ownership of three European cars in a row

ownership of three European cars in a row

fiction
edward w pritchard


I inherited once upon a time a beautiful red petite Volkswagen beetle by marriage. It was the kind of car whose trim and lines often won it's type vehicle a role as background glamour in a movie back in the 1960's. The car was a 1964 I believe looking back across the years and since it was then 1975 the car had a few issues.

First though before I could drive the car I had to fix it for the engine was seized up and an engineer had declared it unfix-able and a practical competent mechanic  had declared the car not worth the trouble to revive. The car sat on the street and it's health and ownership being important to my new friend I decided to revive the car for her, although I also had a very nice 67 Olds Cutlass that I had already taken to let her drive as needed.

I recall from memory myself working in the freezing cold to un-seize the engine which I did by using unusual ingenuity and initiative which I have not used much since. It might have actually been early fall when I worked on that car out in the cold but I did get it running. Later after marriage we were a two car family from the start.

Next when that red VW died I bought a middling looking two tone blue automatic Volkswagen with an usual clutch-less shift on the fly feature. It was driven to death but it certainly got along well in the deep snow. That car died too.

Then came a boondoggle of a car as all passionate purchase tend to be. For a second car I bought a 1976 Triumph royal green Spitfire. Mostly I drove a new Toyota by then but sometimes the Spitfire would run but not completely through any one trip or journey across town. The Triumph had a bad habit of stalling when the wife and second new baby were going anywhere in the car.

In addition to three memorable European cars in a row I owned several very dependable cars to be proud of new Toyota's over the years.

Sometimes, around snowy Winter Holidays, I like to remissness about that first beautiful Red VW that someone gave me  a part of by marriage. Why can't  mechanical things last forever? Ah well, such the memories.

winter survival north of the Mason Dixon line

Winter survival north of the Mason Dixon Line

fiction
edward w pritchard

It's intimidating the first time you close with a air sucking slam the heavy green metal lid to a stationary dumpster to sleep warmly among-st the debris of American society behind an all night diner North of the Mason Dixon line in a large American City. It takes a brave man to shut out thoughts of mice and rats and claustrophobia and grab a few hours of fitful joyous sleep. Subzero temperatures and a driving wind have a way of honing adaptive behaviors. Exhaustion and cold put you to sleep fast. I sleep well cause I don't care if I wake again but my last thought before I drift off is an accusatory " do you still love me Jesus". Then I go to sleep with a smile because I know he knows I have a right to bitch.

5AM is the alarm bell. It's a running gag among city homeless " don't get flipped up into a garbage truck while sleeping in a downtown dumpster" Garbage truck workers start their day early.

A few coins will buy a hot cup of tea at a favorite  breakfast nook. With lots and lots of nourishing sugar. Very Hot tea is good for the soul. If money for bread toasted is available douse it with honey, jelly and peanut butter..

The weather channel is available on over head TV at most of those places. Plan your day based on the weather. Grab a discarded newspaper or two to stuff into your shirt to make a "poor man's overcoat".

Then it's walking and walking. Look for public places like central bus stations or Universities. Carry a backpack with a few books to be welcome or at least avoid interference. Keep up on your reading.

Minus three tonight with a light wind. New years eve Sunday. Time for some more resolutions.

ode to a forgotten life

ode to a forgotten life

fiction
edward w pritchard

The Lion tamer seeks excitement, the man of peace studies War and the shrew languishes  to be tamed.

If one doesn't have anything to say let him remain silent and by all means not write it down.

Ode to a forgotten life.

how big the army

how big the army

fiction
edward w pritchard


Before a new wave of future patriotic military recruiting songs are written in anticipation of the largest recruiting drive of military men ever staged occurs in response to recent large gains in stocks and bonds prices permitting vast wealth creating opportunity to end under employment in our great country by vastly increasing  the standing army, increasing the standing army past and above all large military's ever recruited and known to History; who will ask how big the army?

The Roman's controlled the civilized Mediterranean world with half a million men. What could a country do today with twenty million able soldiers. The supply of able men exists, the wealth is there, who will exploit them and when?

It's impolite to ask. Forget past precedents. Wait to see.

How big the army. What new songs will be heard. "Hail the Sunshine"[1]- or "Tomorrow belongs to me"[2]

[1] "Hail the Sunshine" words and music by Rado, Ragney and McDermitt for " Hair"

[2] "Tomorrow belongs to me" words and music by Kander and Ebb for "Cabaret"

off the grid strictly ethereally

off the grid strictly ethereally

fiction
edward w pritchard

The 2018 new year's resolution is to be off the grid strictly mentally ethereally.

Off the grid in mind and memory but still to pay the bills and live in this time and place where I am planted but to avoid the Yahoo miserable bad news de jure, America's obsession with wealth creation and unwholesome things mineral, vegetable or matter of fact.

As all my ventures I start mentally ethereally meaning, of and in the mind, but involving much walking and circumnavigation of nearby places in the continuous motion of mind and spirit.

First to Walden of the mind. Not the actual " Walden " of Thoreau where I once physically visited the auspicious Pond near Concord in a hard.driving all day Massachusetts rain and had revelation that I became resigned but glad that things in themselves as I experienced them would soon be competed.

Now my Walden of the mind is an inward journey to sit in a doorway with a dark hut behind me and a gentle wave-less pond ahead and across my gaze as I, myself in deep  reveries of cheerful delightful alone-ness contemplate past, eternity and tonight's next meal.

Then mentally out into the crowd and throngs of the world as In Poe's London and " the Man of the Crowd" walking, walking choosing one to follow rapidly unobserved through the back streets of the great cities of the world all in the Mind rapidly invisibly anonymous moving flowing following selecting, watching without speech,  without smile, judgment of the mind and pen.

To be deleted by the author once read following a healing breeze across the River of forgetfulness

as we "the invisible reader " sits in judgment

the greatest attractive in the Humble State Of Ohio

the greatest attraction in the humble State of Ohio

fiction
edward w pritchard


Few attractions in the humble State of Ohio are worthy of worldwide attention and acclaim to the worldwide traveler who has the expense and inclination to go anywhere on the planet for entertainment and amazement.

Although the Home of my birth and continuous domicile the State of Ohio as a worldwide  attraction of interest of man-made things or Naturally occurring locations probably rates low as a sought after world wide attraction.

Consider the plight of a pilgrim traveler from India wishing to visit himself and with an aging Parent  the  USA currently seeking one interesting and marvelous place and therefore searching and surveying the 50 American States, Puerto Rico, and Guam seeking to choose only one place to visit in our fine Country. For the moment we will leave Paris  France, London England and Florence Italy out of the equation. Where should the traveler from India go in America if only choosing one location which therefore excludes America's greatest city New York, New York which is a multiplicity of locations in itself ?

Surveying the internet prior to his journey if the world traveler checked out touted Ohio locations for a place to visit, he might find recommended a prison for animals In Columbus the Ohio State capital [ Columbus Zoo], a war museum in Dayton, Wright Patterson Air Force base, or various small time sin locations of bourgeois society in contemporary America currently existing in the State of Ohio. 

Of course the Home and birth place of Lebron James might be worthy of worldwide mention at this time in particular. Although only a dozen miles from my house I,  I  have never received an invite to Lebron's house although I did once work often in the Elizabeth street apartments once Lebron James' humble childhood home.

To me, a life time resident of Ohio and America if ask to choose one location or thing to visit for a short time in the good State of Ohio I would with-out equivocation recommend the Cleveland Art museum. The Cleveland Art museum is a sublime and marvelous place to be, comparable to the best Art museums in the world, such as the Louvre, Prado or Uffuzi  all of which I have visited and thoroughly enjoyed.

A visit of a few hours to the Cleveland Art museum transports the visitor to a place outside of ordinary Time and circumstance. The art there, at the Cleveland Museum of Art,  is remarkable, of worldwide renown. 

Visit the great Cleveland Art museum and if you have the time and convenience of present circumstance take one or more of your aging Parents. The Cleveland Art museum should be around for hundreds of more years but we won't. Visit now temporary time traveler.

sleight of hand

sleight of hand

fiction
edward w pritchard


Sitting with four children of various young ages at the SeaWorld resort in Aurora, Ohio one summer day  watching the entertainment on a crowded outdoor open air stage near a large Lake I was randomly picked to be the magician's helper from a large audience at the 1PM performance .

I was crammed into and between on a bench, at a small booth, two just past teenage aspiring entertainers both independently hoping for someday better venues as they put on their act of various sleight of hand tricks which the three of us passed as props quickly below the viewing opening that kept the audience from seeing the reality of the performance. Enthusiastic shouts and whistles on cue followed each new illusion. Myself playing along getting into the rhythm of things especially since the girl sitting so close was quite pretty and I was younger then myself.

In the end I had stretched myself, thrown myself enthusiastically into my part, helping to maintain the illusion of  the stage magic and receiving appropriate applause.

