add a new holiday to the American calendar

 Add a new holiday to the American calendar 

fiction

edward w pritchard

I suppose,  for me, it would cause no real harm if one of our elected officials would designate one day a year as a Holiday in which the women of America would dress in the style of women from India, Iran, Turkey or other Countries of the world. It would be good for my morale and maybe the morale of others in our Country and would this being  America have added economic benefits as well. Looking forward to this happening very soon/author.

election 2020

 election 2020

fiction

edward w pritchard

Silent November summoned darkness

causing Mickey Newbury to drive his car off center stage

crashing into the littered floor of empty auditorium

until secret snow awakened us to pick up the wrecked twisted pieces

of deserted vehicle as spinning tires slowly returned to normalcy 

silencing the unlit house lights stage left

Annie says men be nice to the women in your lives

 Annie says men be nice to the women in your lives

fiction 

edward pritchard

Annie Oakley says men be nice to the women in your lives. 

Born Phoebe, Annie suffered and fretted as a child and teenager. Many a morning living on the border of Ohio and Indiana in the 19th century she stood with Jupiter to her back and looked West to where cold red Mars drooped in the Western sky and dreamed of a life of freedom  as a pistolero. Still Annie never used her marksman skills to do evil like Wild Bill or Doc Holiday. 

Two hundred times Annie shot a cigar or cigarette out of her husbands mouth in the Buffalo Bill show and always remained a demur lady. Once it was rumored chief Sitting Bull bowed to the little lady out of respect. Men be kind to the Women in your lives.

I wonder if Phoebe cooked, cleaned and sewed.

 

What happened to Franny laying on the couch

 What happened to Franny laying on the couch

fiction

edward w pritchard

Sometimes I wonder what happened to Franny Glass laying there on the couch in the old sprawling 

Manhattan apartment, and what happen to the painters that same late morning, and did those painters 

 ever get 

their work done of sprucing  up the walls of the Manhattan apartment that Bessie and Les Glass rented

 so so long ago. Franny was a lovely girl. I remember she would mumble incessantly as she said the

 pilgrims prayer over and over laying on the couch with a heating pad and a small book clutched 

tightly 

into her prayer folded hands. Franny reminded me a bit of W. Glass her older brother, a twin who

died  years ago. W glass' eyes would tear up if someone said it looked like rain according to Bessie.  

 

Fainting for the first time late in life's journey

 Fainting for the first time late in life's journey

fiction

edward w pritchard

Recently I had the experience of fainting for the first time late in life's journey while sitting utterly alone at a medical test in a still darkened hospital room at 8AM and despite the half dozen or so in  panic Doctors and nurses rushing to revive me I experienced a calm serene moment or two similar to being a young child. As perhaps my temporary loss of consciousness being the spirit leaving the body I was later reminded of Saint.John's of the cross' famous poem

I abandoned and forgot myself,

...

all things ceased; I went out from myself,
leaving my cares forgotten among the lilies. 

Following Clayton Delaney

 following clayton Delaney

fiction

edward w pritchard

One day all of us must follow Clayton Delaney and pass from the Earth. As songwriter Tom T Hall says,

like Clayton, it's OK if at the end when you are suffering and dying it's fine if you finally get religion.

For me , I go out a Pantheist, in the style of Spinoza. 

More and more lately, when I wake up early in the morning, I spend a minute or two, listening through an East facing open window, for the sound of the Universe expanding in all directions. 

Men from New York in expensive hats

 Men from New York in expensive hats

fiction

edward w pritchard

When will the men from New York in expensive hats stand outside the stock exchange with grim looks on their faces? Waiting, waiting for someone to fix things.  

Over the last couple of hours the NASDAQ futures stock index took an ominous decline in over night action. Looks to me like there is a lot of hot air in the tech stocks of late.

I prefer women in hats and predict that if the stock market gets itself in a mess this October the ladies in hats will be standing worried right besides the men there in New York Manhattan this fall.

