open with my lament" scene, yes that's it, it's just Yoko's way of expressing her opinion of the world. Howl, Howl Howl, go Yoko, Howl again.
end

keno's secret strategies to pick your numbers/ part 2

keno's secret strategies to pick your numbers/ part 2

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


The secret of happiness, enjoyable life and living without stress has been revealed to me from an unusual source.

Those of you who follow my writings know that my ultimate fantasy girl is the red head Miss Ford who is mentioned in the story posted below and elsewhere in my writings as the Teacher endowed by God with memorable proportions.

Upon reflection of Miss Ford's strategies for picking winning Keno numbers by using random numbers I have deduced the secret of happiness in life. --Have no preference when it comes to outcomes in everything that happens to you is the secret to enjoyable life, happiness and living without stress. --

Barry the guy at the Paterno club sports bar there on Springfield Lake when he heard of my latest Epiphany said I had reinvented Zen Buddhism. He said it was " make the smallest distinction and heaven and earth are set infinitely apart."

I don't know about Zen or that stuff but by not having a preference to which nine numbers I picked at Keno; I won five hundred bucks at the casino the other day and it made me real happy.

I am working now on transferring this no preference system I rediscovered to every area of my life. Love or hate a woman, -Whatever-. How about Jesus, -either way-. Chicken or fish for lunch, -anything but tofu-. As you can see I have some work to do but -I am now finally on the path.-

Here's what I wrote before about picking random numbers. Miss Ford's system mentioned below. Read it but if you decide to investigate this Zen Buddhism stuff of having no preference, of either or with no preferences; be advised- it can be pretty confusing. My advice,  Try this- not that-, -don't think, feel with the heart.- But you already know that, as George Harrison used to say sometimes -" you don't need no guru, you don't need no teacher.- Namaste

what I wrote before/ without edits

keno's secret strategies to pick your numbers

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

Miss Ford the teacher was sitting alone at the sports bar in Uniontown stretching her arms behind her back to attract attention when I received her message and decided to investigate. I had been eating my chicken strips dinner alone playing Ohio lottery keno when I noticed her and decided to share her with my Keno card. I invited her to pick seven and then nine lucky numbers between 1 and eighty with me and bought her second glass of California red Syrah wine.

When I was twelve my Uncle Gino had always told me that if you were first with a new woman to always agree with everything she said. I was having trouble agreeing with Miss Ford's philosophy concerning her strategy for picking the seven Keno numbers we needed to fill out her Keno card. Once she understood the basic rules of Keno she had definite opinions concerning how to pick seven or nine numbers for the Ohio Lottery drawing every three minutes in Keno.

Miss Ford was a very pretty red head so I listened patiently to her theories concerning number patterns, time duration, and random sequences. It was all quite confusing. Since she taught math occasionally over at the High School I figured she knew some things I didn't.

Anyway we didn't have much luck at Keno that Friday night at the sports Bar and I never called Miss Ford the very pretty teacher.

Concerning Keno I have decided to eat my dinners alone over at the Sports Bar and not mix business with pleasure when I am picking nine secret numbers special only to me; like my ex wife's birthday or my baseball batting average in my second year in little league.

yahoo has been spying on me, this is to throw them off track/ part 2

yahoo has been spying on me, this is to throw them off track/ part 2

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


My address, you say Yahoo needs my address to update it's records. Well if you must.

I stay at Meldemannstrasse 25 at the Mannerheim in the district of Briggittenau here in Vienna. It's only temporary. Someday I will be important. The Mannerheim is a shelter, a home for men who have lost their way. It's financed by the Rothchilds you know to keep us failures from becoming beggars. No I don't have a woman friend to sustain me: I live here alone in 1906 in Vienna where I came from a small town in rural Hapsburg Austria.

I paint a few post cards for tourists and my friend sells them but someday I will be a great artist. I will support the opera and design great buildings and renovate whole cities.

My name, wells it's Adolph and someday you will know of me. I hope to live in Germany one day. Perhaps in Munich or even Berlin. I do not drink or carouse with cheap women and I have been improving myself with reading and public speaking. I consider myself a good German and I honor my Mother Klara Hitler. Someday my Mother will have her own Wiki page because of me.

yahoo has been spying on me again, this is to throw them off track

yahoo has been spying on me again, this is to throw them off track

fiction
Edward w Pritchard



Yahoo has been spying on me again; this is to throw them off track in their efforts to implicate me to nefarious Government agencies.

Here is a repost of an imaginary article I wrote about an imaginary "spy"/ [ now called a terrorist] {key word 1}. Using the Hardy Boys novels I cleverly but with my usual half crazy logic tell how to invade America along the coast of New England { key phrase 2} sometime in the near future past {key concept 3}.

Government agencies I will be in Public Line at one of your offices in ten days if you need to talk to me about this.

repost/ no edits/ the whole world seems spinning toward war again, spying on each other and mistrusting everybody

terrorists in America; the playbook to attacking America's New England coast near Bayport./ part 1

fiction
edward w pritchard

When his youthful idealism left him, Tu, the middle eastern terrorist employed deeply submerged in an American city as a typical poor working class person but reporting to a foreign government hostile to American interests began to manipulate the American military industrial complex to make himself some money.