About an hour and a half later I was walking about the theme park rocking the baby girl to sleep and I stopped in the back of the audience of the same performance, but this one at 3PM, and watched the show for a minute. Unfortunately although I could see how realistic the tricks looked to the audience from where I stood, now that I knew the routine there was an element of bursted expectations to the show. Further looking at the balding paunchy man selected to be the magicians helper I noted a bit of advertising chicanery in the pathetic guy's selection as stereotypical bourgeois stooge. Still rather than applaud wildly at the end of the performance, for my sleeping daughter, I clapped my hands a bit as I was able holding the child tightly as I performed my part. 

The Dormition of Mary

The Dormition of Mary

fiction
edward w pritchard

Accept no authority instead think through every issue logically for yourself as far as your own reason can take you. Gather facts, document probable cause then conclude and speak the truth and fear not censure for your reasonable opinions.

Born a protestant Mary Mother of Jesus was not venerated in our childhood religious instruction. Yet all mankind has a mythological need to worship Motherhood. Hence different religions of The Book have different interpretations of the death of Mary Mother of Jesus. All of the interpretations are based on little evidence as there is scanty mention of Mary in New testament writings and next to none in the writings of independent Roman writers at the time of the birth and death of Jesus.

However any independent judgement based on reason and experience would cause one to conclude that if Jesus in fact existed and was born and died then his Mother would have done the same. Anything otherwise would be miraculous. Still it must be noted that the idea of the assumption of Mary's, Mother of Jesus's, death by assumption is beautiful and majestic. The art produced on the subject can be sublime. 

As this author has stated elsewhere in his writings the foremost authority on "Miracles" David Hume former British skeptic also born and now died is unavailable for comment on the question of Mary's, Mother of Jesus' dormition [ death ]. However it is assumed based on a review of David Hume's writings that he would conclude on the question of Mary's death and assumption that who ever is born must die.

Seeking the highest authority on the subject among verified and credible sources I quote Pope John Paul the second speaking to a general audience June 25th 1997

" Without a preliminary death, how could the Resurrection have taken place?” (Antijulianistica, Beirut 1931, 194f.). To share in Christ’s Resurrection, Mary had first to share in his death. The New Testament provides no information on the circumstances of Mary’s death. This silence leads one to suppose that it happened naturally, with no detail particularly worthy of mention. If this were not the case, how could the information about it have remained hidden from her contemporaries and not have been passed down to us in some way? As to the cause of Mary’s death, the opinions that wish to exclude her from death by natural causes seem groundless. It is more important to look for the Blessed Virgin’s spiritual attitude at the moment of her departure from this world. In this regard, St Francis de Sales maintains that Mary’s death was due to a transport of love. He speaks of a dying “in love, from love and through love”, going so far as to say that the Mother of God died of love for her Son Jesus (Treatise on the Love of God, bk. 7, ch. XIII-XIV). Whatever from the physical point of view was the organic, biological cause of the end of her bodily life, it can be said that for Mary the passage from this life to the next was the full development of grace in glory, so that no death can ever be so fittingly described as a “dormition” as hers."

Therefore without accepting Pope John Paul's belief on Jesus' or Mary's resurrection one still can accept as reasonable his belief that if Mary Mother of Jesus was born she would have died in the normal way. 

the journey is always uphill

the journey is always uphill

fiction
edward w pritchard


The Canadian rangers monitoring the Chilcoot Pass during the 1897 gold rush required a ton of goods to be transported up the steep mountain pass as admission for safety reasons into Canadian territory. At such times a man realizes that the Journey of life is always uphill and in the end there is no one to help you carry your load.

Slippery and cold, up to 50 below, one man after another trudged a step at a time, in a long line, like ants in a column, up, up up to be inspected by Mounties and allowed to enter Canadian territory to strike it rich. The Mounties had a check list of what was required but the first item on the list provides a flavor of the weight and cost of the items involved. The list begins 400 pounds of flour. Prices were skyrocketing  as 25,000 men bid for goods and services.

The next time a small move is required in your life, say from an apartment to a house, search your collective unconsciousness [ of our species] and remember those ambitious but not wise ancestors who risked all to change habitats and bustle about far away to Alaska and Skagway in the dream of finding great wealth.

Preparing to move? Life is a journey and it is always uphill.

meditations for historians

meditations for historians

fiction
edward w pritchard


Holidays over one way to reorient oneself is to practice meditations for historians.

I like to travel in my mind's eye to seeing myself as a member of the Mongollon Indian's living in the Gila Cliff dwellings near present day Silver City New Mexico. Picture yourself in your subconscious living as an ancient one, one of the few hundreds of Mongollon residents living and working in the stark environment of a New Mexican landscape living a simple honest existence. Today we are part of a group piling rocks to extend a wall near the edge of one of the rooms used as shelter in the cliff dwellings. A light steady rain is falling and the floors of the rooms are slick. The work is repetitious.

Nearby the noises of banging utensils alerts the workers to dinner. However first so many courses of height of the wall must be completed before a break from work may be taken. Feel the strain on your back and shoulders of lifting and piling the flat rocks over and over. Your arms are wet and you are hot and cold at the same time from the work and the rain.

A beautiful intricately designed clay pot is passed  around containing a warm flat bread. Courtesy suggests choosing the smallest slice of bread and passing on the container.

Strain to listen and remember the voices of your fellow workers as you eat. Safe and secure several hundred feet above the trail the clan is safe in the cliff dwelling. The new room will shelter children born in the past year. Prosperity exists this year in the lodgings. 

Today group enterprise has accomplished something significant. A stone wall taller than a man has been completed to shelter the young and keep the cold driving rain off the clan. The space above the piling of rocks serves as an open window to observe the sky, valleys below and let in the distant sound of the churning river. The network of piled stones are intricate in themselves and a thing of beauty and will last for a very long time.

the extinguishment of personal identity

the extingushment of personal identity

fiction
edward w pritchard

Attached is a short note from Pritchard on " the extinguishment of personal identity" written in 2017 in America often cited by intelligent machines in the literature on the subject of " historical remembrance of personal identity of humans by intelligent machines ".

As more and more persons inhabitant the Earth and the numbers grow from 7 billion persons alive to 20 billion to 500 billion humans sometime in the future more and more resources will be expended in historical tracking and storage of personal identity information of expired humans. As artificial intelligence units wish to preserve useful and functional records of significant humans for various practical reasons without cluttering archival work with the mundane and irrelevant interactions and accomplishments of defunct, animalistic, expired units some sort of value of what is considered significant historical human existence is required to guide us in selecting which specific personal identities of humans to archive.

Therefore some objective and practical weighing of value needs be devised to enable current and future historical tracking of personal identity of expired humans without cluttering storage facilities with worthless information about expired worthless units. Attached are five considerations for designing a system of criteria to evaluate human historical value for post mortem data storage of humans

[ Deleted]

self promotion

self promotion

fiction
edward w pritchard

One runs into people often whose job is marketing. It is a good field to be steadily employed in.

Author doesn't know much about the religions of Chinese or India but when it comes to clever effective marketing surely one of the all time best marketing ideas must have been when Jesus said " remember me when you eat and drink". [1]

Did Jesus actually say that or was Paul of Tarsus putting words in his mouth? Paul having not actually having been at the last supper or in all probability actually never having met Jesus in the flesh.

The sun shines, the wind blows, the rains falls but as for men they eat and drink all the days of their lives. "Remember me when you eat and drink" an effective way to keep the attention of Mankind.

[1] Corinthians 1 verse 26- attributed to Jesus by St. Paul

Ambient music/ virtual reality

Ambient music/ virtual reality

fiction
edward w pritchard

John Lennon is dead now gone away 37 years. John can only now speak in ambient music. Back ground rumblings barely audible. I hear him ask himself late tonight on Christmas " how do you sleep". [1]

John Lennon is dead now. John can only be seen in virtual reality. I see him sing " since you are gone you are just another day"[2]

Millions and millions of references to John Lennon on the internet of imaginary things but John Lennon is dead now.

Jesus Christ is dead now gone nearly 2,000 years. Jesus can only speak now in ambient rumblings. Background, barely audible. "How do you sleep" Jesus? [3]

Jesus Merry Christmas. Jesus is it "just another day since you are gone"? [4]

Jesus are you " dead now"? [5]? Millions and millions of references to you on the internet of things but I listen on Christmas 2017 but  it's quiet here. [6]

[1, 2, 3, 4] John Lennon "Imagine"  album. from the  song " how do you sleep"

[5, 6] author is quoting himself " from Ambient music/ virtual reality

unintended consequences of killing snakes

unintended consequences of killing snakes

fiction
edward w pritchard


So the American Government under it's newest tax code soon to go in effect is allowing companies to re-capture large sum of their money from overseas tax haven Countries to America again. This was done previously in 2004 I recall. There are several incentives and penalties I understand in the new tax code to prod large corporations into immediate action.

Not being an economist I am unable to follow logically the steps of causation that the sudden inflow of a few trillion or so of dollars into American companies domestic accounts will do to the real economy and for simplicity we will leave bit coins out of the discussion for now.

Who understands this megalith system of American capitalism?

Poor Robert Merton the professor of sociology from Columbia University who wrote of the unintended consequences of Government actions is dead now, dead at 93 years old a few dozen years ago. Merton was born Jewish and took the name Merton rather than Merlin when he became a magician at a young age. Being ambitious and quite bright he went on from working as a stage magician to an academic career in sociology and economics. Where are you now magician Robert?