Rioting in an american memory play

 Rioting in an american memory play

fiction

edward w pritchard

I am concerned that this rioting recently occurring in america cities will disrupt the apartment and glass menagerie collection of our casual friend Laura Wingfield  of St Louis, Mo. As you may recall the apartment can only be entered by the fire escape and due to Laura's brother not paying a recent electric bill the apartment is temporarily without electricity. 

I am worried that Laura will trip and fall in the darkness partially caused because of the electric bill situation and from complications of her bad leg. If I could get over to the St.Louis of the 1940's America I would take an old paint brush and paint a red cross on the door of the Wingfield  apartment at the fire escape entrance so the rioters would know that the people living there are one of us; good Americans a little down on their luck. 

Perhaps if anyone reading this gets over that way, to St Louis in a memory play of the 1940's  written by Tennessee Williams they can help Laura Wingfield, also known as Blue Roses, sign up for disability because of her bad leg and the anxiety caused by her inability to properly entertain gentlemen callers. Although I  only know Laura casually I often worry about her and her Mother living there alone in St Louis where nothing ever changes for a poor family living at the top of the fire escape in a dusty old apartment with no electricity and only a glass menagerie collection of horse and unicorn figurines for entertainment.    

Universe expands in all directions faster than the speed of light

 Universe expands in all directions faster than the speed of light

fiction

edward w pritchard

Beloved little boy now a man on his wedding day. Father sitting alone watches ceremony unfold

with proper commotion. Recall son universe expands in all directions faster than the speed of light. 

Boy vanished Father eclipsed.

America I loved you purely

 America I loved you purely

fiction

edward w pritchard

America I loved you purely. Now with no schadenfreude I watch you de-evolve. For lack of morals and no philosophy to hide within my country t'is of thee dissolves before mine eyes. Like a pretty college girl sadder thinking of her six semester fling with her professor I see my Country for what it is.

Crouch on the floor of your cave wearing your mask until in desperation everyone prays for the miraculous vaccine. Clutch to your money mine America and read about German hyper inflation of 1923 and the auto biography of myth maker Albert Speer. 

Flee the cities and hide the children in the bulrushes. An ill wind blows in from across Manchuria. 

  

Fade away Jesus

Fade Away Jesus

fiction

edward w pritchard

First Jesus faded from the scene. 

Then quit spending money. History sanitized and philosophy vanished.

Wait to be ambulance driven to hospital at $1000 a trip. No crowds, no funerals, no more statues.

Cover your face and steel up your heart. Listen at length for the air born sirens to end the crisis. 

Edit and rewind better to have died in battle. 

the train doesn't run to Gettysburg anymore

the Train doesn't run to Gettysburg anymore

fiction
edward w pritchard

The owner told us the train doesn't run to Gettysburg any more a while back so we walk back and forth from East Canton, Ohio over to Gettysburg, Pa on old route 30 with all the paraphernalia for our small circus. The townies don't like circus folks so mostly we travel at night.

Sometimes I walk with the two white elephants for company me being lonely a lot. I enjoy a clear sky for stargazing but a light rain is more than fine also. The rain on the hilly pavement is good companionship and is nice white noise to the clump of the elephants steady steps. Hannibal got elephants over the Alps in winter.

Usually I wear a small backpack with my personal items in it and carry a small old fashion slate chalkboard and two pieces of yellow chalk to write myself  important notes of things I don't want to forget.

There isn't much traffic on 30 these days but a couple of years ago I remember a car went whizzing by with a song on the radio by old Tampa Red  "when things go wrong with you it hurts me too"; ever since  I often hear that old song in my head when I am walking at night. Tampa Red was light skinned and often played a kazoo along with his primitive slide guitar.

If we are trudging up a long hill on a dark night sometimes I will write down a girls name I used to know with my chalk I carry on my small chalk board so I don't forget her and then when I get to the top of the grade I eventually erase her name and put the chalk and chalk board back in my backpack. Doctors say its good for the heart to walk up long steep hills course they do it themselves in a nice car.