After Tu became disenchanted with spy work, terrorism and America itself, too pitiable of his adopted Country to see America as an enemy; Tu began to file false reports with his superiors about  how to infiltrate the Coast of New England for a terrorist invasion of America sometime in the near future.

Tu had recently found out that his salary as a middle eastern terrorist was secretly being paid by a large American company in the defense industry. After the initial shock of the implications of an American company financing terrorism in it's own Country to justify a military industrial complex passed Tu decided to join the farce and make money for himself in the process.

Using the imaginary town of Bayport as a central geographical place for terrorist activities, Bayport the fictional town of 50,000 from the Hardy Boys detective novels for teenage boys, where circa 1927 Frank and Joe Hardy lived with their tall athletic father, demur pretty Mother, and peppery Aunt Gertrude; for four years Tu the terrorist sent in false reports describing the intricacies of the coast line of New England as dreamed up by the original authors of the Hardy Boys series Franklin Dixon. Each report contained detailed information on how to invade America by sea somewhere near Bayport on the Barmet Bay. In time Tu found out that no one in the terrorist business read his reports but that the America defense industry used his reports in the Congressional budget hearings to appropriate billions of dollars of Government funds. Since Bayport was an imaginary place seven American States were able to appropriate government funds to defend their coastlines. Eventually Tu was exposed as a fraud as a true terrorist but the story ends happily for Tu now does consulting work for the US military industrial complex although he does hate his own hypocrisy at times.

{ this is the imaginary part about the American coastline in 1927} key concept 4 for my government file as reported by Yahoo when they rat me out to the NSA. 

Bayport lies on the coast of  an imaginary American State and the coast line contains many caves, secret roads and mysterious places and ample foreign elements are available to perform nefarious activities against government radar installations and phantom freighters and is a critical hub of America's transportation network. The region of New England occupied by Bayport on the Barmet bay historically requires myriad allocations of government defense funds to remain a vital part of the American economy.

end part 1

where are the hapsburg's who once were important indeed?/part 2

where are the Hapsburg's who once were important indeed?/ part 2

see part one of where are the Hapsburg's who once were important indeed



It didn't happen. It was a dream in a dream. Youth and happiness. Temporary, unplanned; to recollect ist verboten.


repost with updates

gone but not forgotten, sadly silent

Gone but not forgotten, sadly silent

fiction
edward w pritchard

Memories shadow,
vaporously appears late at night
as essence of past removals.
Refusing to stay gone.

I reach out in sleep from behind my eyes,
with the will to touch that preceded arms and hands.

Momentarily, dreaming,
I capture your lost essence,
its gone but not forgotten, sadly silent,
solidly material, far removed from hands and arms.

Stir gently when we remember the past,
the wings fall off the butterfly when we shake the jar.

Hold the butterfly jar softly with cupped finger tips
while the smell of forgiven misery
wafts violently against the sides of the jar.

What happened at night
secretly silent,
verboten
never happened.  

john denver on johnnie b goode; good backup is good

john denver on johnnie b goode; good backup is good

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


It's a 70's polyester revival; John Denver and group playing Chuck Berry's Johnnie B. Goode on you tube [ posted by petermfh59].

John Denver is a talented musician and here we see him playing in Japan. Can he and his back up pals pull off Johnny B. Goode in 1981 dressed in 1970's Disney costume style country western polyester?

Just for insurance how about adding super guitar playing legend James Burton the ultimate guitar backup to handle the guitar solos on Johnnie B Goode. Burton played back up for Elvis and Ricky Nelson and is billed as one of the finest to ever touch a fretboard. Here Burton backs up John Denver in Japan.

John Denver is good but James Burton on backup solo for Johnnie B. Goode is sensational. A good backup man needs consummate timing to stay in the backlights but make the lead look and sound good.

Good backup is always real good.

we interrupt this intellectual discussion to return to the here and now

we interrupt this intellectual discussion to return to the here and now

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


We interrupt this philosophical discussion to return to the here and now.

Update- Update- Update

Read all about it.

Who thought the lowly Cleveland Indians would sweep the might Detroit Tigers in three games?

One more sweep like that and the Indians will be over 500 %.

This writer still expects the Indians to win 85 games at season end 2014; but, I sure enjoyed the sweep of the Detroit Tigers.

Major league baseball, it takes your mind off your problems. It's fun to watch a bunch of grown men bobble a ball and strike out and it's diverting to watch someone else earn a very good living while taking paternity leaves and waiting on the 15 day disabled list.

where are the Hapsburg's who once were important indeed?/ part 1

where are the Hapsburg's who once were important indeed?

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Where are the Hapsburg's who once were important indeed?

Where is your lost and gone youth which once was important to you indeed?

The Hapsburg's were for five hundred years Europe's greatest ruling family but now no one talks about them and no one knows or cares about the lost and gone Hapsburg's and their forgotten exploits and attempts at changing Europe and the world.

Our youth was a long time ago and we were going to change the world and we were going to be important. We were going to be significant indeed.

The Hapsburg dynasty began in Switzerland with Count Radbot [ 985-1045]. You were born in America in [ fill in your dates here/ born-, died-,].

The Hapsburg's fought many wars acquiring property, trying over and over to produce male heirs, and strutting their hegemony about. You strutted about too years ago [ fill in your past exploits here ] .

