the current version of myself/ update 2
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Freed from the marble that has constrained my spirit the current version of myself meanders down the path toward reunification with my best self.
At peace one thousand connections dissolve.
Eyes sky ward I am reborn, motionless I am becalmed.
With empty hands I reap my bounty, with steady heart day and night slips into tomorrows.
Free from pretense, without imposture.
My voice does not echo, my eyes do not shine, my heart does not speak.
Listen, hear the silence of bliss
Friday, February 27, 2015
our habits are independent of our moods
our habits are independent of our moods
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Our habits are independent of our moods. By this author means that we might wake in an aggressive mood, or mad at the world mood or timid and fearful. Reason for our mood is unknown to us. As we interact with those around us such negative moods may cause others distress and pain and lessen our effectiveness in the World.
Let your good habits rehearsed over time in low stress situations carry you from day to day. Be kind to children, respectful and helpful with women and optimistic towards life. If your moods trip you up get some exercise, more sleep and eat healthier. Read something inspirational and count your blessings.
You are blessed to be alive, your situation could be so much worse.
Here's what I wrote before, about someone "waking up" with a particular mood; the girl on dock represents good mood, the war in Verdun France represents bad mood. Control your moods by having positive habits when possible. Help others in need always to the best of your ability and resources and as appropriate.
Don't paint the World Black, turn towards the blinding bright light of happiness. Drenched in contentment find your bliss.
wake up, wake up
fiction
edward w pritchard
Oh no, don't let it be the trenches again. God please, oh please, don't let me wake up in the trenches again there in Verdun France. Not 1914, anywhere or any time but July of 1914. I don't want to be in the trenches in World War One in 1914 fighting with the French Army against the Germans.
Let me wake up at the beach at the small Lake. When I was sixteen. laying next to a pretty girl on a dock in a pink bathing suit. Laying on the hot wet boards and watching the girl.
I can hear the shells and the bullets. Someone is yelling in French.
Don't open your eyes. Anywhere but Verdun France.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Our habits are independent of our moods. By this author means that we might wake in an aggressive mood, or mad at the world mood or timid and fearful. Reason for our mood is unknown to us. As we interact with those around us such negative moods may cause others distress and pain and lessen our effectiveness in the World.
Let your good habits rehearsed over time in low stress situations carry you from day to day. Be kind to children, respectful and helpful with women and optimistic towards life. If your moods trip you up get some exercise, more sleep and eat healthier. Read something inspirational and count your blessings.
You are blessed to be alive, your situation could be so much worse.
Here's what I wrote before, about someone "waking up" with a particular mood; the girl on dock represents good mood, the war in Verdun France represents bad mood. Control your moods by having positive habits when possible. Help others in need always to the best of your ability and resources and as appropriate.
Don't paint the World Black, turn towards the blinding bright light of happiness. Drenched in contentment find your bliss.
wake up, wake up
fiction
edward w pritchard
Oh no, don't let it be the trenches again. God please, oh please, don't let me wake up in the trenches again there in Verdun France. Not 1914, anywhere or any time but July of 1914. I don't want to be in the trenches in World War One in 1914 fighting with the French Army against the Germans.
Let me wake up at the beach at the small Lake. When I was sixteen. laying next to a pretty girl on a dock in a pink bathing suit. Laying on the hot wet boards and watching the girl.
I can hear the shells and the bullets. Someone is yelling in French.
Don't open your eyes. Anywhere but Verdun France.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Hint; the House is not the ballast
Hint; the House is not the Ballast
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Hint; the House is not the Ballast.
So long as the Lady of the house hums about the kitchen as she works and cleans the house is a Home. Though the doors be a-square and the windows cracked and leaking cold air all is well with the family and the House is a Home.
Don't worry too much over the interest rates or the points to purchase the first House when the family is ready to begin; let the woman find the House, let the woman begin the nest.
Let the House be a fortress to him, let the house value over inflate in his mind, let the house provide the sanctuary, let the house provide the motivation to endure, let the house be the Ballast against the sorrows of fortune.
Hint; the House is not the Ballast let the Woman feather the Nest.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Hint; the House is not the Ballast.
So long as the Lady of the house hums about the kitchen as she works and cleans the house is a Home. Though the doors be a-square and the windows cracked and leaking cold air all is well with the family and the House is a Home.
Don't worry too much over the interest rates or the points to purchase the first House when the family is ready to begin; let the woman find the House, let the woman begin the nest.
Let the House be a fortress to him, let the house value over inflate in his mind, let the house provide the sanctuary, let the house provide the motivation to endure, let the house be the Ballast against the sorrows of fortune.
Hint; the House is not the Ballast let the Woman feather the Nest.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
trouble in North Korea
trouble in North Korea
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
The last part of myself I refused to reveal to my inquisitor. He knew there was one thing left I wouldn't reveal about America. Under torture, mostly lack of sleep and guk food.