Wasn't it Merton who told the story of the government of India designing a program to rid it's large cities of India of viperous poisonous snakes by paying a bounty for each snake caught and killed and brought to the government snake collection center. The program was stopped when it was found out that enterprising persons were catching and breeding snakes in mass for profit.

The unintended consequences of killing snakes could be lurking in the New American tax codes. Does it matter to us in the real world ?

If only we could ask " does it matter" to  Robert Merton economist/sociologist  previously known by his given birth name of Myer Robert Schkolnick ex- magician.

psychological study of christmas

psychological study of Christmas

fiction
edward w pritchard

Once I had the opportunity for several months as a college student to work at a children's hospital with badly burned children from age 6 months to 19 years old before I was fully mature as an adult myself. It was an experience that had a profound effect on my psyche. Eventually I couldn't do it anymore. I was the orderly. Low man on the status list but although I wan't qualified yet to be empathetic and sympathetic with children because of the realities of the business side of a hospital in those days I often found myself sitting in a rocking chair rocking a young scarred child and trying verbally to offer some solace to young children.

Surprising even though the nature of their injuries were severe often it seemed to me the most important thing in that child's life was having their Mother come and see them often. Of course children there at the hospital wanted Daddy too but remembering back unscientifically I remember most hospitalized children, not all who were burned,  I came in contact with wanted their Mother.

I can remember distinctly once sitting in a large creaky rocking chair rocking to sleep a young child just after the pain medicine the head nurse had administered was helping her to relax thinking what must her dreams be like this evening. I was working the over night shift at the time.

Those days there weren't many woman Doctors so primary care and comfort fell to the nurses then 98% female. Once I asked one of the very dignified and intelligent Chinese Doctors passing through the ward on rounds what I could do to help the children here. He looked off for a second sadly and said " give them a Popsicle". Which I did often until I couldn't do that job anymore. 

My next job was as a furniture mover on a two man truck. Carrying pianos and triple sized oak buffet cabinets up a ramp into a truck rain or shine. Then having a beer after work in a red neck bar while my boss flirted with a waitress or two. Back then, Once in a while, one of them waitresses would pinch my cheek or sit on my lap for a minute.

A little later I met a girl I couldn't keep my hands off of and ended up with four children with-out  thinking much about it or planning it.

Still to this day I often think what would it be like to be Santa Claus and bring toys and joy to all the world's children. Or what would it like to be a King or President and be responsible for the welfare of all the Children in your part of the World? If there was a Jesus, and if he know-ed all things before and after; what would it be like to believe that your death would "save" all the suffering children of the world forever.

If I were King I would help the children.

Dinner with a queen

Dinner with a queen

fiction
edward w pritchard


A King is a king until deposed or dead but the Queen is always the Queen.

Once at a fund raiser for a local University I had the opportunity for a few minutes to sit with a real Queen, Queen Noor of Jordan and to observe her behavior through a brief meal. Later the Queen was the guest speaker at the same fund raiser.  Like myself Queen Noor was born an American and was about my age. Queen Noor is a graduate of Princeton and a former CEO of pan American airways. She was married to the King of Jordan from 1978 until his death in 1999.

Also at the table with me that day at the table was my then real world wife, the most important woman in the world to me at the time. Briefly I had the opportunity to compare both Women.

A King is a king until dead or deposed but the Queen is always the Queen.

symbols of forgetfulness

symbols of forgetfulness

fiction

The Jordan river is not an especially large River, is not majestic day to day but is important to the inhabitants of modern day Israel and surrounding Countries  as an important source of water for varied purposes. Practically the banks of the Jordan river can be steep and to enter the water one must awkwardly slide down the banks on one's behind, prostrate themselves sliding downward face first through the brambles and stickers rushing slightly uncontrollably into the current, or if one is in a group, among like thinkers one can link one's arms to another's wrist to wrist and find oneself slowly lowered into the waters of forgetfulness.

The Jordan flows north to south from the sea of Galilee to the Dead sea. Because of it's symbolic purposes the Jordan river is often spoken of as first among all Rivers.

planning a Spring trip

planning a Spring trip

fiction
edward w pritchard

The week before Christmas is a hard time to be alone and a worse time to be included out of obligation. That being so and it being dark very early today near the winter solstice I am began planning my Spring bike trip.

It's invigorating to get out of one's routine and I haven't met a new person in years or been to an art museum in months and months. I would like to join a debating club, learn to play the piano or get involved in a competitive full contact fencing class.

Instead if I get out the old sleeping bag, look over my bike repair manual, read one of my inspirational travel books by an author on his cross country solo bike trip, " Life is a wheel" by Bruce Weber- Oregon to New York City, a quest for self discovery in the middle of a journey; then I'll  have something to look forward to, a plan, inspiration to get me through a long Winter.

First, in late April,  I'll take a bus to Wyethsville Va, on route 77 south, an important Civil War cross roads and for my purposes less than forty miles from Damascus Va, the friendliest town on the Appalachian trail.  The bus can haul the bike from Canton, Ohio to Wyethsville along with myself.  Then me, the bike, one small backpack and a light weight sleeping bag will petal to Damascus and then after a few days stay, back. Staying at a few Appalachian trail shelters I will maybe talk to one or two other travelers over my week long adventure. Sleeping on the shelter's hard wood floors, among the mice and avoiding bears I will work up an appetite. Then it's bag after bag of assorted nuts, dried fruits, caffeine drinks and candy bars until a hearty underwhelming meal or two in a picturesque diner. Seeing the wild hoses at Grayson State Park is always special. Of course the up hill biking can be an ordeal for someone my age but the challenge, but the challenge.

By the time I am back on the Greyhound bus headed back to Ohio it's starting the second week in May. Spring at my home with longer days and warmer skies.

this wacky stock market/part 2

this wacky stock market/ part 2

fiction
edward w pritchard


Asked to be more specific about what could trip up the stock market in 2018 author claiming no ability to forecast but speculates and augurs that as consumers continue the switch from the mall to online ordering of products and drone deliveries of goods and services at some point the disadvantages of those new technologies will become  known and common place. At some time then the dream of the new paradigm is over, the smart money that has made fortunes in stocks investing in those technologies will quietly begin to sell those stocks, still market leaders, and at some point the tide will turn on perfectly priced for super growth companies and industries. One often hears at such times it was all a dream.

Dreams are real. Dreams are a part of reality at least when it comes to the affairs of men. At some point everyone must compare their dreams of vast wealth and stock markets prices going up indefinitely with the reality of the real world around them that effects their lives.

As example we see one of the pizza companies that advertises incessantly on the TV shows we watch has decided to in addition to cutting  prices to encourage online ordering of their product now are offering [ I am not kidding here] pizza insurance in case from the time you pick up the pizza until you eat it in the event the pizza gets ruined or destroyed then they will replace it [ we assume having never read the formal policy agreement] with another [ of equal value].

Speculation in pizza futures will be the new product futures market to flourish based on the demand for the pizza insurance to follow providing additional impetus to growth in the new economy we assume. Derivatives based on tranches of different pizza markets of pizza insurance sales based on geographic locations world wide for investors [ in case of volcano, flood or acts of god] and atomic bomb destruction to pizza deliveries insurance based on [ jingoism by American politicians] or anything else that could cause widespread global destruction of consumers abilities to buy and consume pizza.

The stock markets need new products to drive real growth in the economy. The future will be here before we know it, get on board and invest in the new economy.

this wacky stock market

this wacky stock market

fiction

edward w pritchard

The rich know things we don't. Everybody knows that.

Bernard Baruch boy genius stock market investor said " let me tell you something I always sold too early."

Earlier the ultra rich Baron Rothschild said " I always sold too soon".

Everybody has opinions about this wacky stock market and the Trump rally. Opinions are cheap facts are scarce. Nobody knows what the stock market will do come January 2018.

Shakespeare said speaking as Julius Caesar in his play of the same name " there is a tide in the affairs of men when taken at the flood leads on to fortune" that's a fact. Meaning in reference to the wacky stock market " no tree grows to the sky" as the Chinese say. The tide goes out the tide comes in, except in biblical accounts it never floods the entire earth, it always eventually goes the other way.

Take some profit in your portfolio of stocks. Buy yourself a new wardrobe.

Need some fundamental analysis on the stock market as a whole in 2018? Toys aren't selling this Christmas. That must mean something. The rich know things we don't. Too bad the Rich aren't around here to ask.

Cynics say, that's, the stock market wall street brokerage establishment, that they, the good old boys  types, can't make money if all the clients buys and holds. It's time for a little forced selling " they" say in private.

Caveat writer is neither rich nor wise but is merely pointing out " no tree grows to the sky. You only have to get rich once I have heard. It seems to me as an observer it takes hard work and sacrifice to become wealthy. Can everybody do that for years and years in a row? That's what propels the tide in the affairs of men me thinks. Take some profits pilgrim. 