Later tonight we should cross the Ohio river on the Jennings bridge. Route 30 only runs for four miles in West Virginia so that part of the trip is a short walk. Coming or going R 30 in WV is no trouble at all.

today is June 16th a most significant day

today is June 16th a most significant day

fiction
edward w pritchard

Today is June 16th a most significant day. Significant that is in Ireland for June 16th 1904 is celebrated year after year because that's the day writer James Joyce chose to have Leopold Bloom spend one extraordinary long day on June 16th 1904; now known as Bloomsday in Dublin Ireland.

You remember the book " Ulysses"; no American has ever finished the novel. Still even here it is acknowledged  as a masterpiece.

June 16th 2020 is a drag here in America.  Covid 19 disrupting the economy, rioting and protests,
and opinion polls today showing only 14% of Americans are extraordinarily happy this June 16th 2020.

Lets go back to 1904.

it shall be so

it shall be so

fiction
edward w pritchard

When are protesters and marchers a mob? Read Shakespeare's" Coriolanus" or if you are not inclined
to read watch Ralph Fiennes trial before the people on you tube's "Coriolanus" clip.

It shall be so say the good citizens.

there's only one american who can end this endless rioting

there's only one american who can end this endless rioting

fiction
edward w pritchard

There is only one american who can end this endless rioting. That is Benjamin Butler the Civil War  union major General and he has been dead for over a century. Look it up on wiki. Butler was an expert on stopping riots and insurrections in American cities in the 1860's. On the battlefield against armed troops his reputation was not so good.

Who will stop the violence and looting in our cities now that Benjamin Butler has passed On?

Let's stop the violence.

supporting characters

supporting characters

fiction
edward w pritchard

When the social order temporarily breaks down in a time of mass social crisis one of the first things we eventually notice is that the supporting characters that furnish the background noise that fill our lives mysteriously disappear. Perhaps there is an economic reason and perhaps it is well known to the properly educated but I don't know the explanation.

If your groceries are going to be chosen unseen at the store and delivered by a faceless amazon delivery driver to your porch while his vehicle blocks  half the road in front of your house for your neighbors why shouldn't he be a robot or intelligent machine?

global awareness

global awareness

fiction
edward w pritchard

Wouldn't it be nice if every world government would order every source of light in the world to be turned off one clear night for a few hours so everyone could see the milky war galaxy as our ancestors did.

What a Gaia moment of hyper awareness that would be.

lock down frenzy

lock down frenzy

fiction
edward w pritchard

Wash hands 
retreat to Venice in darkness on gondola wearing cracked ceramic masks
hiding face from self
drench hands with sanitizer pulling fingers through  hair
isolation dissolves the Herd
Strangers intimately forgotten

just a dreamer

just a dreamer

fiction
edward w pritchard

I am just a dreamer but during this difficult financial period for America citizens I would like to see
the original Americans currently physically living on Indian reservations each receive a small extra check from the government  from the monetizing largess intended to jump start the economy. Perhaps 1 to 5 thousand per individual.

A small tax on future citizens for past injustices by their ancestors.

night time memory

night time memory

fiction
edward w pritchard

Night time memory
drizzles away
like rain
under an afternoon sun

how many employees on a night train hauling only freight

how many employees on a night train hauling only freight

fiction
edward w pritchard

4:35 AM
a night train hauling only freight
heads south east from Cleveland
headed to Pittsburgh
every night the low whistle
stirs up the ducks along Long Lake
who squawk for a minute in protest
but the driver doesn't hear
watching Jupiter as usual in the southern sky
wishing he had someone to talk with about planets, stars and galaxies

kent state shootings revisited

Kent state shootings revisited


fiction
edwardw w pritchard

The Kent state shootings upset me as a young man. As I mentioned earlier in these writings I was in journalism class as a high school senior and editor of the school newspaper when I heard of the shootings and was definitely at the time very anti guard anti war.

Recently though after watching a young man who committed a malicious driving violation recently  throw me the double finger while standing along side his car I have reconsidered my position.

Jeffrey Miller one of the students shot at Kent State, the one in the famous photo laying dead on the ground allegedly gave the double fingers to several young Ohio national guardsmen for several minutes prior to being shot dead in 1970.

