CSI unit, please investigate the Kent State University Shootings/ draft 1 /part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
April 30th 1970 Thursday 8PM[?]. President Nixon announces that the US government will not contract the Vietnam War as promised but in fact it is being expanded into Cambodia.
May 1st, 1970 Friday night 10PM. This writer and his friend drive the old blue convertible to Richfield, Ohio to pick up friend's father a truck driver driving into the company terminal during the teamsters strike. We were stopped not too politely at the gates of the trucking company by the Ohio National guard who were on duty controlling civil order at the teamsters strike. Both teenage boys respectfully and diffidently speak with the Guards lieutenant. It was our first confrontation with military authority and we were able to successfully complete our mission of picking up his Father without further incident.
May4 this writer hears of the shootings at Kent State and wonders what roll that Lieutenant played in the violence. He didn't seem like he could shoot unarmed young people.
Later that week in May 1970 This writer, then High School newspaper editor writes an editorial in school paper siding with students.
May 2013 this writer revisits the Kent State shootings intellectually as he often does in May of each year from time to time and finds some of his opinions may have changed but still is horror struck by unarmed students being shot in America.
end part 2
See story to be written soon: Allsion Krause, a Case of Arrested Development [ Allison, a KSU student, was a 19 year old shooting victim]
posted previously
when soldiers come
fiction
edward w pritchard
sky so low
spirits so high
then soldiers come
men bleed, women cry
children hide
soldiers stay
men cry, women bleed
children stare
soldiers here
sky high, wind fierce, spirits low
Monday, May 20, 2013
CSI unit; please investigate the kent state shootings/ draft 1/ part 1
CSI unit; please investigate the kent state shootings/ draft 1/ part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
We need the TV show CSI to investigate the crime scene of the May 4th 1970 Kent State Shootings. Four students were killed by the Ohio National guard and at that time in 1970 crime scene techniques were very primitive. M-1 rifle bullets flew for thirteen seconds at a crowded University Campus and there wasn't even an accurate inventory of which rifles were fired and some other basic CSI procedures.
Mostly though we need the CSI TV show format to address the issues between the students, the University, American Society at war with itself, and the Ohio National guard and summarize them for us, the general audience's understanding, and then reach basic philosophical conclusions for us to be able to put the disturbing incidence to rest.
The Kent State Shootings still bother me after all these years.
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
We need the TV show CSI to investigate the crime scene of the May 4th 1970 Kent State Shootings. Four students were killed by the Ohio National guard and at that time in 1970 crime scene techniques were very primitive. M-1 rifle bullets flew for thirteen seconds at a crowded University Campus and there wasn't even an accurate inventory of which rifles were fired and some other basic CSI procedures.
Mostly though we need the CSI TV show format to address the issues between the students, the University, American Society at war with itself, and the Ohio National guard and summarize them for us, the general audience's understanding, and then reach basic philosophical conclusions for us to be able to put the disturbing incidence to rest.
The Kent State Shootings still bother me after all these years.
end part 1
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
me no like planning and goal setting; van gogh's wheatfield with crows
me no like planning and goal setting. /repost
fiction
edward w pritchard
see van gogh
wheat field with crows
After Rachel and I got engaged her Father and other of her family members had several conversations with me about the lack of planning and goal setting in my daily life. When Rachel who I care a lot about asked me why I didn't like to plan, I told her the story about the crows from my childhood. Because of the crows I don't use planning and goal setting methods.
When I was eight years old, my Mother went to Chicago with my Father on family business. During their absence I was to stay with the Burton family next door. Mr. Burton had raised three boys now grown and he and his wife ran a small farm and orchard well known locally for the apples. My Mother had grown up in the house we lived in and knew the Burton's well and trusted them. It was decided I would stay with the Burton's while my parents were in Chicago.
We were eating breakfast when I told Mr. Burton I had never shot a rifle. Mr. Burton was shocked; how could my Dad not have taught me to hunt or shoot? While I was at school, Mr. Burton made preparations to teach me the technique of shooting by designing a small shooting gallery in the backyard near the fence leading to the orchard.
Mr. Burton met me as I got off the bus from school that Tuesday night and handed me a slim twenty two rifle. I was lead back to the fence by the orchard where Mr. Burton had tied four live crows to the top of the wood fence post using red twine and green wire to strongly secure the bird's feet to the fence rail. As we walked up I could hear the terrible squawking the birds made.
Thereafter, each day after school Mr. Burton would set a goal of what percent of the crows I would have to kill on the first shot. Eventually, I was supposed to hit all of the seven crows he had secured to the fence first shot. It wasn't the shooting of the secured birds that is so bad a memory for me; it was cutting the dead crows off the fence with wire cutters that I still remember about the experience. Sometimes the birds would fly about during the confusion of the shooting and the green wire on their legs would get so tangled that I would have to snip the bird's legs rather than the wire to get the dead or injured crows off Mr. Burton's fence rail. Each night for a couple of weeks after I shot and then cut down the birds; my job would be to spray down the fence rail with the blue hose while Mr. Burton and I planned how to improve tomorrows performance. We would talk about it some more at supper and my goal of tomorrows percentage of first shot kills would be written on a yellow tablet near the telephone.