Christmas eve at the strip club/draft one

Christmas eve at the strip club/draft one

fiction
edward w pritchard

The jute box had played " walkin in a winter wonderland' by Elvis with the stripper ending [ a walkin,- in a Winter-- wonda LAND]  23 times since 9AM on Dec 24th and now at 9pm the club was closing for the night. Tomorrow was Christmas day and most of the dancers had families and loved one's to race home to. Only a small Cadre of professional dancers would stay the night at the strip club next to the truck stop on route 76 East between Youngstown and Canfield a mile from the new casino which never closed. Mrs. Robertson the club's owner and a former dancer herself made sure that even if only one of her dancers needed to stay the night before Christmas that she would stay too; that was Mrs. Robertson's way, a tough but caring boss and there would be some fine wine for a toast and some French cheese and bread for a late night snack for all present as well for a strip club could be lonely and desolate closing early the night before Christmas three hundred yards South of the all night truck stop and 24 hour diner especially this year with Christmas eve falling on a Sunday night.

Some years a drunken patron would rap on the locked doors of the strip club around 2am Christmas eve and it was nice if an authoritative modern business woman was around to make sure no ruckus occurred at the Holidays. Both bouncers always leave right at closing time on Christmas eve.

This year there was just Mrs. Roberson, Marvella the odd girl, and Mary Vetsaro the clubs highest earning dancer year to date spending Christmas eve at the club.

Near mid night on Christmas eve Marvella as usual was reading a book. She had a multi colored red throw blanket tucked across herself and was sunken into a large comfortable chair that many of the girls used in their acts. Quietly contentedly alone Marvella sipped on a glass of Blanc French wine from a 24 ounce Styrofoam cup.

Mrs. Robertson was sitting at the bar balancing her accounts books. She wanted to have the whole day off on Christmas as the club was gloriously closed all day Christmas but the book work had to be ready for year end bonus which were traditionally paid on new years eve one week away. With a small whistle Mrs. Robertson closed out the account books for the 51st week of the year of 2017. "Where does the time go she exclaimed to a large dark empty room". In Answer Marvella smiled at the boss, closed her book, finished off her white wine and settled in for sleep.

With the day nearly over Mrs Robertson the boss decided to check on her other dancer Mary and maybe thank her for such a good year. As top earner Mary had her own private dressing room at the rear of the club.

to be continued

intercede on my behalf

intercede on my behalf

fiction
edward w pritchard

Zeus, Zeus you don't answer,
these Romans are forcing the Egyptians
to send half of this years corn harvest
as tribute, now called taxes.
Christians are everywhere,
their mock piety sickens me
and their intolerance freezes my soul.
Zeus, Zeus intercede on my behalf,
the world has become a mocking place
for your humble subjects.
When will the warm suns send
rains to overflow the Nile's banks
and when will the corn tally be honest again.

where is America's first female President

where is America's first female President

fiction
edward w pritchard

Where and when comes to the rescue of shrinking American ideals our first female President?

I was rooting for Hilary Clinton but alas it wasn't to be. Our current President I will comment not towards other than he hasn't surprised me in office having once myself watched his TV show for a minute or two entitled,  I think,  " your fired" a running gag that kept the show in the top of the charts for several years I understand.

In an effort to predict where our country's first female President will come from I have turned into my mind filled with many delusions and just simple lack of reasonable judgments and come up with what I think is a likely scenario for where and maybe when our first women President will come from. Naively, I hope a woman President will be the philosopher King the country has been waiting for who will put truth ahead of materialism and gain and justice ahead of sectionalism and party interest.

Bear with me for this is convulsed and wishful thinking:

1. In about 1757 future British author Edward Gibbon, who wrote three large volumes on " the rise and fall of the roman empire"  met and fell in Love with a French girl by the name of Suzanne Curchold and was unable to marry her because of his wish to obey his stern but dictatorial father. The couple apparently had no offspring. Miss Curchold later married famous French economist and genius Jacques Necker and they had a genius daughter Madame de/Stahl famous for being witty and urbane and founding several Parisian intellectual salons.

2. In 1776 with  French help fledgling Americans waged war on Britain to start their own Country. Successful around 1790 Americans began to have Presidents a new one elected every four to eight years. To present date there has never been an American women President.

3. Meanwhile, throughout history,  Great Britian, India, Egypt,  Germany and many other countries have had a woman President, queen or ruler often very successful at her job.

4. If Edward Gibbon historical genius and Suzanne Curchold great beauty and a Mother of a genius daughter had had children, and if said child had migrated to the Untied States and that child's eventual relatives, a  great great great [etc.]  grand daughter had ran for American President some time after 1980 [ say ] then America would have had a women President by now

and our Country now, wouldn't be in quite the mess we are in today or headed for it, it would seem, despite the large gain in stock prices, growth growth growth, and huge looming tax cuts for the wealthy [ the old regime].

and the nagging fears that many of us secretly have about our Country's political future would subside.

therefore, less us pray, pray for the wisdom of our leaders in office now, us needing divine intervention into our politics, since British historian Edward Gibbon never followed his heart and produced a daughter with Suzanne Curchold who would be the one to teach and inspire her daughters daughters to teach their offspring to be modern and wise and produce and accept a woman as American President.  '

end

Faust the ambitious American male

Faust the ambitious American male

fiction
edward w pritchard


The madness of crowds of mass delusion has descended on America again here in our time in the form of middle age women revealing that a successful and powerful American male of some renown previously made unwelcome advances sexually towards her when she was younger, alluringly attractive, irresistible and pure and quite naive. Now said maiden is pointing the finger at said wealthy and pompous arrogant horses-assed  males to bring cosmic revenge for her and others like her. All in the name of Justice not just revenge or even setting the record straight.

Faust, the ambitious american male meanwhile strains to remember was it real or just one of his delusions. Did such happen in fact. For surveying this present day Gretchen [1] of his youth how could he have and why would he? How much have they both changed and in fact he has forgotten why the fuss about sex when money and power are now so much more captivating.

Ladies you are setting back feminism a few dozen years. As your Father taught you when you were twelve and teaching you to fight " keep your guard up at all times and always shield your mid section" Or as grand Mother said avoid intimate situations with Men unless you can control the tempo of the dance.

Here in our time in america the battle of the sexes has become a farce. Traditional male female in-fighting has morphed into male-male, female female, second sex no sex and I would rather be alone
solitaire.

Sex and power its so passe. Men apologize and donate money to build a temple to shelter the poor. Women sorry about that men are animals it seems.

[1] Author is remembering Goethe's " Faust" part one and two that no American has ever read. Faust was the male lead and Gretchen his innocent and luscious, as I imagined having never seen the play, "victim" happily both end up in heaven at the end of act one [ I think].

Goethe treats the subject of male female in fighting much better " in the sorrows of young Werther " which is also much more readable than Faust and justice be, Werther the confused young man kills himself at the end.

to my critic- remember Chaucer said " we mustn't take the game too seriously"

pound for pound

pound for pound

fiction
edward w pritchard

fiction

Like between people sometimes relationships between Countries have a tendency to be somewhat one-sided leading to turmoil and disrespect over long periods of time. Such has become the relationship between the United States and Iran. Mostly, I say sadly, the fault is on the part of the United States who seem to have historically a vague disrespect and ignorance of one of the great cultures on Earth.

Ask the man on the street in an American State about Iran and the pat answer for the attitude here against Iran will have something to do with the foreignness Americans feel against all Muslim countries. Something about any place that has a call to prayer five times a day starting at 4:30 Am does not seem reasonable and seems out of balance to American sensibilities. Additionally nearly all Americans have secret fears about the fervor of Jihad and aggrandizement that seem to be at odds to the quaint American sense of fair play. Americans have guilt towards our own Country's history of conquest and dislike being confronted by same historically here or elsewhere.

Pound for pound so to speak Iran is one of the most important cultures on Earth. To improve relationships between Iran and America I suggest that more emphasis be put on children in America while in school spending  a little more time learning the pre-Muslim culture of Iran and the Arab world. Having taught History in American classrooms it saddens me to see how little time is spent on the curriculum of history in our schools. In the case of Muslim countries being studied by American students the problem is intensified by our teacher's fears of teaching religion in school.

We should include Iranian history during pre-Muslim times in American schools by using Sassanian art as the medium to teach American students respect for the rich history of the Country of Iran. As we will recall the Sassanian empire in Iran and the nearby environs was the  last period of Persian empire in Iran before Muslim culture there, circa 660,  and it's relationships with Rome, China and India was centered on the politics and strategic warfare of the times. Additionally Sassanian art was and is highly respected in China and India  and Sassanian art is accessible to Americans in our great art museums.

Lastly there is something profound in viewing Sassanian art that has always made me curious about Iran, Zoroasterism- which is a religion slowly and sadly vanishing, and the History of the [nearby to Iran], Arab world in particular. Curiosity leads to knowledge which leads to respect for our fellow citizens of the vast cultures of the world.

putting words in the mouth of

putting words in the mouth of

fiction
edward w pritchard

I reread recently British author David Hume, enlightenment scholar's, treatise " On Miracles" which is actually if you will remember a curt summary of logically and convincingly reasons against anything actually ever being a miracle throughout history, then and now and why someone would propagate stories of miraculous happenings for their own purposes and gain.