If you had a rifle, a uniform, were in attack formation and were given the double finger in a tense confrontation would you have been the one to fire?

all these little relationships

all these little relationships

fiction

Once I talked to a mobster type for a minute and in passing she told me that as she got older it was hard for her to stay genuinely interested in all the little relationships between people and all the complex rules and obligations that they entail. Looking back reflecting on my life while going through this stay at home order in America I finally understand that sentiment.

On a whim with that thought in mind I reread the short novella by James Joyce "the Dead" today.
Joyce populates the party mentioned in the story with several sad pathetic types who are incapable of change. The final exchange between the couple is just too sad.

Also today I saw a brief part of an interview on TV with one of the richest men in the world Bill Gates about his efforts to help find [and fund  I assume] a vaccine to combat the virus currently crossing the world. For us, humanity, all, I hope he is successful. I hear as a big picture type guy Gates worries about a virus or tragedy someday killing a million people or more unexpectedly.

All these little relationships between the 7 billion plus of us humans. Bill Gates one of the seven Billion humans plans and programs his time by the minute and works on several initiatives to curtail population growth in Africa and elsewhere in the civilized world while also funding vaccine research to save lives. Meanwhile most of the world lives like Gabriel and Gretta in James Joyce's "The Dead"; private lives of quiet desperation a bit pathetic when examined too closely and all to brief when viewed in real time.

identify yourself with non-distinction

identify yourself with non-distinction

edward w pritchard


Once I owned a home with a large sliding set of glass doors leading to series of wooden decks  overlooking a pond and some woods. About once a year someone would rushing out smash the middle of their forehead onto the heavy glass hurrying outside. I did it once.. No one however, myself included ever tying to rush in ever smashed their head.

Things have changed. We can no longer peer cautiously across the future.

Identify yourself with non distinction.

How to invest your stimulus check

How to invest your stimulus check

fiction
edward w pritchard

The government has just sent out a pile of money to citizens to stimulate the economy in a pandemic
and advice is everywhere on how to invest the money to make yourself financially independent like our elected officials themselves.

First off don't buy Champagne and reefer like Muddy Waters once recommended. Too expensive.

I recommend Southern Tier 2XIPA beer 8.2% alcohol  $ 1.75 per bottle and  listen to you tube [free]
on internet [$30 per month]. Tonight I am listening to Billie Holiday "Summertime", Janis Joplin "St James Infirmary blues" and Sidney Bechet saxophone with Claude Bowling on piano "St .Louis Blues.

A mild spring rainstorm is due locally here about midnight so open a window and "listen to the warm" [attributed to Rod Mckuen  poet "it's either famine or a feast"] .

A man with a knack

a man with a knack

fiction
edward w pritchard

What jobs will survive the corona virus pandemic? The only job that's open needs a man with a knack [1].

[1] Milt Gabler- "Choo Choo Sh Boogie"

accent on the wrong syllable

accent on the wrong syllable

fiction
edward w pritchard

I had a boss once who when he wanted to take anybody down a notch would describe them publicly as [having] "the accent on the wrong syllable". He covered a lot of ground with that insult but I always thought his observation was original and not conventional.

Such is the state of our Country now in the corona virus pandemic. America "accent on the wrong syllable". Everyone is out of step and stumbling to a fall.

ponzi scheme or maya

ponzi scheme or maya

fiction
edward w pritchard

How hard we struggle to be honorable pay our bills and be an dutiful citizen because we don't realize it's an illusion.

Three trillion dollars of additional bonds must be sold by our government to bond investors soon or the federal reserve will have to presto change the three trillion into long term debt for future tax payers. Either way it's a perpetual sophisticated ponzi scheme. Or perhaps it's Maya in the Hindu concept of reality as in we believe in [good faith] what is ultimately an illusion [ for our own good].

What to do? Plant some flowers this week with the spring rains upon us or if no green thumb plant grass seed it always grows.

Calm and serene I nurture my garden.

depreciating American script money

depreciating American script money

fiction
edward w pritchard

I had a visit in my dreams last night from the British philosopher Iris Murdoch. Earlier that day I had reread her excellent article "Void"also known by her as "affliction"about how to deal with serious psychological issues using philosophy. I was reading her article for solace because of the trauma inflicted on the World because of the Corona 19 virus that I am experiencing now along with my countrymen. 