Looking back on that experience is why me no like planning and goal setting I told my finance Rachel.
fiction
edward w pritchard
see van gogh
wheat field with crows
After Rachel and I got engaged her Father and other of her family members had several conversations with me about the lack of planning and goal setting in my daily life. When Rachel who I care a lot about asked me why I didn't like to plan, I told her the story about the crows from my childhood. Because of the crows I don't use planning and goal setting methods.
When I was eight years old, my Mother went to Chicago with my Father on family business. During their absence I was to stay with the Burton family next door. Mr. Burton had raised three boys now grown and he and his wife ran a small farm and orchard well known locally for the apples. My Mother had grown up in the house we lived in and knew the Burton's well and trusted them. It was decided I would stay with the Burton's while my parents were in Chicago.
We were eating breakfast when I told Mr. Burton I had never shot a rifle. Mr. Burton was shocked; how could my Dad not have taught me to hunt or shoot? While I was at school, Mr. Burton made preparations to teach me the technique of shooting by designing a small shooting gallery in the backyard near the fence leading to the orchard.
Mr. Burton met me as I got off the bus from school that Tuesday night and handed me a slim twenty two rifle. I was lead back to the fence by the orchard where Mr. Burton had tied four live crows to the top of the wood fence post using red twine and green wire to strongly secure the bird's feet to the fence rail. As we walked up I could hear the terrible squawking the birds made.
Thereafter, each day after school Mr. Burton would set a goal of what percent of the crows I would have to kill on the first shot. Eventually, I was supposed to hit all of the seven crows he had secured to the fence first shot. It wasn't the shooting of the secured birds that is so bad a memory for me; it was cutting the dead crows off the fence with wire cutters that I still remember about the experience. Sometimes the birds would fly about during the confusion of the shooting and the green wire on their legs would get so tangled that I would have to snip the bird's legs rather than the wire to get the dead or injured crows off Mr. Burton's fence rail. Each night for a couple of weeks after I shot and then cut down the birds; my job would be to spray down the fence rail with the blue hose while Mr. Burton and I planned how to improve tomorrows performance. We would talk about it some more at supper and my goal of tomorrows percentage of first shot kills would be written on a yellow tablet near the telephone.
Looking back on that experience is why me no like planning and goal setting I told my finance Rachel.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
space lamentation number 4c/draft 1
space lamentation number 4c/draft 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
Silent be my wagon bumping along rutted pioneerless trails
Becalmed am I, aship windless seas far from the cape of good hope
Friendless in perpetual night, blinded am I in astarless darkness
Loneliness accelerates alone, daily salt brings sudden death
Sadness times sorrow, the moon is my pillow, space dust my final resting place
Softly silent melancholy melody drifting from earth; recollection rekindles rebirth
Spheres in motion produce trade winds and I begin to drift homeward.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Silent be my wagon bumping along rutted pioneerless trails
Becalmed am I, aship windless seas far from the cape of good hope
Friendless in perpetual night, blinded am I in astarless darkness
Loneliness accelerates alone, daily salt brings sudden death
Sadness times sorrow, the moon is my pillow, space dust my final resting place
Softly silent melancholy melody drifting from earth; recollection rekindles rebirth
Spheres in motion produce trade winds and I begin to drift homeward.
Friday, April 19, 2013
thoughts on death and divorce; lovers on the stream of time, the soul and the body
thoughts on death and divorce; lovers on the stream of time, the soul and the body
fiction
edward w pritchard
footnotes and source credits later
Traveling as lovers propelled on the stream of time I know what will happen years later, how things will end; when you warn me you will leave after a reasonable period of time.
Now I cling to you too tightly knowing one day you will unravel; I retreat into magical thoughts concerning our time together as I rehearse our break-up our eternal time apart.
Longing for the right to stay in your presence I become flighty and awkward; fears grow in me until I am not me and you are not you.
You are the body and I am the soul. I long to ask you how much longer do we have together? This can't happen we apart. I refuse to accept it.
You who would lovers be on the stream of time accept that the soul and the body will part. So revert to magical thinking to relive and retain the security of union. The sacred continuation as life.
Rationalize that there is order in the chaos of the split of the body and the soul. Re- remember when the body gave you overly elaborate directions to find it. How alone together separated from the world you two secretly huddled under your cloak. Time stood still then. For now re-live the utopia of your edited past.
or
Be Realistic about the coming separation of the body and the soul. Decay and destruction are necessary, part of nature. Fall back on existence as a cycle, you will meet over and over in time united in eternal recurrence.
or
Things could continue in a steady state, we live on biologically through our offspring and the continuation of the species.
or
Maybe there are many universes with many variant times and outcomes, in forked time you will exist again in many versions and variations.
or
Escape, the soul is alone but I am only sleeping for a long long time.