His name was Salt and he knew everything about America. He knew about the boardwalk in Atlantic city, and laying on the beach at Nesbitt Lake in my hometown in Ohio with a girl in summer and taking her tee shirt off in the water at night. He told me she won't remember me now that I am a prisoner and she wouldn't care anyway. Ten years ago back in America is forever ago.
I am very special though. When we crossed the demilitarized zone I am the one who stood up and hit a baseball at the North Koreans. They have the pictures, they were in the American papers. Whatever my captors do to me I will die famous back Home. They hate that. They shave my head. They make fun of my tattoo.
I get in Salt's head too. It drives him crazy when I don't know anything about Korean history or culture. I'll go on for hours under deprivation torture about how beautiful Chinese Art and sculpture is and how I like the Japanese giant Wave painting or Mount Fuji prints but I really don't know anything about Korea North or South and he losses his professionalism and sometimes slaps me in the face over my ignorance and that keeps me going.
There's on thing about America I know that is just my secret. If I die it dies with me and I will have won even though my buddies in my unit can't rescue me and I'll never get Home. One thing, that's why I go on. A secret only I know; I won't tell the North Koreans and won't reveal to the world even under torture.
I always smile at Salt now when we start our sessions. He knows that smile guards my one thing. He is so determined. They watch Salt too as he works and I can tell they are getting upset with him. Maybe he is over budget and they will fire him. I laugh out loud, Salt is starting to hate me I can see it in his eyes.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
The last part of myself I refused to reveal to my inquisitor. He knew there was one thing left I wouldn't reveal about America. Under torture, mostly lack of sleep and guk food.
His name was Salt and he knew everything about America. He knew about the boardwalk in Atlantic city, and laying on the beach at Nesbitt Lake in my hometown in Ohio with a girl in summer and taking her tee shirt off in the water at night. He told me she won't remember me now that I am a prisoner and she wouldn't care anyway. Ten years ago back in America is forever ago.
I am very special though. When we crossed the demilitarized zone I am the one who stood up and hit a baseball at the North Koreans. They have the pictures, they were in the American papers. Whatever my captors do to me I will die famous back Home. They hate that. They shave my head. They make fun of my tattoo.
I get in Salt's head too. It drives him crazy when I don't know anything about Korean history or culture. I'll go on for hours under deprivation torture about how beautiful Chinese Art and sculpture is and how I like the Japanese giant Wave painting or Mount Fuji prints but I really don't know anything about Korea North or South and he losses his professionalism and sometimes slaps me in the face over my ignorance and that keeps me going.
There's on thing about America I know that is just my secret. If I die it dies with me and I will have won even though my buddies in my unit can't rescue me and I'll never get Home. One thing, that's why I go on. A secret only I know; I won't tell the North Koreans and won't reveal to the world even under torture.
I always smile at Salt now when we start our sessions. He knows that smile guards my one thing. He is so determined. They watch Salt too as he works and I can tell they are getting upset with him. Maybe he is over budget and they will fire him. I laugh out loud, Salt is starting to hate me I can see it in his eyes.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
can't find my classroom
can't find my classroom
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Can't find my classroom and as I ask the busy secretary at the counter where I was teaching she instructed me formally to go into the Principal's conference room.
It's always a Black man at Principal, a heavy woman with stacks of folders and a pretty young teacher from the teachers unions at these meetings. I was getting fired again.
The Principal talked too long and was confusing to follow so I remembered to ask the young Lady from the union for the summation page which the stern heavy woman said for the record I had been given a copy of fourteen days ago, hand delivered and signed for. The first citation on the list said I was late for class often not knowing where my room was causing havoc and commotion in the south hallway.
After, I asked the secretary for help with the bus schedule to find a ride back to Little Towers apartment homes. The secretary gave me an umbrella to use because it was raining outside. I was glad to see the office wasn't so busy since it was between classes and the secretaries could take a breather for a moment or two.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Can't find my classroom and as I ask the busy secretary at the counter where I was teaching she instructed me formally to go into the Principal's conference room.
It's always a Black man at Principal, a heavy woman with stacks of folders and a pretty young teacher from the teachers unions at these meetings. I was getting fired again.
The Principal talked too long and was confusing to follow so I remembered to ask the young Lady from the union for the summation page which the stern heavy woman said for the record I had been given a copy of fourteen days ago, hand delivered and signed for. The first citation on the list said I was late for class often not knowing where my room was causing havoc and commotion in the south hallway.
After, I asked the secretary for help with the bus schedule to find a ride back to Little Towers apartment homes. The secretary gave me an umbrella to use because it was raining outside. I was glad to see the office wasn't so busy since it was between classes and the secretaries could take a breather for a moment or two.
Friday, February 20, 2015
Lebron James and my trip to Manhattan
Lebron James and my trip to Manhattan
a certain whistling/ draft one in progress
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Time produces a certain whistling when blown across unique personalities. There is a tune produced but no one can hear it. One plucked string across a unique personage makes a certain doinking every few centuries. Together over eons a melody occurs.
