ten year sentence part 3
fiction
edward w pritchard
Things come out different than you expect. I didn't have to pay half for the broken blade. It was not properly maintained. Titanium here is effected by the gravity of Jupiter like everything else and the blade was past it's useful life.
While I was at the hearing I was asked to work on the water project. Top secret but it involves digging a long underground tunnel to bring water from the source to here at the base. The pay is better and it would get me out of here for a while. Maximum term is six months because of the winds which they say effect the nervous system. I said I was interested if the money was right.
While at the hearing the investigator gave me a whole pad of paper. That's very valuable. I told him I like Delta blues and he just gave me the paper and said I should write a song about what it's like here. He has been here seven years and he told me he didn't know if he would be able to finish his ten.
end part 3
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
ten year sentence part 2
ten year sentence part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's morning now and the things I wrote yesterday on my day off make me seem a little off. I was just lonely. Today I am starting off with grapefruit I won in a poker game. It's worth $75 here and I am having it for breakfast today with real sugar.
Sharon would never leave me. We have a plan. Ten years, 8 to go, I will only be twenty nine then and I will have made as much as most people make in thirty or forty years if they have a good steady job, which who does anymore back on earth.
I drive a loader here. It's difficult work because of the gravity from Jupiter. Ten hours on and then 8 off and then ten on for 6 days. Then 24 earth hours off. On my break today I am going to write down the blues song I composed last night. I now have written four songs. Some of the others guys say they are pretty good. The company doesn't mind blues as long as they are not political or anti management.
Today I broke a blade. That not good. Sometimes we have to pay half. My supervisor will let me know tomorrow. Jupiter is beautiful today. I can see the storms on the surface. Sometimes I feel like I can tell when a storm is going to happen on Jupiter based on the color of the sky. It's has a strange pinkish glow to the east today.
end part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's morning now and the things I wrote yesterday on my day off make me seem a little off. I was just lonely. Today I am starting off with grapefruit I won in a poker game. It's worth $75 here and I am having it for breakfast today with real sugar.
Sharon would never leave me. We have a plan. Ten years, 8 to go, I will only be twenty nine then and I will have made as much as most people make in thirty or forty years if they have a good steady job, which who does anymore back on earth.
I drive a loader here. It's difficult work because of the gravity from Jupiter. Ten hours on and then 8 off and then ten on for 6 days. Then 24 earth hours off. On my break today I am going to write down the blues song I composed last night. I now have written four songs. Some of the others guys say they are pretty good. The company doesn't mind blues as long as they are not political or anti management.
Today I broke a blade. That not good. Sometimes we have to pay half. My supervisor will let me know tomorrow. Jupiter is beautiful today. I can see the storms on the surface. Sometimes I feel like I can tell when a storm is going to happen on Jupiter based on the color of the sky. It's has a strange pinkish glow to the east today.
end part 2
10 year sentence
10 year sentence
fiction
edward w pritchard
To raise money I am doing a ten year stint here on Io, a Moon of Jupiter, at the mining company Styler and Meserow.
I have been here on Io for two years and the money is very good but the days seem like weeks and relations with company management are very bad.
I worry about Sharon my girl back on earth. I worry that I will end up sterile from the rocks we mine day in and out. The rocks also can make you crazy because of the high frequency waves they emit. Sometimes when I write blues song on my day off I think that the waves are influencing my thoughts and the words I write. I never had a problem like this, with my mind, and of course it could just be the loneliness and isolation, or the intense stress and danger of the mining job I do, or the labor management problems here, or like some of my fellow workers say it could be the waves emitted from the rocks we mine. I am afraid at times I am going crazy.
To save money today on my one day off out of seven I am mostly staying in my bunk. Because of the intense gravity from Jupiter it costs extra to move about the complex other than for work duties. I am trying to save money so I am laying on my bunk, composing blues songs and playing my harmonica. My father was black back on earth and my relatives down in Mississippi on the Delta where a long time ago my relatives brought the blues to Chicago where I was born.
I can lay here on my bunk lonely for Sharon and get into my inner blues. I haven't been drinking tonight which is rare for a day off. I miss Sharon and worry that she will find someone else. Two years and twenty days since I saw her and my groin hurts from the rocks we mine more than it does from missing her. Sometimes I worry I will crack up like others do here regularly. I have my next physical and psychological in 5 weeks. If I don't pass it I get shipped back to earth with a penalty passage fee. That would wipe out about a third of what I have made here so far.