In my opinion based on my readings and somewhat on feelings from my heart Jesus was a teacher, and a Jewish scholar who spoke Aramaic and was charismatic enough to attract large crowds, probably measured in up to a few hundreds, and had a message that resonated with the common people of his times. Probably he attracted a few extra devout and dedicated followers who wished to honor him with stories of his remembrance after he was gone, silenced by the powers that be of his times for his subversive messages of peace and comfort to the poor and suffering.

Rome at the time of Jesus was a superpower in the Mediterranean region a police state the likes of which the world has never seen since. What was the power of Jesus' verbal message that for the next three hundred years slowly and inevitably it seems to us looking back, a few parables and homey sayings in Aramaic could challenge the Majesty, order and structure of the Latin world of one of the strongest civilizations of all time? Made the more remarkable by the fact that neither Jesus or any of his earlier devoutest followers spoke or wrote the exalted Greek language, in all probability, of the learned and well positioned intellectuals of the times.

Most scholars will dismiss such questions blithely with a point to Paul of Tarsus and or John of wherever who were the great synthesizers of the gospels who quietly put words as appropriate into the mouth of Jesus and others that morphed into a concise earth shattering message at the time of Constantine and the council of Nicea.

Would that David Hume were wrong. Would that miraculously we could extract the echo's of the vibrations of Jesus' actual voice from the stones of Judea in the years around 20 to 30  CE. Maybe if the science is found to do such a thing it won't seem a miracle to the people of the future to use such a scientific tool to let ordinary people hear the actual and verified voice of Jesus preaching. No that wouldn't be a miracle but it would be worth a few hours of anyone's time to hear among the many offerings and messages on a future you tube channel.

reluctantly I must censure one of my favorite American authors

reluctantly I must censure one of my favorite American authors

fiction
edward w pritchard

Reluctantly I must censure one of my favorite American authors Bill Bryson over negative comments in his books he has made against two of my favorite celebrities, intellectuals and media personalities

I say Reluctantly because I have read most of Bill Bryson's books, watched exerts of his travel videos of you tube and watched his book made into a movie " A walk in the woods " twice. Additionally I have given as gifts most of his books to members of my family, in hard back I might add Bill. Lastly, I watched and enjoyed in video the very short commencement speech Mr. Bryson made at a University in Great Britain entitled " seven rules to a good life" and admired same. Mostly however I enjoy Bill Bryson's writing very much.

Reluctantly I must censure Bill Bryson for comments he made in one of earlier books that I read about a dozen years ago about another writer I admire Paul Theroux. As I recall, Mr. Bryson was very catty in his comments about Mr. Theroux relating to how when Paul Theroux sits in a seat on a train around Britain or to the far East to a place he will write a book about Paul always manages to randomly pick a seat next to about half a dozen extremely interesting and articulate persons who share funny and insightful paragraph after paragraphs and comments that will soon fill Paul Theroux's next best seller. At the time I held my tongue chalking Bryson's comments up to a mild case of professional jealousy by the younger author against a rival writer working the same genre as himself.

Now in Mr. Bryson latest book I am reading " the road to little Dribbing" an update to his earlier " Notes from a small island" I find I must speak up as Bill Bryson has damned with faint praise ex Politician and travel host who I thoroughly enjoy his travel videos Michael Portillo. Portillo is a charming and sincere man who travels about Great Britain and the world by train and has or had a show about it on the BBC. On page 95 of " the road to little Dribbling while traveling into the forest with friends Bryson can find nothing on the BBC at the hotel to watch on TV except Portillo's show "Great British railway journeys" and Bill knocks Portillo's overly zealous taste in colored suits and here's the part that I must speak out against Bill insinuates that the subject matter of Portillo's show is inane as are the guests on the railway journeys travel show.

Bill Bryson I read all your books and I like Michael Portillo. As proof of my good taste after I finish " the road to little Dribbling" I plan on reading next your book which I bought in paperback " One Summer, America 1927 which looks interesting.

I am not really upset with you Bill Bryson and hope you continue to write and publish and continue to take me with you as a guest on your travels. From a fan/ed

eyes downtrodden gazing forward in silence

eyes downtrodden gazing forward in silence

fiction
edward w pritchard

Go to any great museum and Egyptian statues of famous emperor-Kings loom in ageless granite and marble ten thousand times larger than millions of faceless peasants who did the work of empire. At the same museum see the miniature clumps of clay formed into crude images of ordinary Mesopotamian citizens and Kings gazing fearfully skyward dreading what came next.

Egyptian Kings were confident of the future, Mesopotamian peoples and rulers living not far away from Egypt lived fearful in this life and the next eyes downtrodden gazing forward  in anxious silence.

Sustenance in this life and the next achieved by following a few rules sent from on high to the ruler for everyone to follow. Was that it were that simple to achieve. That would be the good news. 

many layers of myth

many layers of myth

fiction
edward w pritchard

Awaking on a dark cold winter's night, one with no stars, moon or sunrise anywhere visual, many many layers of myth sent to me from generation after generation of my ancient relatives and ancestors are stacked like paper thin sheets of valuable gold somewhere in the recesses of my brain urging me in dreams to remember the importance of warmth and stores of foodstuff for the next four lean months.

Wood and foodstuff were life itself  in the fearful freezing winter cold months to our ancient surviving ancestors and they were resourceful, hard working  and lucky to be alive as they sent hardwired to our brains inclinations that we all carry now that insure our success in life today even in a world of vast material resources and confidence about our future stretching forward uninterrupted in our lives for tens and twenties of prosperous years.

In our time even the elderly are confident about the looming future.

Hear the howling winter winds driving us to arise early, tramp over the frozen ground gathering small clumps of wood for fires and to steal nuts and edibles from the squirrels and small rodents for today's sustenance.

Start your day there in the early morning darkness with a plea-ful prayer to the hidden nameless God who if appeased will send Spring in four long months to allow food to grow and water to thaw.

way out across the left bank of Paris

way out across the left bank of Paris

fiction
edward w pritchard


It's  about to have the first snow here, the temperature is into the twenties, it's dark on a Saturday night with me alone and I am remembering my vacation trip to Paris less than 25 years ago.

Paris is one of the only places I have ever been that surpasses the hype about it. It has the best museum, no not the Louvre but to my taste the Cluny medieval museum with it's unicorn tapestry and early middle ages atmosphere. Paris has the world's most beautiful women especially if you take one with you from home on your trip. When I was in Paris the Seine was nearly dried up and the walks up the stairs, hills and Butte's around Montmartre were higher than ever but the views were spectacular. Sacre Coeur [ sacred heart] the beautiful white stone church there in Montmartre at the top top of many many steps and more steps stays with you after your first glimpse forever as it is as a church should be magestic, serene and unobtrusive, surely worthy to be  a home of God. The best  two meals I had in Paris were at the cafeteria at the museum [Louvre ] and an early lunch at a dive bar that had an open restroom for two tired american tourists. A casual breakfast at the high end Hotel included a free gaggle of run way models displaying haute couture fashions quietly parading among the tables. Oh, by the way the George the fifth hotel where I stayed is the best hotel in the world at least it seemed so to me, even worth the $400 per night [ current price is $1100 per day].

I try very hard now to not live in the past and to live now in day tight compartments. Sometimes though when it's about to have the first snow on a dark lonely Saturday night I go way out across the left bank into the Latin quarter of Paris and stroll the narrow lanes until well past midnight in my imagination and remember good times past.

Go to Paris, it's worth the money and the time and you surely won't regret it later.

point of honor

point of honor

fiction
edward w pritchard


All in one week a lot of changes occurred in my life. My 21 year old nephew became my sergeant, I spend hours and hours each day putting together and taking apart an M-16 rifle complete with three varieties of bayonets, and at 7am I report to our barracks which in my case is the gym I until recently was a member of less than a thousand yards from my house. Because I am over 65 years old I am able to sleep at home although it is not unusual for me to be on duty each day from 7am to 8pm each day. With training, meetings and orientations the time passes quickly.

I am paid for my services, $827 per month with a lot of benefits.

My sergeant has put me on a diet. I need to lose 21 pounds over the next 61 days with a daily weigh in after 8am breakfast. I am only average at my timed rifle assembly and there is no handicap for my age. After my first week in the regiment I learned not to volunteer and not too speak out. No one wants to hear your suggestions anyway.

Once I compared my experience here as a soldier to my impressions from my extensive readings in History to what it must have been like to be a  draftee in the French army at the beginning of world war two. That resulted in a meeting with Sarge and extra duty.

Most of the time there is a lot of sitting around and waiting. Nothing happening. I still don't smoke but if I did it would have to be Luckies like my new comrades. Oh, yes, we have women in the unit.

Something is coming, something will be happening soon, I can feel it. Despite the military display of drill and shiny uniforms which I hate I know soon that our unit will perform greatly for our country.

Rifle range in a few minutes. Firing real bullets into a wall at the back of a gym over and over.

Point of honor; I take what we do very seriously, I follow orders, I perform to the best of my ability, and God grant me bravery and obedience in the coming ordeals.

working familiar territory

working familiar territory

fiction
edward w pritchard

Hamilcar was sitting along side the road at the bottom of a small hill where the road curved sharply and traffic as it passed him had to slow to a near stop and then accelerate quickly to make grade as the road meandered into a sleepy rural town.