Eventually after producing and devising much and creating much mayhem the once powerful and productive Hapsburg's died out when on July 4th 2011 Crown Prince Otto von Hapsburg died at the age of 98. Someday you too will be gone too perhaps living to be 98 years old or more as well.

The once powerful and important Hapsburg empire is long gone. The Hapsburg dynasty exists now  only in the temporary memories of a few junior high students cramming for a test or a wealthy over weight American tourist in Vienna about to over indulge in some strudel.

Who will remember us when we are gone and no more? Who will sing our exploits and who will remember the important things we once created?

Who will retell our tale?

Old friends do not grow weary when I retell my few adventures over and over, each time with embellishment and each time with my part of the tale made more and more daring and important.

I hear the whisper of the Hapsburg dynasty.

Where are the Hapsburg's who once were important indeed; where are we, you and I?  Where is We and Us who once set out to change the world and to be remembered as important and eternal?

What says our dynasty?

drunk on wormwood /part 2

drunk on wormwood/part 2

fiction
edward w pritchard


Morning in Ohio is nothing like waking slowly, slowly high on a a hill in the arrisdismont of Montmartre in Paris.

To be hung over on wormwood known as absinthe in Paris is an other worldly experience. Not one of the beautiful women who roamed the district until four AM last night will rise before noon. A French girl must look to her health.

A man in the morning in Montmartre must have some strong Italian style expresso and a croissant and some solitude while he nurses his hang over.

Too much of " Le night club" at an American style bar that draws the tourists but wrecks productivity mornings for locals was in the air last night. A long walk through Montmartre is good for the health and " le headache" as one watches the industrious local artists at work preparing their canvasses for the onslaught of German and Chinese tourists arriving by packed buses up the steep hills from their tour of the Eiffel Tower.

After a slow walk the mood and the spirit revives; Paris is in the air and in the heart for another morning.

Slowly, slowly approach another day. 

I mowed the lawn now what part 2/ draft 1

I mowed the lawn now what part 2/draft 1

Edward w Pritchard

fiction

 

update

 These stories are about the search for significance in life. I am sure you don't ever worry about such things, it's all clear to you. Me I know nothing.

 

Here are three previous posts for you to read while I think of what I will do today. I have designed a vast system and process that I have made myself the key component of. A hundred thousand things must interact for my system to function properly. It's Monday morning and the system is moving along as ordained for today, May 19, 2014. It's not 1066, no battle of Hastings is planned and it's not 476 Rome won't fall today either.

 

Cars race by on the road going to work here at 6:20 am and soon the trash truck will make too much noise and disturb me. The good news is the lawn is mowed again, my son helped me and he bought flowers for his Mother or Grand Mother so I am happy about that. Still I am not sure what today means. I am not confused; I just know nothing. One significant thing impresses me, I am hungry already, no food before ten AM[ sixteen hour fast in progress]; I better check and see what is going on in the Ukraine and Syria to see what kind of day I will have.

 

reposted stories for the reader to get in the " SEARCH FOR SIGNIFICANCE" frame of mind

Monday, September 16, 2013

I mowed the lawn; now what

I mowed the lawn; now what

fiction
edward w pritchard

It's better not to talk about some things. Better why, I don't know, I am sure my shrink would disagree, but of course I don't get my shrink for another twenty years. In the future twenty years hence I'll have a shrink for a year or so, but now when it first happened, when I had the first inkling about how things really were, it's just me out here mowing the lawn and I have just had my revelation.

I mowed the lawn now what? The job is done. The mower made it through the entire process without breaking down. I am not the kind of person to spray off the bottom of the mower with a hose or inspect the level of the oil or sharpen the blade for next time or hang the mower on a hook in the garage or suspended from the rafters in the shed.

I mowed the lawn now what? Into the house? Watch baseball or football. I could talk to her. Maybe help the children with their homework. I never really did that. Better to just give encouragement, a heaping of helping platitudes from Dale Carnegie or one of those positive thinkers that we buy their books and for a few days underline everything in the first few pages.

I could write like; I mowed the lawn now what!!! Of course I remember someone said don't use exclamation points. It's just the lawn is mowed. I went to work this week. Here I am standing in this neat yard, by the car in this smallish city and I have just finished mowing the lawn.
the search for significance

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

I sit in a new car, we call them vehicles in the Automobile business, and I ride on a large transport as it hauls the vehicles from the factory to the dealerships to be sold. Someone will buy the new vehicle and I ride in the vehicle as it travels 300 miles or so to find it's new owner. I sit in the vehicle driver's seat as it bounces along the superhighways; some one else drives the transport that hauls the vehicle I sit in, I just sit and listen to the radio with the engine off.

It's a union job. To promote employment each new vehicle must have a representative sit in the drivers seat during the vehicles maiden voyage, factory to showroom. Long ago as part of a court settlement it was agreed that each vehicle must have a custodian to care for it as it was initially driven across America. The auto dealerships were charging the customers and buyers a destination charge and a lawsuit ended by agreement that a ride boy, that's what they call us, would make $11.25 per hour to ride on the vehicle transports taking new cars to the showrooms of America for sale. Each transport carries six or seven vehicles and each transport employs along with the truck driver six or seven ride boys. It helps the economy to have six or seven more people working. The auto business is vital to the economy in many ways.