I need the money because jobs are so difficult to get on earth and taxes are outrageous. If I am going to support Sharon in the style she is accustomed to I have to at least make it to the five year mark here; 10,855 days till that. I am working on a song called five year blues now. Sometimes I feel like Sharon can hear my songs that I sing while I lay in my bunk and play my harmonica. No recording devices or radio signals can be sent from Io because of the waves emitted by the rocks we mine. So if that was true that she could hear my songs to her that would be OK, but I have to remind myself not to ever mention that when I take the company physical and psychological.
This job is lousy but I know I can make it five years, maybe ten long years, others have. The money is good here and if I can make it five years I can accomplish some of my goals concerning me and Sharon my girl back on Earth.
end Part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
To raise money I am doing a ten year stint here on Io, a Moon of Jupiter, at the mining company Styler and Meserow.
I have been here on Io for two years and the money is very good but the days seem like weeks and relations with company management are very bad.
I worry about Sharon my girl back on earth. I worry that I will end up sterile from the rocks we mine day in and out. The rocks also can make you crazy because of the high frequency waves they emit. Sometimes when I write blues song on my day off I think that the waves are influencing my thoughts and the words I write. I never had a problem like this, with my mind, and of course it could just be the loneliness and isolation, or the intense stress and danger of the mining job I do, or the labor management problems here, or like some of my fellow workers say it could be the waves emitted from the rocks we mine. I am afraid at times I am going crazy.
To save money today on my one day off out of seven I am mostly staying in my bunk. Because of the intense gravity from Jupiter it costs extra to move about the complex other than for work duties. I am trying to save money so I am laying on my bunk, composing blues songs and playing my harmonica. My father was black back on earth and my relatives down in Mississippi on the Delta where a long time ago my relatives brought the blues to Chicago where I was born.
I can lay here on my bunk lonely for Sharon and get into my inner blues. I haven't been drinking tonight which is rare for a day off. I miss Sharon and worry that she will find someone else. Two years and twenty days since I saw her and my groin hurts from the rocks we mine more than it does from missing her. Sometimes I worry I will crack up like others do here regularly. I have my next physical and psychological in 5 weeks. If I don't pass it I get shipped back to earth with a penalty passage fee. That would wipe out about a third of what I have made here so far.
I need the money because jobs are so difficult to get on earth and taxes are outrageous. If I am going to support Sharon in the style she is accustomed to I have to at least make it to the five year mark here; 10,855 days till that. I am working on a song called five year blues now. Sometimes I feel like Sharon can hear my songs that I sing while I lay in my bunk and play my harmonica. No recording devices or radio signals can be sent from Io because of the waves emitted by the rocks we mine. So if that was true that she could hear my songs to her that would be OK, but I have to remind myself not to ever mention that when I take the company physical and psychological.
This job is lousy but I know I can make it five years, maybe ten long years, others have. The money is good here and if I can make it five years I can accomplish some of my goals concerning me and Sharon my girl back on Earth.
end Part 1
Thursday, June 3, 2010
baseball the blown perfect game
baseball, the blown perfect game
fiction
edward w pritchard
Baseball stands for something uniquely American. No matter what happens there's another game and another chance tomorrow. People make mistakes, in the game of baseball; they are called errors unless they are made by the first base umpire and then it's a bad judgment call. The first base umpire made a bad call and it cost the pitcher his once in a career perfect game. The pitcher took it in stride. Maybe he can pitch another perfect game some time in the future. The umpire made a wrong call and the pitcher had to live with it.
Baseball monitors and fixes it's mistakes. There's another game tomorrow and there's no time for recriminations.
It does a heart good to see baseball move on after a bad call. Mistakes were made, let's play ball, have a beer, it's six dollars a glass now but at the stadium that's OK.
The pitcher who lost the perfect game and the umpire shake hands and another pitcher takes the mound for today's game and the umpire gets back to his duties.
Baseball is an American institution. Other American businesses could learn something from baseball.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Baseball stands for something uniquely American. No matter what happens there's another game and another chance tomorrow. People make mistakes, in the game of baseball; they are called errors unless they are made by the first base umpire and then it's a bad judgment call. The first base umpire made a bad call and it cost the pitcher his once in a career perfect game. The pitcher took it in stride. Maybe he can pitch another perfect game some time in the future. The umpire made a wrong call and the pitcher had to live with it.