As you know Iris Murdoch was a genius writer and philosopher who when she died  had had Alzheimer's for several years. Because of that affliction that she suffered with in life she was unable to talk to me after death through my dreams as characters typically to do in these stories I write. However I was able to understand some of her thoughts through dream telepathy.

Iris mentioned that the US government is making a serious mistake sending checks to US citizens payable in US dollars in an attempt to jump start the economy because of the corona 19 virus. She suggested while the government had good humanitarian intentions such a massive influx of funds
could cause the dollar to face grave unintended consequences.She could not further explain  but mentioned the words black swan several times.

She suggested a fiat script which expired in thirty days should be sent by the US government when the extraordinary benefit checks are mailed to named recipients this April. 

in all earnestness

in all earnestness

fiction
edward w pritchard

Earnest Hemingway has visited me in dreams to comment and clarify something I wrote in my last post about his novel "farewell to arms".

He suggests using telepathy that I reread "the sun also rises" concerning his concepts of "the Code"
about each individuals facing Death over the course of their lifetime and those times when death is imminent and not just a philosophical puzzle.Such as now with this corona virus 19

" Earnest -I can read your thoughts"

author- perhaps you can suggest a way for myself to organize my ideas

" Earnest- no time, I want you to remember about what I said about "the Code" /when one has to face their own death in "the sun also rises"and later novels I wrote

author-"I forget"

Earnest "no think hard, my ideas influenced you, more than all the Buddhism you studied"

author- thinking omnipotent in his dreams- "The code" was in your opinion Earnest that one should react graceful and courageously in the face of danger or death and always be a professional [and a mensch]

Earnest- good bye then.I must go

keeping moving during a national lock down

keeping moving during a national lock down

fiction
edward w pritchard


Currently I am seeking to keep moving during a national lock down over the corona 19 virus because I must walk daily to strengthen and exercise a damaged heart. Yet moving about outside is dangerous because contact within six feet of others causes transmission of the virus resulting in possible death.

As solution to the problem I have opened the book "a farewell to arms" by Earnest  Hemingway and am currently walking in spirit across the Italian countryside during World war one with Frederick Henry the ambulance driver non hero of the novel to escape the Austrians and approaching Germans
who have just overrun the Italian army who are in desperate retreat and most anxious not to practice war any longer.

The roads in Hemingway's novel are crowded with refugees, it is always dark and rainy and all rivers  are at the flood stage. Moving trains may be jumped onto in the dark but lurking invisible soldiers from all sides await to execute stragglers from the second army.

Pushing the nurse Catherine Barkley from his thoughts Hemingway's Tenente, that's lieutenant [Henry] in English,  pushes on towards Milan and safety across the Swiss border.  Alas poor Catherine dies during childbirth journeying into Nada, Spanish for nothingness, which is what happens to us all after death be it from too much warfare, existential angst, a virus or darkness and non stop rain while traveling on life's road. 

It's an ordeal to travel with Hemingway's non hero the ambulance driver lieutenant Henry but I always enjoy his company because he has no sustaining values or beliefs and always is exiting life's hospital to take a nice walk in the rain. Rain being a symbol for impending disaster and misery.

free education

free education

fiction
edward w pritchard

Currently the State in America where I live, Ohio is under a recommended stay at home lock down to seek to control a virus currently spreading rapidly throughout the World. Bars, restaurants, hotels, casinos and most businesses are temporarily shutdown.

Having more time for reflection and reading recently I have discovered a problem that I was not aware of that is troubling me. Browsing the internet I read more or less in passing that more than 200 million children throughout the World do not have an opportunity to attend school. Reasons vary for no schooling for children but I am saddened never the less, whatever the rationale.

What can we do when find ourselves blessed to live in the World's wealthiest country and learn that everyone does not share in the Earth's bounty equally. I have no answer but I am troubled tonight reflecting on the matter.

the ninth Beatle

the ninth Beatle

fiction
edward w pritchard

The ninth Beatle just passed away.

