[FRAGMENTS] Worship & the Flesh

[warm_enema]

Good. If you're feeling vengeful or generous, I've got a piece on here for you to play with.

 

[Crystal]

dug this out. haven't finished reading though.

 

[Stewart]

dug this out. haven't finished reading though.

Was there any need to bump it though?

 

[Crystal]

a person as intelligent as you might fathom my somewhat secret intention. yes, I want to bring Mr. Enenma back, because he contributed something to the forum.


anyway. I kinda agreedwith him that your 2nd part, ermm, .....well, aye... was not that good. Yet, I don't want to be intrusive and/or offensive, because it was posted almost a year's ago. So, I am not sure whether the writer still wants to know what i have thought about it.

That's all at the moment.

Goodday.

 

[Stewart]

I kinda agreedwith him that your 2nd part, ermm, .....well, aye... was not that good.

That's cool. Having it brought to my attention after this time makes me realise how bad it is.

I am not sure whether the writer still wants to know what i have thought about it.

Of course I do.

 

[Crystal]

hehe. ok. will offer you a pretty long one. and don't blame me for being harsh.!

not at the moment though. in a rush now. later. see ya.

 

[Crystal]

Notes:

1) I won’t use any smiley.So, please don’t feel being offended. I absolutely have no such intention as to be offensive. (am trying to be mild though.)
2) Read beyond words please. You must have known that I am lack of large vocabulary, plus the fact that many things have already lost in communication/ or in the process of transmitting the thoughts into words. Words are only the face, so try to understand things behind/under that face. And I’d like to apologize any potential misunderstanding due to my way of speaking.
3) I should tell you honestly that I admired a lot how well you and other members on the bookforum (True@, Novella, etc… I cannot list all though) could write. Additionally, it was just my individual opinion. They say that if there are a thousand of people, there will be a thousand version of Hamlet, so you got what I meant, right?

Comments:

1) I found many nice sentences in what you have written here that i liked.

Examples:

His voice carrying weight in the night air. (is it better to change 'in' to 'of')

Made by her mother’s love and her father’s capital

There still were others, another example was the usage of breath, ---forgot where I read it.

2) The images that were presented in the fourth part were the best among all. (details followed.)

As bobbybruns said, it was kind of verbose. And IMO, all the four parts seemed to be discontinued/disconnected, and I was wondering why you put them together. If it was meant to be threaded together by the theme of love, it needed more work on that, in my opinion. (for example, about the 2nd and 3rd part, was that father the man in 2nd story? Or were those two very separate stories and there was completely no relationship between them? If it was meant to be separate, would you elaborate the love in 3rd and make it more full-fledged. It was kinda lame, if I may say so. Honestly, right now I have seen no necessity of being too critical or dumping since this was only the first draft.)

A side note: I had thought it was the same character (Raymond) in different life phases. His young love in the 2nd, his dying in the 3rd, and his voyage in Heaven in the 4th. Anyway, my mind led me along that line.

Worship and the Flesh​

I​

The Crossroads​

....
One route showed my life from the womb, smothered in maternal efficiency while another showed the first stirrings of fondness for the opposite gender and every stirring thereof. The woe of lost love tracked forward and back, revelatory in one direction; realised in the other, like Janus recounting one year elapsed whilst gazing readily upon a year sprung afresh. I saw destruction, improvement, and a tender longing; passed my eyes over the very declaration of the heart. Every part of this love, and it was a modest slice, was part of me.

The crossroads was a river, purely metaphysical, and it carried me upstream, trapping me in numerous whorls and eddies to once again live moments of love. It carried me downstream to new experiences, gnawing at the banks of the future, and depositing the silt of the present on the banks of the past which, when dragged against the current, I would sift through again until, in this vision of love, I would eventually drown midstream, between the heart and the soul, between the infinite extremities of love, my last breach of the surface giving a more distilled vision of love as I stared at the sky which was love, at the sun which was love, at the moon which was, admittedly, an altogether darker love, and at the stars winking and dying as I found new loves to balance those I’d lost. I saw beyond this love as God Himself looked down on me with His love and with each splutter of breath that rattled from my throat I felt the love permeate my body, its devastating stranglehold squeezing the life out until I, beyond the mortal coil, could stand in the presence of God and gods, and be all love.
...............

One route showed my life from the womb, smothered in maternal efficiency while another showed the first stirrings of fondness for the opposite gender and every stirring thereof.

You were trying to be philosophical, weren’t you? The first sentence was a best try. I liked that. It seemed that the writer detached himself and tried to observe love from outside, viewing love holistically. It conveyed somewhat vaguely what the writer had experienced. (that: there were different kinds of loves and how the writer had been affected/influenced, etc.)

I was not very sure though. yet I got an impression that the writer had some tenderness, romantic sensitiveness that were disguised under those surperfacially philosophic kinda abstract thoughts which might seem to be showy/pretentious. Or was it just my own imagination, elaboration? Anyway. Weird.

You kinda refrained from expressing your feelings in writing, as if you tried to talk in a calm or a bit reserved voice, which was very different from sillywabbit’s style, in which case, he tended to express his feeling out in somewhat a deluge way. (I DID NOT SAY WHICH WAS GOOD THAT KIND OF THING. STYLE, everywriter should find his/her own style or the uniqueness in expressing themselves.)