I listen to the radio mostly as the transports hauls us out across route 80,  77 south or some other major highway. We are not allowed to start the engines of the vehicles we sit in so it can get cold in Winter. It's best when the vehicle I am assigned to monitor has padded leather seats and good leg room. Sometimes when I am driven along I try to reach back home on my cell phone depending on reception. As soon as one run is over I hop into another transport and board another vehicle and head back the other way. Back to my home town. Two trips a day is usual. If it takes more than eight hours road time I get time and a half.

It's a life. Sometimes I wonder though, If there really is a God who decides everything; is this how I should spend my life? What's the significance of it all anyway?

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.

Magistrate=my vision of  "God "; as he functions in my System and Process.
end

knight in armor

Knight in armor

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

It's heavy to point the lance
better to heave it over the shoulder
and let it clang clang clang as you glide along
looking for a damsel in distress
needing a tire changed or someone to hold for a second

Jump on a powerful steed
ride or sail against the wind
down and across valleys and gorges
over across and through
over the seas and into the past
old knight in shining armour
off you go challenging destiny
seeking to rewrite what shouldn't be read

play the cards as dealt and be grateful with the pot as won

play the he cards as dealt and be grateful with the pot as won

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

it's Sunday morning and time for a sermon:



So many people of action are always trying to trade up, never grateful or satisfied with what they have. A yearning exists in some folks to have more, look around for better and to be never satisfied. It can be an admirable trait to yearn for better or it can get people in silent trouble.

A good wife who prepares the supper and buys birthday presents for the grand children is not enough for some Men. The wife is not supposed to get older and is shunned if she has gained fifteen pounds over the last decade.

Likewise a wife neglects the fact that her husband who falls asleep on the couch every night at eight thirty snoring has never once hit her in twenty years of marriage. He has a few other good points as well besides not striking her but she is silently dis-satisfied never the less.

It's an American malady to not be satisfied with the cards God has dealt us.

Look at it this way: in so many more ways things could be a lot, lot worse for you. Married folks, accept your partner as they are. Your situation could be so much worse. Wives, your husband could strike you with his open hand occasionally and husbands your wife could change from the sweet girl you courted into a woman who talks too loud.

The marriage vows said for richer or poorer, for better or worse; Imagine for a moment how much worse off you would be now if your spouse had Alzheimer's disease today and you had to care for them. That would be much worse than having a husband who snores or a wife who talks a little too loud at times.

Here's what I wrote before about a second wife whose second husband develops Alzheimer's disease: You could be the caregiver in the story

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Kentucky derby day

Kentucky derby day

fiction
edward w pritchard

Bob and Betty had met for the first time at a party for the Kentucky Derby. There were both in their forties and divorced and both were in their own ways suspicious and cautious concerning romance.

Bob was big, broad shouldered and not overly tall. Bob was a quiet man. Bob's friends had brought him to the party to get him back out into the world. Betty was an expert on horses and had came to the party because she enjoyed anything concerning horses.

A local chiropractor had arranged the horse race party because he wanted to share his wealth and success with the community he lived and worked in.

 

Dr. Mullins, the chiropractor introduced Bob and Betty and Betty helped Bob pick horses. Bob's friend Tul who was a little drunk had sat Betty on Bob's lap as a joke. At the end of the party Bob had kissed Betty as he walked her to her car.

Thirty three years later now married Betty and Bob were driving to the race track on Kentucky derby day. Betty wanted to celebrate their meeting anniversary. Both had on their best clothes. Betty had made reservations at the race track up near Cleveland and they had good seats up in the private dining area. Betty had paid twenty five dollars extra so they could sit at the windows.

Betty had baked cod and Bob had Alfredo noodles in the fancy restaurant at the horse track. Betty picked the horses. Betty won a prize for having four of the top six finishers in the simulcast Kentucky derby line-up.

When Betty got up to get her prize, Nancy who was a nurse, also dining at the race track with her husband Carl, a car dealer, whispered to Carl that she thought that old man, sitting at the prize winner's table with the prize winner Betty, had Alzheimer's disease.

Bob wasn't sure who the woman he was with going down the stairs at the race track was but, he wasn't going to let her carry the heavy box [ containing her prize television ]. After Bob put the box in the woman's car he even got in the passenger's seat when the strange woman asked him to.

Betty drove Bob home, happy she had won a TV as a door prize.

moral/Say your piece though no one listens.

oldest child; now a Man

oldest child; now a man

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Some moments are memorable in life. One is the first instant when you looked into the eyes of your first baby. Many ancient connections were re-established at that instant. As you saw the eyes of your first child you were startled by the intelligence and wisdom of the Baby.

Something  cosmic occurs as you look at your new baby. For one moment you can see the future and past clearly and then it's gone and the baby and you have to relearn how to survive in this world again. You must begin to pass away and the baby must perform it's destiny; a destiny the child didn't not ask to receive.

Some people think life is a simulation. Existence is pre-programed by intelligent design. Remember the first instant when you looked into the soul of your first child. The clue to existence was flashed before your eyes for an instant.