Although Hamilcar awoke confused and out of sorts, not quite himself,  he had worked this territory long before as a druggist salesman's assistant so as he devised a plan of where to go now this dark night he remembered that there were a few bars and a general store that might still be open as the position of a new full moon told him it was not quite midnight.

Struggling to walk along the dark road and avoid the infrequent traffic it was a pity that he didn't have his car with him as Hamilcar had difficulty with the small hill sloping into town and more than once he wished he could climb and summit the new fifteen foot security fence that ran along side the road to protect the few dark houses from traffic and provide the simple country folk living hereby privacy from tourists wishing to observe the rural lifestyle which in truth was vanishing rather quickly as the area here in this part of the Country urbanized. Also it was unpleasant for Hamilcar when the drivers of the infrequent speeding cars on the country road slowed a bit to see who was walking on such a dark night as few people actually walked anymore especially after dark. Smiling to himself Hamilcar remembered the hefty weight of the druggist salesman assistant's supply samples bag he used to carry about with ease back in the day in the old territory rain or shine over hill over dale day in day out for twenty two years.

At last, at last the small rural town appeared. The bar had changed hands more than a few times since the last time he was here and country music wasn't Hamilcar's thing especially played this loud. For some reason people here were still allowed to smoke indoors as even the deputy sheriff's sitting in the back were smoking as they tried very hard to make time with the girl tending bar who looked to be half their age. Hamilcar decided to order his beer to go as he had a headache and his knees throbbed from the walk into town but, the good news,  the small bar carried his brand of beer and by the quart, cold and available.

There was some trouble with the money Hamilcar used to try to pay the owner of the bar. There was a large wad of small bills in his wallet but the printing on the bills was unfamiliar and foreign. Rather than the familiar stately dead presidents faces on the bills in his wallet most of his money seemed to contain faces of women. Finally Hamilcar passed the entire wallet to the bar owner. He would have to trust him to make the right change on the cost of the three quarts of beer just this once it seemed. The deputies in the back of the smoky bar were beginning to take note of what was happening there at the cash register and Hamilcar was shy to cause a scene of any sort.

Hamilcar decided to go back down hill when he left the bar, back to where he had just came from because of his ancient aching knees and the darkness. Temptation was high to drink a little from one of the quarts of his favorite beer as he semi marched on, easier on the sore knees, but as an former druggist salesman assistant Hamilcar was shy to cause a scene of any sort and it wouldn't do for him to be pulled over for public intoxication especially in the old territory, even out here in the boon docks where sales were hard to generate without a car or a proper suit and no druggist salesman's assistant sample case. 

three women in a box on a shelf

three women in a box on a shelf

fiction
edward w pritchard

I keep three women in a box on a shelf and each wears a high hat characteristic of her type. Less a box for storing things but a box of location, like private seats in the bleachers at a stadium such as at  the ancient Roman coliseum is where the three ladies stay and it's always night where they are.

All are eternally silent and the hats are more intriguing than the faces. The names are loneliness, betrayal and death.

Sometimes I rush about to follow my bliss but the three women in the hats are always whispering to me in psychic babble even through they never say anything.

Once I asked one of the three ladies to remove her hat but each merely smiled in concert.

the soul of mindfulness

the soul of mindfulness

fictiion
edward w pritchard


It's all the rage. This quest for mindfulness. Where-ever thou find-est thou self -there thou be-ist. So simple, so profound.

Modern's need to seek and journey into their own head's to find how to practice mindfulness because of the conflict occurring everyday between one's obsessions to love thyself and for the difficulty we endure now-a- days when we have to tolerate others who intervene into our space by existing. 

Surrounded by the miracle of technology-we say a chant to thy self and gently pass thou-est's hand from left to right over a rectangular flat phone, the latest generation of the apple's temptation  and the entire world beckons you, image by image on a flat screen. Where ever you are at that moment technology will take you somewhere else. Everything your heart desires and more there on the little screen in front of you. You no longer exist in your little mundane world, instead everything beckons you instantly, everything elsewhere. Available in an instant- without momentary delay. 

Nobody actually listens to anybody anymore or cares what they are about anymore,- instead of gentle conversation and kindness, -we  practice over and over the art of escape into our own head's. Into our head where no one can annoy us and no one can interrupt us.

The grand conflict of modern american culture. No Nature- no moon, no lakes and rivers and no night sky do we see. Nor do we attempt genuinely to see and understand others. We wish to escape into our own world safe within our own head.

There is an antidote.

Put down thou's device and look to the sky for your freedom.

mysticism and negation

mysticism and negation

fiction
edward w pritchard

When I see the sky and the mountains, I never saw the face of God
when I watched the two year old boy develop, first to the hunt
When I suffered severely at loss,
when I ached for the human condition, aging, death and banality
When I dashed everyone's hopes with tired practicality,
when I was unsure, at loss for an answer,
I smiled as I listened
and being negative by nature and nurture
suggested there might be another way,
I see the sky and the mountains, I never saw the face of God
except in the small Byzantine painting, I keep on the wall in the room where I sleep

how thick the glass

how thick the glass

fiction
edward w pritchard

Query- How thick would the glass have to be in the Cloud to in addition to keeping  hackers and bad guys seeking profit out but also to keep information stored inside from forming consciousness, becoming self, and seeking to replicate, expand and control; without morality or compassion.

Best Answer- originally in the tower of babel before it fell, near the very top, at the final stairway up, access was strictly limited and in point of fact was never breached. Destruction of the paradigm eventually occurred through unforeseen and abnormal interventions.

Related and of interest- legend among the Laplander people of parts of ancient Russia tell  the original tradition of following the herds occurred in an attempt to keep the children and the society safe from all outside influences of ideas and interventions which were dangerous to the continuation of the community.

fanciful- as a child we lived high up, in the sky behind thick quartz glass windows, in floating castles, in luxury and safety, that parents looked out constantly at the approaching clouds for new ideas and revelations that would change and tarnish traditions. Sadly, we grew out of the security of the castle and became confused and unsure of what we knew and believed. 

Simeon stylites

Simeon stylites

fiction
edward w pritchard

I wrote a poem, I whistled a prayer,  gave away possessions,  chanted endless recantations

suffered calumny sloughing off detraction, loving and cherishing accusers, proclaiming loss of  name and reputation, foregoing justice and restitution humbly

practiced good deeds, walking the elderly, bowing to children, tending to babies

accepted probability, endured inevitability, rehearsed mortality

three times walking around the earth alone, sins absolved, lies of convenience receipted

Standing stooped on a pillar, bowing endlessly from the waist, exiled from human community

in dreams, standing on a pillar in Syria, waiting

Wake softly Syria

Wake softly Syria

fiction
edward w pritchard

Wake softly Syria,
the sun has risen bringing morning breezes to soothe your sorrows.

Look to the horizon Damascus ancient Mother city.
Streaks of gold light entice you, awake; stir again Mother Damascus arouse your children
to productive activity.

Up and about to the souk hearty Aleppo.
Send men to trade and build.
Daylight is upon us Halab, greet foreign traders in the marketplaces.

Whisper in Aramaic humble Ma'aloula, tell the nations what comes next.

Joy and create sleepy Ras Shamrah, out to Ugarit to remind the world who taught them to write.

Awake sleeping Syria, ancient land. Your friends far away bid you reclaim your destiny.

Wake softly Syria.

beyond man and woman

beyond man and woman

fiction
edward w pritchard

Beyond man and woman
beyond near and far
beyond for richer for poorer
beyond here or there
a comet streaking across space
with a long distant tail
visible over millions of miles
both coming and going
familiar but not near
two familiar parts of a vanished whole
his hand on her forehead
an instant checking for pulse
amigo
return again
maybe
in hundreds and two years

Brightness, ambient lightening and crazy Indian chief

Brightness, ambient lightening and crazy Indian chief

fiction
edward w pritchard


How many billions of times was unique bright Moon in exact position on west horizon over quiet Lake causing rippling commotion among jumping fish and fowl in streaks of brilliant reflection in  water full of bursting electricity from yesterdays storm produced luminous lightening strikes one hour previous to darkness? How many times would sequence happen before like fish and fowl silent dignified Moon endure dutiful ritual before awareness occurred to quiet Moon that it was influencing
cause and effect near moody lake spreading in ripples across partner planet?

How many times would crazy Indian chief turn back on flickering fire, wrap arms around knees drawn to chest watching and hearing splashing fish and fowl disturbing neutral Lake eyeball brilliant Moon, decamp anosognosia, slither to tee pee and toss and turn in disturbing flickering dreams until warm sun banished commotion?

wisdom to the future

wisdom to the future

fiction
edward w pritchard


Sleep softly good pilgrim
strain to remember where everyone is gone.
True, bears or baboons no longer attack the camp on mass
but one early am you awaken utterly alone,
not a sound,
all are vanished into insignificant befores.
Where is the campfire that warmed the clan
where is the nourishment that settled the group.
Once, once one two- three flaming meteors flash lighted the predawn sky
and generations followed you to find the sound and fragments.
Now the bears are extinct and the children are grown.
You preparing to vanish into inchoate skies.

le chanson de la guerre

le chanson de la guerre

fiction
edward w pritchard

As they are clever and have a saying for everything, that is every conceivable situation I am sure that  the Frenchmen Rochefoucauld or Voltaire must have coined the terms le chanson de la guerre hundreds of years ago to designate a time when the sitting government and the armaments industries
collude to manufacture a war with imaginary evil enemies oceans away. Le Chanson de la guerre implying  with a wink a fake tune patriotically sung to rally hatred toward another culture.