From the old neighborhood he played baseball and football with us and lip synced Beatles records as a Paul McCartney impersonator pretending  to air guitar for screaming female fans in our grade school gym after school when we were 12 years old.

Once we dated the same girl at different times I recall. He was one of the dishwashers with us at Young's restaurant to earn extra money. When we were ten he came with a few other guys to play tackle basketball in my basement; throwing a basketball through a bicycle tire hung from the rafters of our basement until my Dad came home to complain about the dust.

Then he was an integral part of the defense on our high school championship football team.  Achieving a scholarship he went on to Hiram college to play football as a defensive back. Later I heard he had a career as a teacher and coach.

Growing up on the Ohio canal from a large family in Castle Homes Mike Knepp was a fixture in the old neighborhood who became to me one of those friends that one sadly loses touch with later in life.

I heard today Mike passed away. He will be missed by me as a dear friend.

a visit from the opera singer

a visit from the opera singer

fiction
edward w pritchard

As a carrier of the virus who couldn't die from the affliction I was often called by the elderly opera singer to formally introduce her to her latest group of victims living high in the luxury hotel where we all stayed. Despite mutual disdain of the elderly Diva I was forced over and over to knock on the
security doors of the wealthy residents and individually introduce each victim to the pancake makeup faced lady who would be their divine reaper of death. Entering a room the ancient opera singer of death stunk of musky spoiled perfumes and ages long past. As she entered a crowded room the opera singer instantly ruined the party. In time despite my neutral non complicity in the opera singers work and results the younger residents of our hotel began to call me a pimp and to shun me should we meet  in the hallways or the lunch room.

Sometimes at night in my hotel room waking late in the middle of a dark night I would hear the creaky old voice of the opera singer practicing her scales and crescendos and grieve for those who passed before us.

lost in the airport

lost in the airport

fiction
edward w pritchard

It's a few months into the future and everyone in  America has suddenly become lost in the airports
of our Country during bouts of travel and because of mutations of the covid 19 virus no longer have the mental facilities, stamina and will or organizational skills to return to their own lives.

In desperation drunken fratboys, wicked sorority girls and children under five have been deputized by the authorities to help confused passengers match their tickets with the flashing tote boards in a wishful gamble to return to their native States.

It's pathetic really. Somehow I stand aside trying desperately not to Judge this latest tragedy. I sit on the floor of the tarmac and read the good book and watch confused desperate strangers methodically picking up canceled ticket stubs from the ground of earlier good times trying to find the way.

The blaring loudspeakers advise constantly for normalcy, order and optimism. There is no cause for panic. Those in charge nearly have concocted a potion that's a cure or at least will soon have a vaccine. It's only few months and things will be like they used to be. But as the children move about leading the fearful confused citizens I hear them mumbling over and over with a strange smile "things ain't what they used to be. "

Outside in the parking decks everyone's new automobile has electronically self started and is idling patiently waiting  for the owners so they can zoom zoom about. Gas is chief and interest rates have been cut again. Return to your homes- it's a very good time to buy more things.

a soldier at night celebrates his 68th birthday

a soldier at night celebrates his 68th birthday

fiction
edward w pritchard

the night is clear but
the Moon is always at the quarter
a soldier lost in dark night celebrates his 68th birthday
his fingers aching from scratching at the hard frozen earth to bury himself
in for cover from angry low flying rifle bullets
randomly fired by unseen enemies
oh for a tattered flag or soft woman to
wrap himself in until next light

a walk in Istanbul

a walk in Istanbul

fiction
edward w pritchard

Sometimes in my imagination I'll take a walk in Istanbul and sometimes I'll just watch somebodies walking tour of modern Istanbul on the you tube. Either way along with my awe of seeing the blue Mosque I like to see the beautiful stately Muslim women who are intriguing in their scarves and veils.

Rather than Istanbul a poetic type is supposed to call it Byzantium which for some reason is supposed to be no county for old men. Whatever the ancient city is called I enjoy seeing representations arranged of the Iznic tiles at the Topkapi palace and blue Mosque.