Here's what I wrote before on the subject of the exchange of pre programed information between a parent and child at the first instance of their meeting and remembering each other.

first glance

fiction
edward w pritchard

After a full first pregnancy,
after a thirty or more hour ordeal of Labor by the Mother,
the baby was said to be in danger;
verily,
despite the planned natural childbirth,
pain medication was finally dictated by two capable female Hindu Physicians,
the Mother succumbed and took the medication proffered by the Doctors.

Doctor's taking charge, the baby was born,
the Mother weakened, tired and drugged,
the Doctor's gave the new baby boy to me to hold.

My first connection to birth or babies.

The boy strong and willful, twisted in my hands
seeming to object to the recent ordeal of birth.

Our eyes connected at first glance
seeing across generations, intentions, hopes and fears,
and troubles twenty years hence.

Initial programming complete,
two way communication established,
first contact with a new soul,
I handed the boy to the Doctor
and worried over his Mother

just like that Anasazi are everywhere

just like that Anasazi are everywhere

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


The ancient ones move about invisibly from room to room here in the house I stay in.

Sometimes I hear them, sometimes I see the ancient ones  scurrying about carrying water and corn and gourds preparing supper and taking care of children. The children are well behaved and the Men and women are hardworking and industrious.

Other times the ancient Anasazi have disappeared, gone mysteriously for eight hundred years.

If I am alone for too long sometimes I try to summon the ancient ones. It doesn't work. The ancient ones disappeared mysteriously long ago. The rickety wooden ladders the ancient ones nimbly climbed about daily are gone, the narrow doorways the ancient ones squeezed through are invisibly sealed and shut.

Watch over me ancient ones. Night is interminable and I am alone. Three AM; it's dead silent here in the dark.

Soon I will dig and cut through one of the stone walls here in the silent cold cliff dwelling looking for the ancient ones.  Cautiously and silently from narrow room to room through the window like doorways I move searching for the ancient ones.

Somewhere, sometime just like that; 3 AM dark dead silent night, the ancient ones, invisible Anasazi are everywhere.

the world's collective unconsciousness is awakened over 200 missing girls / part 2

the world's collective unconsciousness is awakened over 200 missing girls / part 2

fiction
edward w pritchard

Poor  Boko Haram. He's trying to bargain. Kidnapped girls exchanged for his soldiers who are prisoners.

Puts me in mind of the Pirates who had captured Julius Caesar joking and bargaining with Caesar while they held him captive. Caesar advised them to demand  more Ransom. Caesar was an important Man, someday he would be King he probably said. After the Pirates  got their money and sailed off and after releasing Caesar; Caesar bought some ships and recruited some Men and captured the Pirates and had them all crucified. Crucifixions are seldom funny.

Actually we have a movie representation of the fate of Boko Haram. " The Wind and the Lion" a 1975 film starring Sean Connery and Candice Bergen. Connery a desert raider in North Africa kidnaps wealthy proper American Bergen and the American President Teddy Roosevelt takes offense. The American army heads to Morocco.

Poor Boko Haram. It's no longer funny to refuse to educate young women. The world's collective unconsciousness has taken offense.

Keep you head down bro. American drones are everywhere.

worry over those we love

worry over those we love

fiction
edward w pritchard


First off if there are five you care for and only one hurts and suffers it's not 80% good and 20% bad; like a balance, from that realization comes the insight to enable you to begin to relax and let go some of your fears and anxiety about those you love. Worry some but then try to do things to help as appropriate and then let things be. Hope for the best after that.

The blues says when things go wrong with you it hurts me too. This is oh so true of your children age whatever. When any one of your children suffer you are 100% worried despite the abundance of happiness accruing to your other children.

Forgive yourself for worrying over those you love; it is merely a sign that you aren't too self centered, instead you empathize with the pain of others. Your children age whatever are lucky to have a parent who worries over them.

Trust that things will improve, trust that whatever occurs you will bear it with a steady heart.

Get enough sleep, sit in the Sun for fifteen minutes a day and half of life's worries disappear. The other half of the worries that are left are probably real. Do something to help and then have faith that things will improve.

Don't judge and strive to foster human dignity come what may. Despite the percentages hope alleviates some of life's injustices. Relax if you can and begin to let go some of your fears and axieties about those you love.

200 kidnapped girls in Africa awakens the world's collective unconciousness

200 kidnapped girls in Africa awakens the world's collective unconsciousness

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Eighty years ago the World slumbered while Nazi Germany placed millions of Jews, Gypsies and others in concentration camps.

Now 200 kidnapped girls in Africa at the hands of one arrogant megalomaniac have united the World in outrage. Where will it lead?

What will happen to the tribal leader Boko Haram of Nigeria when he is located perhaps from the air by American military drones?

What if the collective consciousness of the World's women take offense just this one time to another terrorist wanting to stop women from being educated by using force and reacting to Women in an archaic and reactionary way? What if the World's women forgot this once to be pacifists and react with ancient unconscious violent emotions?

Here's what I wrote before on Women as vigilantes:


In the company of the areas women

fiction
edward w pritchard

Alred had an unusual command. Because of the shortage of soldiers, or men for that matter, in the area of York in England in the year 910 Alred was temporarily in command of a company of 150 women.

The women soldiers had been temporarily recruited to fill in for the English men of York, England who had went to the seaside to fight the Vikings who were rampaging again in England after a break of twenty five years. The raiding activity of the Vikings was dictated by economic conditions and weather conditions in their homeland of Denmark, Norway and Sweden. When they came to England, the Viking men raped, pillaged and destroyed without mercy in England and then returned to their homeland to again function as good Father's and citizens.