Who would lovers be accept the separation and alienation of the body and the soul. You were foreordained to drift eternally apart and alone on the stream of time.
end
to time with tongue in cheek
heading "your divorce recovery document 3"
fiction
edward w pritchard
footnotes and source credits later
Traveling as lovers propelled on the stream of time I know what will happen years later, how things will end; when you warn me you will leave after a reasonable period of time.
Now I cling to you too tightly knowing one day you will unravel; I retreat into magical thoughts concerning our time together as I rehearse our break-up our eternal time apart.
Longing for the right to stay in your presence I become flighty and awkward; fears grow in me until I am not me and you are not you.
You are the body and I am the soul. I long to ask you how much longer do we have together? This can't happen we apart. I refuse to accept it.
You who would lovers be on the stream of time accept that the soul and the body will part. So revert to magical thinking to relive and retain the security of union. The sacred continuation as life.
Rationalize that there is order in the chaos of the split of the body and the soul. Re- remember when the body gave you overly elaborate directions to find it. How alone together separated from the world you two secretly huddled under your cloak. Time stood still then. For now re-live the utopia of your edited past.
or
Be Realistic about the coming separation of the body and the soul. Decay and destruction are necessary, part of nature. Fall back on existence as a cycle, you will meet over and over in time united in eternal recurrence.
or
Things could continue in a steady state, we live on biologically through our offspring and the continuation of the species.
or
Maybe there are many universes with many variant times and outcomes, in forked time you will exist again in many versions and variations.
or
Escape, the soul is alone but I am only sleeping for a long long time.
Who would lovers be accept the separation and alienation of the body and the soul. You were foreordained to drift eternally apart and alone on the stream of time.
end
to time with tongue in cheek
heading "your divorce recovery document 3"
St Francis, the persistence of memory/ draft 1
St Francis, the persistence of memory/draft 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
see " let me die on a rainy day"
The girl sleeps peacefully under the ashen white comforter of her grandmother's third story attic as I pull on my boxer shorts.
Voyeuristically as I walk around the bedroom I read the girl's self improvements instructions to herself neatly lining the walls like a first grade classroom. Each is lettered neatly in green and has a stick figure of herself drawn in thick purple crayon, some with herself smiling and some with herself looking quizzical or just a bit pensive.
" to get there dress like you have already arrived", and "fake it until you make it" and " Persistence ...
It's too intimate so I go to the window and watch and preach to the birds as they swoop down from the evergreen tree toward the purple surface of the Portage Lakes.
She said she had saved enough money to go to California and when she got there she would be an industrial fabricating design artist.
The sensations are long gone and I forgot the first name but the screeching swooping birds, the majestic green evergreen tree, dark purple lake water, and her purple jeans neatly folded on the chair seem very real despite the passage of many years.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
see " let me die on a rainy day"
The girl sleeps peacefully under the ashen white comforter of her grandmother's third story attic as I pull on my boxer shorts.
Voyeuristically as I walk around the bedroom I read the girl's self improvements instructions to herself neatly lining the walls like a first grade classroom. Each is lettered neatly in green and has a stick figure of herself drawn in thick purple crayon, some with herself smiling and some with herself looking quizzical or just a bit pensive.
" to get there dress like you have already arrived", and "fake it until you make it" and " Persistence ...
It's too intimate so I go to the window and watch and preach to the birds as they swoop down from the evergreen tree toward the purple surface of the Portage Lakes.
She said she had saved enough money to go to California and when she got there she would be an industrial fabricating design artist.
The sensations are long gone and I forgot the first name but the screeching swooping birds, the majestic green evergreen tree, dark purple lake water, and her purple jeans neatly folded on the chair seem very real despite the passage of many years.
end
Friday, April 12, 2013
progress, american indians and billy the kid
progress, american indians and billy the kid
fiction
edward w pritchard
Author responds to the long dead legendary outlaw billy the kid's comments in the previous blog about one of the stories the author wrote previously
author
i have wanted to write something about the native Americans and the invincibility shirts that were supposed to protect them from the Americans bullets at wounded knee and other places
billy the kid
i never know what the stories you write mean but it would be great if somehow, at some times, we could have invincibility from the slings, arrows and bullets of outrageous fortune.
author
the medicine men of today promise that if we have the right health insurance policy, a big house and the proper relationship with our personal banker.
billy
you need to write more
author
i have been thinking
billy
uh huh
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Author responds to the long dead legendary outlaw billy the kid's comments in the previous blog about one of the stories the author wrote previously
author
i have wanted to write something about the native Americans and the invincibility shirts that were supposed to protect them from the Americans bullets at wounded knee and other places
billy the kid
i never know what the stories you write mean but it would be great if somehow, at some times, we could have invincibility from the slings, arrows and bullets of outrageous fortune.
author
the medicine men of today promise that if we have the right health insurance policy, a big house and the proper relationship with our personal banker.
billy
you need to write more
author
i have been thinking
billy
uh huh
end
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