At night waking from dreams sometimes I'll imagine seeing Coptic and Byzantine iconic paintings of
Jesus in the churches of pre-Muslim Istanbul. Other times I am a Muslim soldier with Sultan Mehmed in 1453 staring across the battlefield at the high fortified walls of Byzantium at night wishing I was elsewhere.

An old man at night staring across the milky way a bit reluctant to storm the walls and carry off a little treasure.

the shadow on the wall of the Holy Ghost

the shadow on the wall of the Holy Ghost

fiction
edward w pritchard

The most likely place to witness the Holy Ghost is stumbling to one's knees with thirst in the desert
being slowly and methodically pursued by a mirage of an imaginary wolf. Next most likely spot to experience the Holy Ghost is on the back wall of your cave flickering in the shadows of the fire as you sit with your back to the World.

The Holy ghost prefers small quiet rooms to castles or elaborate Gothic churches or cathedrals no matter how much gold or how many twisted marble statues of saints adorn the candled interior.

The Holy Ghost is no where and somewhere and cannot be experienced in real time or witnessed in
any organized grouping of persons. The Holy Ghost cannot be authentically read about  or remembered.

who's the waitress in the donut shop now

who's the waitress in the donut shop now

fiction
edward w pritchard

I been reading about which books make up the definitive Western Canon by Harold Bloom and others of late. You know so many thick old novels it's impossible to read or remember. Shakespeare, Plato, Homer and Aristotle are the foundation stones of western literature and thought and rightly so I suppose.

Still curious to understand why so few women authors are represented in the agreed upon Canonical books I went beyond Harold Bloom's Cannon and gnosis  and read some feminist, persons of color, and trans gender ideas on great books throughout History. Desiring a brief synopsis of the subject I settled on Lillian S. Robinson's "Treason our Text" Feminist challenges to the Literary challenges.

Stealing an idea from Lillian Robinson I thought perhaps the Black blues singer "big" Mamma Thorton's masterpiece which influenced modern American rock and roll, the memorable "You a'int nothing but a Hound dog" might classify somehow as an underground part of some body's Cannon of great authorship. Alas not so. And, incidentally the song Houndog was written by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller.

Neither considered as worthy of being canonical the song "Sweetheart" better known as "waitress in a donut shop" which I came to find out was not written by Suzy Bogus or Maria Maldaur but a man Ken Burgan.

To my way of thinking "you ain't nothing but a hound dog" or "waitress in a donut shop" summarize a lot of wisdom in a few short words and I never forget or fail to understand such concepts once I hear them.

Why so few canonical women authors throughout history? In my opinion it has a lot to do with who takes care of the children and the low status of the job and the exhausting nature of the task. Besides it doesn't matter who is the waitress in the donut shop anymore when it comes to inter personal domestic matters, such as who cares for the children. The children just keep on coming onto the scene and it's always a challenge to care for and nurture them and no amount of IQ or creativity can substitute for the time and attention to detail necessary to do a competent job as a caregiver.

Iris Murdoch's a bit hard to understand

Iris Murdoch's a bit hard to Understand

fiction
edward w pritchard

I have been reading Iris Murdoch's "Metaphysics as a Guide to Morals" and I must admit Iris Murdoch's a bit hard to understand.  As part of my quest to understand why women artists and philosophers are usually under represented I got interested in Murdoch's philosophical views but I have never read one of her novels.

After several months of reading guide to morals I found out that Murdoch who is a brilliant thinker died of dementia. That's very sad. Her grasp of  western philosophy is stunning but to repeat myself she is not easy to follow at times. Perhaps it's just the subject matter.

When I discovered that Iris had had dementia I went to the Lake at night by my house and had a fire
and lamented how the lights of civilization by my abode and my Country's advancing civilization had drowned out my ability to see the milky way as I sometimes did once see the Milky War near where I as a child lived not far from the Lake where I made the fire. [edit ] Sometimes we are hard to understand and sometimes it's more serious. Still it all passes quickly on a cosmic scale.