Alred's command were in charge of escorting 50 captured Viking soldiers to York.

 The captured Viking soldiers were marching with their hands securely bound behind their backs. As they walked an old woman in a village had yelled curses at the marching Vikings for molesting her, years ago, when she was a young girl. Without warning Alred's command of 150 women fell on the Viking prisoners and hacked at them with knives and small swords for twenty minutes or so in a frenzy of retaliation.

Alred a hardened soldiers of many years, turned his back, unable to bear the site of his maniacal troops at work. Alred's female soldier's had had enough of the Viking's rape pillage and destruction it seemed.

Later what was left of the butchered Viking prisoners was buried in a small mass grave.

After the massacre, Alred's female troops were relieved of duty and the women peacefully returned to their lives and their families in York, England to function as good and decent citizens.
end

Saving human jobs from robotic workers

Saving human jobs from robotic workers

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Notice how writer Pritchard offers imaginative ways to save the jobs of human workers who are being displaced by more efficient robotic workers. Here a fireman becomes a monastic Priest in Pritchard's warped imagination.

start

Neighborhood fires are practically non existent since flying mechanical drones have taken over primary duties of fire patrol here in America of the year 2022. When neighborhood fires do occur flying soaker drones can usually extinguish any blazes within 20 to 35 seconds from first spark.

What's to be done then with all the Government sector human firemen traditionally employed in a beige brick neighborhood fire station?

There are few Priest's anymore working in America in the traditional role of contemplative monastic Priests. With the exception of a few billionaire entrepreneurs who pay plenty to do menial labor at Buddhist retreats serving as "Monks" there are few contemplative holy men any more in modern America.

Why not make the displaced firemen who are losing their jobs to more efficient overhead flying drone artificial intelligence units become Monastic Priests there at the ground level fire stations? Let the drones monitor the neighborhoods for Fires from above while the old fashioned ground level fire men become Holy Men who contemplate God and the here after.

The firemen turned Monks could rise early every day, and do vespers and that routine round the clock and then plant small gardens or perhaps raise world class olives or wines to sell at a profit. Skilled local human artists could be hired to paint wall murals to assist in the inspiration of contemplative thoughts by Monastic firemen.

Changing firemen from fire fighters to contemplative Monks in America would save jobs and encourage Holy thinking. Additionally Government Pensions would continue to accrue for Public sector employees.
end

exiled to the exquisite past

Exiled to  the exquisite past

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Exiled to the exquisite past I moved across time from before to now to brief tomorrow.

How many thoughts, how many inspirations, how many bold ideas have predated my brief time on Earth?

Curiosity bid me look into the eyes, hearts and thoughts of Men defunct and forgotten. Men and women whose brief life span passed in a blink. Like them my time is near end.

Read, write, think, emote. Pictures and paintings reveal past inspirations more clearly than 200 hundred pages by the Genius of the Age.

Jesus, my body sinks. My side aches, I am famished by thirst and my hands and arms cramp as they tremble to support my weight.

What the plan, where the purpose; in a blink Time has moved on, we are oblivion.

why we write

why we write

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

repost as Why we write
toiling alone for the God's glory

fiction
edward w pritchard

Toiling alone for God's glory a lone Indian worked in front of the ancient vacant cliff dwelling piecing together rocks to form symbols known only to the tribe that he was now the last living member of. The work was hard and very hot and since there was no water he often drank the bitter juice of the dessert cactus to maintain his strength. He needed his strength because the task at hand was monumental and he wanted to finish the project and message to God before he collapsed from exhaustion at his toil.

Spanish conquistadors came on the old withered man and were set to kill him when they found he had no gold or accumulated wealth. It happened by chance that one of the Spanish soldiers was in addition to be an adventurer and searcher of fortune; also had been a man of God in his youth. That soldier stopped his fellow conquistadors from killing the toiling Indian, who the soldier saw was a holy man working alone for God's glory.

Although they couldn't read the symbols of the tribe, for a few days before they left in the search for gold and wealth, the members of the small Spanish party helped the old Indian finish his secret message to God. When the project was finished the Conquistadors held a small funeral ceremony for the old Indian who died as soon as his labors in competing the message was finished.

Later when the Spanish party returned to Spain, the soldier who had intervened to save the Indian was curious to what the message had said and sometimes speculated in his old age on what would be so important to say that the tired Indian back near the cliff dwellings would toil and sweat alone in a race to finish the message before his death.

manipulated numbers and the continuing housing crisis

manipulated numbers and the continuing housing crisis

fiction
edward w pritchard

For centuries us men have been accused, rightly so, of being dishonest with reporting business numbers in an attempt to manipulate the " Publics" attitudes and buying habits. No where is this blatant spin on reality more nauseous than in the American Housing market where week by week and month by month an army of hired Realty lead hand chosen economists and real estate agents and other experts misstate and misreport the actual dismal state of the American housing scene with manipulated qualified overly optimistic numbers and statistics.

It saddens us to see so many beautiful women are involved in promoting these bogus housing numbers because who is more beautiful and alluring than a beautiful Realtor or Realtist? We had so hoped that when women became involved as equals in business and politics things would change and honesty and integrity would become the new normal in American business and politics. Not so it seems.