Baseball monitors and fixes it's mistakes. There's another game tomorrow and there's no time for recriminations.
It does a heart good to see baseball move on after a bad call. Mistakes were made, let's play ball, have a beer, it's six dollars a glass now but at the stadium that's OK.
The pitcher who lost the perfect game and the umpire shake hands and another pitcher takes the mound for today's game and the umpire gets back to his duties.
Baseball is an American institution. Other American businesses could learn something from baseball.
hell and heaven part 4
hell and heaven part 4
fiction
edward w pritchard
Word spread quickly that an insatiable young woman was now working in the second floor rooms over the old saloon. Violet was driven by ancient urgings and she became very busy in her work. Whalers on shore leave spent hours waiting specifically for the young woman and the management of the rooms over the saloon had difficulty in maintaining order. The other girls going about their duties in a normal fashion discussed in earnest killing the new girl for she was speeding up the line and disrupting their routine.
Out at sea men began to plan how to spend time in those rooms over the saloon and meet the new girl face to face.
A volatile situation was developing and as Violet's uncle entered the seaport looking for his niece, chaos was the likely outcome of his confrontation with the men of the whaling crews waiting to visit his niece in the rooms over the saloon.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Word spread quickly that an insatiable young woman was now working in the second floor rooms over the old saloon. Violet was driven by ancient urgings and she became very busy in her work. Whalers on shore leave spent hours waiting specifically for the young woman and the management of the rooms over the saloon had difficulty in maintaining order. The other girls going about their duties in a normal fashion discussed in earnest killing the new girl for she was speeding up the line and disrupting their routine.
Out at sea men began to plan how to spend time in those rooms over the saloon and meet the new girl face to face.
A volatile situation was developing and as Violet's uncle entered the seaport looking for his niece, chaos was the likely outcome of his confrontation with the men of the whaling crews waiting to visit his niece in the rooms over the saloon.
toiling alone for the god's glory
toiling alone for the god's glory
fiction
edward w pritchard
Toiling alone for God's glory a lone Indian worked in front of the ancient vacant cliff dwelling piecing together rocks to form symbols known only to the tribe that he was now the last living member of. The work was hard and very hot and since there was no water he often drank the bitter juice of the dessert cactus to maintain his strength. He needed his strength because the task at hand was monumental and he wanted to finish the project and message to God before he collapsed from exhaustion at his toil.
Spanish conquistadors came on the old withered man and were set to kill him when they found he had no gold or accumulated wealth. It happened by chance that one of the Spanish soldiers was in addition to be an adventurer and searcher of fortune; also had been a man of God in his youth. That soldier stopped his fellow conquistadors from killing the toiling Indian, who the soldier saw was a holy man working alone for God's glory.
Although they couldn't read the symbols of the tribe, for a few days before they left in the search for gold and wealth, the members of the small Spanish party helped the old Indian finish his secret message to God. When the project was finished the Conquistadors held a small funeral ceremony for the old Indian who died as soon as his labors in competing the message was finished.
Later when the Spanish party returned to Spain, the soldier who had intervened to save the Indian was curious to what the message had said and sometimes speculated in his old age on what would be so important to say that the tired Indian back near the cliff dwellings would toil and sweat alone in a race to finish the message before his death.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Toiling alone for God's glory a lone Indian worked in front of the ancient vacant cliff dwelling piecing together rocks to form symbols known only to the tribe that he was now the last living member of. The work was hard and very hot and since there was no water he often drank the bitter juice of the dessert cactus to maintain his strength. He needed his strength because the task at hand was monumental and he wanted to finish the project and message to God before he collapsed from exhaustion at his toil.
Spanish conquistadors came on the old withered man and were set to kill him when they found he had no gold or accumulated wealth. It happened by chance that one of the Spanish soldiers was in addition to be an adventurer and searcher of fortune; also had been a man of God in his youth. That soldier stopped his fellow conquistadors from killing the toiling Indian, who the soldier saw was a holy man working alone for God's glory.
Although they couldn't read the symbols of the tribe, for a few days before they left in the search for gold and wealth, the members of the small Spanish party helped the old Indian finish his secret message to God. When the project was finished the Conquistadors held a small funeral ceremony for the old Indian who died as soon as his labors in competing the message was finished.