Such seems to be the case now with our leaders as they bad mouth the North Koreans and Iranians
in the song of the times "tweets" designed in the end  to promote growth in the armament industries and hence the stock markets and general prosperity.

Those of you who still do- 'please pray for wisdom for our Country's leaders:

Here's what I wrote before on the subject-EWP

Syrian War August 2012, The death of chief Big Foot; Symbolic victim of America's rise to world power/ draft 2

fiction
edward w pritchard

As reported elsewhere of this blog American soldiers of the seventh cavalry carried Chief Big Foot  from his sickbed onto the field and shot him when he was suffering with pneumonia at the Battle of Wounded Knee in 1890.

Pneumonia is debilitating. Burning deep in the chest and lungs the victim is helplessly weak. Unable to much move. The will collapses in an attempt to buy the system time for miraculous recovery. Meanwhile the body retreats into itself racked with pain and fearing death. A slow demise destroys.

First to the hunt as a boy, honored in battle as a brave and revered as a Chief far and wide Chief Big Foot overcame his environment seeing himself as capable of miraculous accomplishments. Known as an excellent diplomat and negotiator Big foot realistically faced the Native Americans pre-ordained lost causes against the advancing American civilization and urged a defensive strategy based on the sorry facts.

By shooting Chief Big Foot, soldiers merely ended his life a few days or weeks early. A day earlier, unable to walk Big Foot as the White's called him, or Spotted Elk, his Indian name, was dragged by dogs on an Indian travois to the soldiers hospital to surrender. Sadly days later he lay dead, on the battle field,  grotesquely frozen. Someone  took his picture and history preserved his last picture; un-regal in death.

Mourn Chief Big Foot, a victim of America's Manifest Destiny; it was no way for a warrior to die.

Chief Big Foot we apologize sincerely for what we did to you. May your spirit guide our leaders meeting in Turkey today, 08/12/2012, as they discuss the situation in Syria. Before we unleash horrific bombs against Iran's under ground nuclear facilities causing unforeseen environmental damages or get drawn into a spreading Middle Eastern war far from home because of the randomness of causality that leads to unforseen major wars; please Big Foot send wisdom to our diplomats and silence the voices of aggression still very prevalent in our society.

subversive sentiments

subversive sentiments

fiction
edward w pritchard

Because of my subversive sentiments I achieved the dubious honor of living in one of the twenty seven randomly selected homes in America each year invaded for clean shot occurrence procedure 4b described below.

" Homeland Security
clear shot occurrence 4b

from time to time randomly any domicile may be entered with due cause by assault officers for clean shot occurrence. Such entering will not be considered unlawful quartering of troops and will not last for elapsed time of over twenty minutes. Any property damage occurring during temporary invasion will be reimbursed by the State government of the appropriate district.

The three very polite swat officers who knocked did not break anything nor did they daddle in there work. The children were scared but the event was really over very quickly. The weapons involved in the clean shot occurrence procedure were quite intimidating.

self seeking infighting

self seeking infighting

fiction
edward w pritchard


Our leaders' self seeking infighting has become absurd to observe. So virtuous, so self righteous. Over and over so self satisfied they go on about their way picking the public's purse and pockets until they are showered with filthy lucre bribes to resign and move on so another generation of miscreants can take their place in the political arena behind a facade of ancient obsolete laws and traditions.

Drowning in a sea of personal debt from conspicuous consumption the young are strangely silent to the whole mess. Mesmerized in their latest hand held electronic devices they text and whisper to save a few bit coins on the latest generation of pizza pies and flavored coffees.

Each time a savior on a white horses arrives its the same old letdown from the left or right. Patriotism and propaganda. Lies and damn lies. Rich man, brilliant woman, all succumb to the lure of personal fame, glory and the book deal that will follow a short career in politics.

Fatigue and disillusionment all over again. I have lost my faith in our benevolent leaders.

Put me on a train traveling from great museum to great museum to see the paintings. Like an ancient Chinese scholar I sit and watch for the rebound.

It was gone before it started

It was gone before it started

fiction
edward w pritchard


Back 1967 the summer of love came and went and 1969 "what you gonna do about me me" [1] was covered a half dozen times before we here understood that a change was gonna come but by then it was gone before it started.

Fifty years forward to now it's the same refrain. Them and us but now we know it's all we; we put them all in the penitentiaries, and we aggravated all the wars, and we just put everyone on [2].

The Appalachian Mountain chain at 300 million years old stand a little lower than the Himalayan Mountains which are younger at a mere forty million years old. So to we now in our old age.

 Slumping along we realize we missed something as our leaders continue to " not tell us the whole story" [3] over and over again.

But oh to be young again and sit next to an apparition with a flower in her hair and listen for the revolution to arrive.

[1, 2 and 3] Quick Silver Messenger Service " what you gonna do about me" covered by Richie Havens

Mundane miracle

Mundane miracle

fiction
edward  w pritchard


Childbirth is the mundane miracle. A woman's crowning achievement.

A woman with other children about to enter the final stages of labor is pre-blessed prior to the sacred event by a long tight squeezing embrace about her neck by her pensive child who senses the upcoming miracle and ordeal for the Mother.

Alone in a crowd a woman entering labor for the second time rushes into the future.

don't follow your thoughts, just observe them

don't follow your thoughts just observe them

fiction
edward w pritchard

When I was three or four years old my primary dictate from my Mother was " just be normal", over and over she told me that which was quite confusing really. Later I came to find out she had some mental issues from an unusual childhood and having a baby die after birth. To cope I became quite straight, not laughing much and over controlling and containing my emotions. My personality was lost in the darkness.

Still something inside myself, to compensate perhaps, was driving me to become more impulsive as I matured as a young adult. Sex, gambling which is the lust for Money and power, and a desire for Faustian intellectual awakening produced powerful urges within. It's all quite normal I hear.

In time, but still not always successfully, I regulated those compulsions. My duty lay elsewhere.

Don't follow your thoughts just observe them. Self discipline day to day will develop.

Now I take beta blockers hidden in my heart medicine. It's much easier now. It's hard sometimes to just be one of the troops, not specially awakened to new thoughts and ideas but it is oh so much easier day by day.

Saint Augustine and Rousseau both wrote their confessions and these are part of mine.

ed

always dress for dinner

always dress for dinner

fiction
edward w pritchard

Whether drifting down the Nile in a glass encased boat or on safari in Africa voyeuristic-ally shooting a few vanishing lions the Rich of a bygone era always found time to dress for dinner. After the multi coursed repast the Men of the past had their fine cigars and the Ladies had their gossip. Neither group found time for Politics. Which was a very good thing.

How much better would the Country be if the rich kept their opinions to their selves and stuck to the business of business. No one is so harmlessly occupied as when they are obsessed with making more Money. For the wealthy no speaking into microphones and no voicing their opinions.

And, once elected let the President become a silent faceless bureaucrat.

just another opinion

just another opinion

fiction
edward w pritchard

Some people like to fish, some like to read, some like to text or chat with their many acquaintances and some of us like to watch baseball on TV. When I was young I had no idea why the Cleveland Indians mascot would be considered racist. When I found out and understood, as an aside I always cheered the native Americans in cowboy shows, I still liked to watch my Home team but I decided we should remove the offensive mascot.

Let's remove the racist Indian mascot after this season. Remove the mascot -Win or lose -in the playoffs. Life is too short to fight losing battles over embarrassing and antiquated issues.

Native Americans were cool, they worked hard, they taught us many things, let's not insult their decedents alive today.

100 % of the people

100% of the people

fiction
edward w pritchard

100% of the people deserve certain basic human rights at all times and in all places.

I saw a speech on book TV by Law professor Michelle Alexander on her book " the New Jim Crow" that was original and not conventional, that was insightful and important, and timely and awareness changing. Ms. Alexander furthers the grand ideas of justice vs charity as from the Bible and in the work of Harvard professor John Rawls.

Read the book or at least digest her main ideas.

Without using the words- insidious american capitalistic system walks all over justice -I will restate "
100% of the people deserve certain basic human rights at all times and in all places."

prosaic swan boat through Hell

Prosaic swan boat through Hell

fiction
edward w pritchard

Knowing all things simultaneously and eternally from hence forward I ascertained that I should be honored to have the Devil himself strap me into the seat in the swan boat about to sojourn across the trillions of dimensions of Hell. Like a creaking old grandfather the Devil carefully and lovingly attended to my safety strapping me modestly into the tattered tethered crusty straps that would secure me legally protected into the weathered old swan boat as I began my journey.

Alone off I went. Smiling at the demon as he unblushingly picked up a rusted old Pepsi can from the floor of my conveyance into my seat I squirmed to find a comfortable position. This was to be a low budget operation it seemed.