Here is what I wrote before about beautiful Realtors and Realists. Beautiful Ladies please tell the truth, we so hate it when you lie to us.

Teri Few, Top Producer
American materialism and the Real Estate Industry

fiction
edward w pritchard

A sporty classic car, red of course, sauntered the last twenty feet of roadside and hunched to a stop. A delightful pair of long and alluring but aloof legs emerged ladylike and demurely from the vehicle.

The beautiful young woman glanced in the side view mirror, as she exited the car, and checked the lines of her ensemble. Pythagoras himself would be delighted and confounded by the lines and curves running the length of the young lady's body. Unceremoniously, Teri Few Realtor and Realtist top producer, carrying a sleek notebook and two imported expensive French pens prepared for combat.

The other expert was approaching Teri Few here at the Real Estate business scene. The approaching woman was tall, middle aged, nearly 35 Teri guessed, and had that listless tired look of a woman who had snagged her man years ago and had given up on fashion; and Teri was sad to observe the first impression the other woman conveyed to others. Teri instantly noticed that the woman's left shoe had scratches from top to sole, and worse the gold bracelet she wore on her right wrist appeared to be 14 carat rather than 22 or 24.

Still Teri Few must do business with people like this lady to be successful, so Teri Few nodded heartily, authentically stuck out her right hand , strode confidently forward, and in a sincere gesture of friendship and trust, smiled as she looked directly into the Lady Psychologist's eyes as she listened intently and with careful concern to what the Lady had to say.

The Psychologist's client was a plain girl, not blessed by nature with looks or fashion sense and her appearance reflected that fact. Her clothes were atrocious, beyond satire, and Teri's heart went out to the poor girl. As Teri Few shook hands with the girl, the lady psychologist's client Teri had a fleeting thought that maybe later she could advise the poor girl on make-up, fashion, and the basics of beauty, and appearance and success.

Later, Teri Few Realtor knew she had made a strategic mistake. The Psychologist's client was not a dowdy plain girl. She was a Hill, the richest family in this State, and the Client was a millionaire many times over.

 The dowdy plain girl was with her psychologist because she wanted an out of the way, white elephant type house and property near the National Park. Because, Miss Hill was a loner, and enjoyed solitude and nature, and did not enjoy business confrontation; she had brought her psychologist along to assist with the Real Estate transaction.

Teri Few top producing Realtor and Realtist  had blundered in her judgment but had still made the sale, at the asking price and with a little luck could get more referrals from the Psychologist and maybe, possibly from others in the wealthy Hill family.

 Looking into the side mirror as she entered her car Teri Few Realtor and Realist noticed she had a streak of dirt under her left eye probably from the tour of the house. Teri few top producing Realtor and Realtist had a black eye but had made the sale and won the commission in spite of her misjudgments and blunders today; things were indeed looking up.

you can't take it with you

you can't take it with you

fiction
edward w pritchard


All auguries suggest things are about to take a tumble to the negative in the stock market and maybe the real economy.

What's  your play dear Phillip?

Here's what I wrote before about lady luck. Remember you mustn't take the game too seriously.

famous investors who died broke-part 2

fiction
edward w pritchard

Dame fortune smiled on the gambler Charles Deville Wells, the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo. Small time grifter who spent lavishly but was always endowed with high hopes. British born Wells for a brief time was the toast of France. He came to the casino at Monte Carlo fortified with investor money he had bilked from others by promoting his singing jump rope but instead used the money at the roulette table as he often did. However, on this trip in 1891, luck indeed smiled on him. Five times in a row Wells bet on number 5 and that number hit each times. He turned the bilked 5,000 pounds into a million francs. Then a few months later he won big again. No one could figure out his system. Was the casino in on it to promote breaking the bank, literally throwing a shroud across the roulette table until the house could raise the money to pay him. Perhaps the roulette wheel itself was faulty, although the house routinely interchanged the wheels among the various machines. A dishonest employee? The French are known for their skeptical nature, surely they thought to check into his secrets. In any event Wells had his fame, beautiful women winked at him and a famous song was written about him. [The man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo-1892]. On his last trip to Monte Carlo Wells system whatever it was failed and he went broke. Over the next thirty years of his life Wells spent several years in jail for stock fraud and eventually died down and out in Paris in 1926. But oh what a ride he had back in the 1890's when he sailed into Monte Carlo that second time in a yacht with a beautiful woman and the whole town wanting to be his friend. As for dieing broke- C'est la Vie, mon cheri
end part 2

distracted by secret joy I grew contented

distracted by secret joy I grew contented

fiction
edward w pritchard



Distant thunder warmed shallow Lakes and drenched bumping rail road cars pulling cargo round and round long curving embankments on the way to satisfy everyday needs.

In the flash of lightening listen to thunder awaken slumbering animals and remember muted storms at sea.

Rolling thunder enlighten my sleeping character.

Clasp hands behind your head and push elbows sharply back. Send your mind low to the ground in four directions and listen for messages in the songs of the beseeching birds.

Day by day rest easy as the Earth pulls you relentlessly through space toward unknown destinations.