Later when the Spanish party returned to Spain, the soldier who had intervened to save the Indian was curious to what the message had said and sometimes speculated in his old age on what would be so important to say that the tired Indian back near the cliff dwellings would toil and sweat alone in a race to finish the message before his death.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
A breed apart
A breed apart
fiction
edward w pritchard
Arto was one of a very few of that rare breed of Black American cowboys back in the old West. He lived up in the Dakota's near ole Deadwood and rode and roped and slowly chased and followed herds of cows like the other cowboys. He usually was short of money like the other cowboys and sometimes like the other cowboys got real mad. Using the ole cowboy quick draw, Arto might after drinking a bit too much; put a bullet hole through a gent who had insulted him or said something against his home State of Kentucky.
Two things that Arto, the Black American cowboy didn't follow convention on was how he treated the Indians and how he treated that special girl in his life that he had left behind way back there in Kentucky.
Once in a while Arto was discriminated against a little because he was a black American cowboy. If he went far South when riding and riding he might have to high tail it North suddenly for a variety of complicated reasons back in the 1870's. Because of that discrimination he had trouble being just plain ornery with the American Indians. He admired their way of life and sometimes Arto just wanted to drift off into one of their villages before it was all gone for them, and hunt and fish and ride horses and have a daughter or two and a kind wife and sit around the fire at night and watch the stars. Sadly, as he watched how other cowboys and soldiers treated the tribes people he was glad he wasn't one of them.
Arto's other cowboy convention that he had trouble following was he kept forgetting the name of the beautiful, faithful, little woman he had left behind as he had rode off into the Western sunset back in Kentucky, headed for the wide Dakota range. Once when with a lady of the evening in Deadwood, when he was feeling melancholy, waking up on a Sunday morning after a night of revelry, Arto told that fine lady about his problem of often forgetting the girl he left back in Kentucky's name. That Deadwood lady, who was experienced in these type of matters, suggested he carry a picture of his love with her name and look at it once in a while, when riding and riding the ranges alone. Arto took that advice to heart and vowed if he ever gets back to Kentucky he plans on seeing his lost love and getting a good picture of her and having her sign her name and a nice sentiment on the back of the picture.
Arto the Black American cowboy rode the ranges of the old West just like the other cowboys until one Sunday morning he got down off his horse, feeling peculiar that day, and stopped in a town and got a job and then did the same thing over and over; and thereafter disappeared from the historical record.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Arto was one of a very few of that rare breed of Black American cowboys back in the old West. He lived up in the Dakota's near ole Deadwood and rode and roped and slowly chased and followed herds of cows like the other cowboys. He usually was short of money like the other cowboys and sometimes like the other cowboys got real mad. Using the ole cowboy quick draw, Arto might after drinking a bit too much; put a bullet hole through a gent who had insulted him or said something against his home State of Kentucky.
Two things that Arto, the Black American cowboy didn't follow convention on was how he treated the Indians and how he treated that special girl in his life that he had left behind way back there in Kentucky.
Once in a while Arto was discriminated against a little because he was a black American cowboy. If he went far South when riding and riding he might have to high tail it North suddenly for a variety of complicated reasons back in the 1870's. Because of that discrimination he had trouble being just plain ornery with the American Indians. He admired their way of life and sometimes Arto just wanted to drift off into one of their villages before it was all gone for them, and hunt and fish and ride horses and have a daughter or two and a kind wife and sit around the fire at night and watch the stars. Sadly, as he watched how other cowboys and soldiers treated the tribes people he was glad he wasn't one of them.
Arto's other cowboy convention that he had trouble following was he kept forgetting the name of the beautiful, faithful, little woman he had left behind as he had rode off into the Western sunset back in Kentucky, headed for the wide Dakota range. Once when with a lady of the evening in Deadwood, when he was feeling melancholy, waking up on a Sunday morning after a night of revelry, Arto told that fine lady about his problem of often forgetting the girl he left back in Kentucky's name. That Deadwood lady, who was experienced in these type of matters, suggested he carry a picture of his love with her name and look at it once in a while, when riding and riding the ranges alone. Arto took that advice to heart and vowed if he ever gets back to Kentucky he plans on seeing his lost love and getting a good picture of her and having her sign her name and a nice sentiment on the back of the picture.
Arto the Black American cowboy rode the ranges of the old West just like the other cowboys until one Sunday morning he got down off his horse, feeling peculiar that day, and stopped in a town and got a job and then did the same thing over and over; and thereafter disappeared from the historical record.
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