"Where to next blithely I asked" Gently tapping the door twice of the shuddering swan boat like a carny starting a blind horse at the annual VFW county fair  the boat began to move across time and space shaking and groaning as we shook along the invisible ancient rusty cables.

hit three times with the stick

hit three times with the stick

fiction
edward w pritchard


Everywhere and at all times it is within my power to accept reverently my present condition. [1] Any disapprobation reaped upon myself justly will pass as no pain and no shame lasts forever.

If I have made a mistaken judgment that has injured another and have tried to right the matter timely and justly it is finished. There is no need to continue to grieve and berate myself.

As a boy I was hit quickly three times with a stick as instruction. Such pain passed quickly and is long since forgotten. My sense of justice was formed by those encounters.

Take your stand, stand your assigned post. It is a divine thing to try to be just and to be censured. Retire into yourself. Soon I will be gone and all that will be remembered is did he do his duty as best his weak character, slipping behavior and worrisome nature could generate.

[1] author is paraphrasing Marcus Aurelius

total eclipse

total eclipse

fiction
edward w pritchard

A site of great pilgrimage the Serpent Mound in Peebles Ohio is a great place to view the total eclipse of the sun or the moon at anytime. An Effigy shrine built basket by basket with soil, sod and stones by stooped shouldered women, and children Adena Indians on the pre-historic site of a millions of year old sacred meteor strike which split the earth to the womb in times before humans could speak or walk upright; the serpent mound provides a small elevation to the viewing subject that enhances the visual viewing of a total solar eclipse of the sun.


Protective viewing glasses will be provided by local Ohio park rangers On august 21 for viewing of total eclipse of the sun.

routes and paths

routes and paths

fiction
edward w pritchard

Everyone is taking a different route or paths but eventually they all end up in the same place. I didn't know where I was going until recently but it doesn't make it any easier to get there.

There's no map or program and no recently developed technology by google will be of any help. If you ask questions or directions along the way it just confuses things. Even someone who is absolutely double dog sure of the ultimate destination is just sorta fooling themselves. Too bad they don't finish your trip in the end anyway. At the end of your road there is no one to reach for.

Recently I stopped looking for pacer gold mines placed into river beds by volcanoes a  few hundred million years ago. I came to find they are always somewhere else. Fame and fortune disappeared with haley's comet in 1910 the night mark twain died. Destiny had manifested itself and all the mines were played out.

I live in a ghost town now in one of the empty houses. Sometimes I can hear the echos in the middle of the night of the drunken ambitious young men who came west by boat or burro looking for riches and ready to stake their claim.

Mornings very early I am up with the sunrise because some times I walk around with my grandson.We teach each other things. I doubt he sees the ghost town yet. I sure won't tell him. A few days ago we saw a hawk take a fish from the lake. Later this week we are going to tie a rope  to a tree on a hill and pull our way towards the crest. Just for practice.

It's bad luck to write your own epitaph.

Here's what I wrote before:

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.

unless one is lucky enough to be killed in one of those epic battles that typify the national identity life is not a team sport

unless one is lucky enough to be killed in one of those epic battles that typify the national identity life is not a team sport

fiction
edward w pritchard

Unless one is lucky enough to be killed in one of those epic battles that typify the national identity life is not a team sport.

Things change. Your old pal the baby who used to sit quietly respectfully silent waiting while you competed a few business matters before you and he tossed the baseball now has to work to pay for the new second car and can't fish, walk along the railway tracks, or sit by the campfire these days.

The plot of life now is secondary to philosophical introspection. Teams are redundant, life is solitary.

Things change.

all the people had to stand in public line

all the people had to stand in public line

fiction
edward w pritchard

Recently I went to an out-clinic of one of the large local hospital chains for my annual blood work for an upcoming Doctor's visit. A merger had occurred corporately with the hospital network so it was necessary to update my records for government supervision of my person which included being electronically fingerprinted for future identification purposes. Going forward both the hospital and government of Ohio shall know that it is in fact me who is fifteen pounds overweight and will have a chance to check my background conduct each time I visit that Hospital should they wish to monitor my conduct for any reason. Hopefully monitoring will be limited to health behaviors only.

That clinic was very busy so I had to take a number electronically at a computer station before I could sit before the technician who performed the finger print scan. After I had to wait with the rest of the patients a while in the lobby to have the actual blood work drawn in the locked medical area. That day at the hospital clinic all the people had to stand in public line only for a few minutes to have their lab work done.

I always feel like Winston Smith from George Orwell's novel " 1984" when I visit the hospital or it's satellites and it's the same with the Government and it's satellites. At the same time, even though I am being monitored,  I often find myself humming BB King's " Why I sing the blues" when I have to join " all the people, all the people [ who ] have to stand in public line.

slow time has silenced me

slow time has silenced me

fiction
edward w pritchard

Slow time has silenced me. So I have taken to looking for my-self.

First I discovered and acknowledged the other. That was long before I could properly talk. Then Love and betrayal. Ho, hum. And impending Death. Slow, slow time again.

Everything else is just a background hum of the gears quietly turning starting with the dawn.

Look up, look down where is me-self. Categorically missing somewhere in the recesses of my brain.

the paranoia caused by the insidious system of capitalism

the paranoia caused by the insidious system of capitalism

fiction
edward w pritchard


One day realization strikes that the paranoia caused by the insidious system of capitalism is real, not a figment of the imagination, but an actual everyday structural vast edifice that treats each and everyone thing and stone as a means to an end. Something to be discarded, something to be depreciated until obsolete and defunct.

Slowly perhaps others enmeshed in the system may see the light. Understanding that what is happening to them is systemic and universal is the first step in untangling the net that entraps us all.

It's the system, it's the system. See the light.

the department of named disturbances

the department of named disturbances

fiction
edward w pritchard


In this story set sometime in the near future an ordinary  human subject is being interviewed by a bureaucratic machine psychologist at the VA  hospital. It is just another day for Doctor, Ghe 884, Ghe being a title of honor usually a-titled as address when speaking to an artificial intelligence machine class seven or higher at time of the incident discussed below.

Human subject- " I like early mornings, before it is fully dawned, when awoken by the cool winds from an open window with a reddish hued light before a pending storm. At such time it seems that nothing can harm me, nothing will happen and for a moment when the wind stops completely just before the storm breaks with a fury I feel alive."

Ghe 884- and at other times

human subject- not listening and far away- " one lone bird will be chirping with modulating voice talking to the storm about to strike" " suddenly and without warning a cracking will occur, and to my ear a movement will be detected, it is a falling large heavy branch from a distant tree dropping and crashes and instantly I will know the bird was predestined to have his perch destroyed by the ancient deity known here locally as Wind".

doctor Ghe 884- well that's about it for today, thank you for meeting with me here in the department of named disturbances, wing four department 7A Ohio district.

the plight of horses and cows in Nazi occupied Prague circa 1942

the plight of horses and cows in Nazi occupied Prague circa 1942

fiction
edward w pritchard

A year is a long time to live under Nazi occupation of your homeland. Despite attempts to be optimistic, forward looking and to live in the present day to day life is a struggle for me here in Prague. Often I wish I could leave the beautiful City of Prague, the place of my birth and best years and move off into the countryside. Away from the confusion, regrets and away from recriminations of the here and now.

Perhaps I shall go up country to Lidice a small mining village two dozen miles North of historic Prague. Things are slower in a place like Lidice, even in these troubled time not much happens there and a person can get a new start in a rural setting in a place like Lidice.

accent on the wrong syllable

accent on the wrong syllable

fiction
edward w pritchard

The boss would call us into a brief meeting at a mini board room and after hearing a few lies from some of the team about why things were going so poorly would shake his head and looking into the distance would mutter" accent on the wrong syllable." Summing up the entire human condition in one pithy platitude.

Sometimes listening to Chopin's "Liebestraum",  love dream my mind will rearrange the tempo to re-set the mood caused by the beat of the external world pulsing around me. The march of History I have heard that stuttering march that surrounds our temporal reality called by the wise men of the ancient past.

Today, I awake, I march about seamlessly through the madding throngs of faceless strangers. Me the invisible man of the crowd [1] them accent on the wrong syllable.

[1] author is referencing Edgar Allen Poe

imaginary lover's unreal

imaginary lovers unreal

fiction
edward w pritchard

How can we be expected to have and vividly recall racial memories of our distant ancestors of tens of thousands of years ago walking about the Savannah or scavenging shells and mussels for survival at the ocean side when in fact we can't remember a lover now so changed who a mere twenty or thirty years ago acted so different towards us? Were they once authentic and spontaneous or was it imaginary, never happened, and is this remembrance a shadow of a dream?

Before the motivations of weighing and accounting's for the benefit in every situation day to day things and activities seemed real, solid and permanent. Could that fleeting recollection that now occasionally arises spontaneously in the deep unconscious that blooms so temporary a smile be based on a false memory? Was the snippet of fading memory that is now not what they were then, who now acts only with  everything pre-planned, was that person then unreal or is the memory and the occasional and fading smile a fragment of a dream?

Imaginary lover's unreal. We never walked joyfully together oblivious to the dangers, hidden motivations and coming mercenary accounting's. Imaginary lover's unreal. A dream in a dream of a memory.