Distracted by secret joy I grew contented. 

my plan is to do a little sight seeing here at home until the stock and bond markets settle down/ part 3

my plan is to do a little sight seeing here at home until the stock and bond markets settle down/ part 3

fiction
Edward w Pritchard

repost

Twitter is out of it's lock up period today meaning insiders can sell, sell , sell shares they got for next to nothing for being on the " inside" of things.

As goes these "new age" stocks so goes the anemic "real" jobless economy so it seems.

Here's what we wrote before:


All these mobile app and ghost in the machine companies like Facebook, Pandora, Groupon, Twitter and LinkedIn have got me nervous. Does anyone do any actual business anymore?

In the 1955 movie " We're No Angels"  Humphrey Bogart plays the convicted Accountant who helps the nice family he stays with while he hides out from the guards at Devil's island, where he is imprisoned for stock fraud. When asked why and how he cooks the books and the balance sheets for the companies he represents suave Humphrey Bogart dryly says " [there are] no factories just stockholders".

That's how these multi billion dollar market cap mobile app ghost in the machine new age companies seem to me, " no factories just stockholders". Not enough hard assets to justify the elevated stock prices and market capitalizations. The new social media companies attract large groups of ordinary followers into a sort of club and then the new generation of social media companies propose as their business model to refer their club members to other potential businesses such as dry cleaners, restaurants and to link job seekers with job providers. Membership and referral fees finance the entire endeavor.

Problem is the club members herded together into the clubs and social networks are having difficulty in starting their economic lives because jobs are scarce. For a hundred reasons real factory jobs no longer exist much in America. The club members are under employed and tapped out.

Does anybody do any real business in America anymore? Don't ask me, I post on a blog while I patiently wait for the imaginary advertising revenues to begin to role in when I attract an imaginary  network of followers.

I'll collar your fears

I'll collar your fears

fiction
edward w pritchard


I'll  come to you in dreams and grab the old white plastic clothes basket with the slits in and around the sides and stand over you and round up and collar your fears and carry them down the creaking  croaking steps into the back yard and use the wooden pinched yellow clothes pins to hang your fears on the sagging mushy clothes lines that run down the sloping hills back toward the alabaster stone fences. Be careful when you wake and walk down to breakfast that none of your fears might have fallen from the basket when I was carrying it down the stairs in the dark and your fears might trip you up and cause you to stumble and fall over and over.

If you do successfully maneuver down the stairs in the morning grab a tall chocolaty glass of crunchy steamy scalding Ovaltine to sip and savor as you walk walk round and round the back yard and pick and gather the bright red and orange colored Spring flowers that took root when your fears were blown and scattered from the sagging mushy clothes lines and germinated and grew on the sloping damp yard covered with cold morning dews that beget the wild flowers carpeting your yard all the way down the Hill to the broken crumbling marbled stone fence.

a jolly fat man who lets things manage themselves

a jolly fat man who lets things manage themselves

fiction
edward w pritchard


Sometimes a Man must have a hobby if he is to be able to escape work and the pressures of business and politics. Worry and strife have a way of multiplying even if we maintain diversions and routines to separate our problems from our private lives. At such times a man must focus on what is really important.

Herman had fallen out with his boss recently. Now he passionately pursued building his art collection. He also enjoyed dressing up and socializing. Herman's table and liquor and wine collections were famous throughout Germany and Europe and Herman was known as a bon vivant and interesting company.

Still life had become so complicated for Herman. So many responsibilities so many epic problems and concerns. The Americans to the West, the Russians from the East and rats and traitors within the Nazi party. Sometimes Herman thought if he could just talk with the Fuhrer alone the two of them could renew the old magic.

Herman had decided to let things manage themselves some time ago.

Herman was shocked by the turn of events never the less. Arrested and treated as a common criminal by the Americans.

Herman vowed to improve. He spoke with the psychologist every day, followed the routine to get off the morphine that had plagued him since his war injury in the first war and followed the bland diet that the jailers felt he must be on if he was to live through the stress of the trial to be properly judged and hanged.

Summoning his deepest strengths Herman Goring joked and relaxed. Herman managed to make the best of his ordeal of the trial and by shear personality inspire the other defendants and bring some normalcy to his traumatized Countrymen. 

Only at night did Herman worry about his Art collection, his house in Ober Salzburg and his defeated Countrymen.

Sometimes in spite of it all it is best to let things manage themselves.  

Jesus needs to recruit disciples in modern America; who would he choose?

Jesus needs to choose disciples in modern America; who would he choose?

fiction
edward w pritchard


Part 1

If Jesus needed to pick disciples in Modern America who would he choose? How about a cocaine addicted homosexual who was a genius at improvisation piano playing to get the message out?

Here's what I wrote before about James Carroll Booker who passed away in New Orleans in 1983. Listen to James Booker's piano playing on you tube. Never have I heard that emotion. Could you love someone like Booker if he was one of Jesus' disciples? 

How about a piano player to reach a modern audience? If you heard James Booker play at a club in New Orleans in 1979 would his music reach you? Are we all too sophisticated and proper to be followers of the revolutionary Jesus, if Jesus came by today?

What I wrote before about James Booker. See "Jesus the Most Dangerous Man in History" for what I wrote about Jesus being a revolutionary, posted Saturday Feb 27, 2010, also below.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

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

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

reposted and retitled


fiction
edward w pritchard

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

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

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

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

end