I distinctly heard the whistling sound of a plucked harp. The note hung in the air for a moment and was gone absorbed in an instant into the din of Madison square garden ..
A little later after the game as I fought the crowds in front of the Pennsylvania station I looked out at one of the tall Black touts blocking the path towards my Hotel across the street and it was Lebron James himself. Lebron and a few other large Men were hawking site seeing tours and taxi rides about Manhattan. I distinctly heard the plucked string of a harp again and Lebron picked me out of the large commotion of humanity and gave me a surprised nod as he continued about his work.
Lebron must have showered and changed in a hurry to get from the fifth floor of the Madison square garden to street level ahead of me because I stayed till the end of the game and as I exited my seat I noticed old Lebron heading down the tunnel with the other players. ...
in progress
a certain whistling/ draft one in progress
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Time produces a certain whistling when blown across unique personalities. There is a tune produced but no one can hear it. One plucked string across a unique personage makes a certain doinking every few centuries. Together over eons a melody occurs.
I distinctly heard the whistling sound of a plucked harp. The note hung in the air for a moment and was gone absorbed in an instant into the din of Madison square garden ..
A little later after the game as I fought the crowds in front of the Pennsylvania station I looked out at one of the tall Black touts blocking the path towards my Hotel across the street and it was Lebron James himself. Lebron and a few other large Men were hawking site seeing tours and taxi rides about Manhattan. I distinctly heard the plucked string of a harp again and Lebron picked me out of the large commotion of humanity and gave me a surprised nod as he continued about his work.
Lebron must have showered and changed in a hurry to get from the fifth floor of the Madison square garden to street level ahead of me because I stayed till the end of the game and as I exited my seat I noticed old Lebron heading down the tunnel with the other players. ...
in progress
Thursday, February 19, 2015
one doesn't hear much about Harlem anymore; one being out here in Ohio
one doesn't hear much about Harlem anymore; one being out here in Ohio
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
One doesn't hear much about Harlem anymore if one is out here in Ohio. Separated by space and time from Harlem one doesn't hear the news about what's happening there.
Do they still think STEM schools, science, technology, math etc. are the Future for the Youth of America? Is Poverty still insidious up that way? Are there still relationships between unemployment and basic dignity in families? Do Black celebrities check in there from time to time?
Author is heading out to Manhattan by third class train tonight in the fifteen degree sub zero weather to see the art museums. Author would like to visit the Cloister's museum near Harlem again if a Manhattan taxi will take me there at a reasonable price so I can maybe catch up on the News from Harlem, New York, February 2015.
One from here in Ohio can learn a lot about America from visiting Harlem.
Here's what I wrote before about someone like myself going to Harlem a good many years back;
A union Plumber comes to Harlem
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
It's not raining and he's carrying an umbrella and it's not cold and he's wearing a gray silk scarf. It's not the 1940's and he's talking about count Basie and it's not Saturday night and he wants to hear swing music. A union plumber comes to Harlem.
Grandma wanted a white man to fix the problem with the pipes.
It's the same each time. Southern cooking is the best they ate it as a boy. Langston Hughes is a significant writer and Duke Ellington is a consummate artist.
Southern cooking killed Grandpa of heart attack and we just want to get our pipes fixed at a reasonable cost.
It's not raining and he's carrying an umbrella and it's not cold and he's wearing a gray silk scarf. A union plumber comes to Harlem.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
One doesn't hear much about Harlem anymore if one is out here in Ohio. Separated by space and time from Harlem one doesn't hear the news about what's happening there.
Do they still think STEM schools, science, technology, math etc. are the Future for the Youth of America? Is Poverty still insidious up that way? Are there still relationships between unemployment and basic dignity in families? Do Black celebrities check in there from time to time?
Author is heading out to Manhattan by third class train tonight in the fifteen degree sub zero weather to see the art museums. Author would like to visit the Cloister's museum near Harlem again if a Manhattan taxi will take me there at a reasonable price so I can maybe catch up on the News from Harlem, New York, February 2015.
One from here in Ohio can learn a lot about America from visiting Harlem.
Here's what I wrote before about someone like myself going to Harlem a good many years back;
A union Plumber comes to Harlem
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
It's not raining and he's carrying an umbrella and it's not cold and he's wearing a gray silk scarf. It's not the 1940's and he's talking about count Basie and it's not Saturday night and he wants to hear swing music. A union plumber comes to Harlem.
Grandma wanted a white man to fix the problem with the pipes.
It's the same each time. Southern cooking is the best they ate it as a boy. Langston Hughes is a significant writer and Duke Ellington is a consummate artist.
Southern cooking killed Grandpa of heart attack and we just want to get our pipes fixed at a reasonable cost.
It's not raining and he's carrying an umbrella and it's not cold and he's wearing a gray silk scarf. A union plumber comes to Harlem.
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