 

[Crystal]

II​

When Raymond Met Hesentia​

And in their infatuation she may reply with a similar statement.

So they hug again, over and over, happy to be united again.

The girl, Hesentia, has gone against the command of the general, meeting with the common boy. He has noticed the affection growing between the pair when Raymond’s father, accompanied by his son, had been selling his stock in the village. Raymond had taken an interest then with the girl who had, with her friends, been wandering playfully around the village looking at the pitiful wares the traders were attempting to peddle. From nowhere Raymond had come, chatting to the girls, especially the beautiful one, telling them his repertoire of jokes and stories, flashing his accomplished smile. The girls had seen him as entertainment, as a way of having their games and laughs, but the one whom he’d been putting the most effort into making laugh found herself interested in the merchant boy. An interest that was disallowed by the spying father; an interest which flowered to a secret relationship.

So, in their fondness for each other, they would take quiet walks through the forest tracks, holding hands and talking of their latest news, and, more often than not, stopping to seal themselves in love again.

Raymond beds Hesentia in the forest, an experience that neither will forget. Not because it is a fitting milestone to their surreptitious relationship, nor because it is the best sex they’ve had in their young lives, but rather because it is the only sex they’ve had and the greenness of their carnality shows despite attempts to keep their poor abilities secret from each other. Her pain, his enthusiasm, and the sticky climax that remains inside – none of this matters, this is love. Their love.

After their poor experiment with passion they reassemble their clothing to more customary positions and walk hand in hand again along the forest paths, laughing and joking about the sex, keeping the humour tender.

However, unbeknownst to both, their relationship, despite being all hush-hush, hasn’t been the best kept of secrets. Hesentia’s father has known all along about the young couple’s meetings and at times has followed her from the home to the crossroads. This night is to be no exception. He knows that the longer the pair last together the more harder it will be to keep his daughter from rebellion.

Raymond takes Hesentia in his arms at the crossroads at the end of their secret evening. Between giggles and eulogies of love for each other they kiss, hug, and part company arranging to meet in the near future.

Raymond stands at the crossroads watching his dear Hesentia disappear into the dusk, looking back every few seconds to make sure he is still watching, enjoying her attention. Eventually they are out of sight of each other.

Three men step out of the hood of the forest, making clear of their presence with the fervourous crunch of branches underfoot.

“You, boy,” one of the men might shout, his voice carrying weight in the night air. Raymond, in the realisation of fear, takes a step back. Two of the men carry knives, the man with the barking voice stands in the middle unarmed.

Raymond beds Hesentia in the forest, an experience that neither will forget. Not because it is a fitting milestone to their surreptitious relationship, nor because it is the best sex they’ve had in their young lives, but rather because it is the only sex they’ve had and the greenness of their carnality shows despite attempts to keep their poor abilities secret from each other. Her pain, his enthusiasm, and the sticky climax that remains inside – none of this matters, this is love. Their love.

This was a beautiful part. But you seemed to wrap up it too quickly. I was not certain if this was the sort of rule in writing short stories in order to save spaces or what. But to me, I was not content in reading it. Substantiate it with either details or strong feelings.

Yes, I knew this was the only love which might probably leave the deep sigh in their hearts, and which might imprint the marks of eternity in their memories. But, you just told me in 2 or3 sentences, it was too direct! I didn’t want to be told. I wanted to feel it for/by myself as a reader.

The storyline seemed to be one of those cliché (anyway, all of our love can fall in to certain categories that have been the themes of the previous authours, but which still can be made into new cup of tea. The same love can regenerate into life in different faces/forms). However, as a reader, I wanted to find something new in yours (your story).

Why this girl loved only this boy among millions of others. Why this boy only loved this girl among the ocean of other girls. Please don’t tell me in simplicity that “love is miracle. Or it is because the little trick of chemistrical reaction in humanbeings’ funny brain.” It has to be something special. You must have to twist something in it which can lead to a reader’s little content that he/she could conclude (self-conceitedly, maybe) from his/her inference (for instance, oh, because of this or because of that…etc.)

~~~~~~~~~

You, boy,” one of the men might shout, his voice carrying weight in the night air. Raymond, in the realisation of fear, takes a step back. Two of the men carry knives, the man with the barking voice stands in the middle unarmed.

-----Wrapped up it too quickly. Either you can tell me the desperate painful departure between the lovers or tell me there was a cruel death that would happen or even was happening in front of the lover.

ermm, well, maybe there was a third way to tell the story.

 

[Crystal]

...............

 

[Crystal]

Again, I probably might have misunderstood you. So, please forgive me about that. and if it is possible, please tell me. Thanks.

Hope i did not offend you though.

Goodday,

 

[Eugen]

A bit heavy for a short story; would help to understand the intended audience. But parts stood out for me:

The eleventh hour of fever, as strong as I suffered, took my mind to love. ...The woe of lost love tracked forward and back, revelatory in one direction; realised in the other, like Janus recounting one year elapsed whilst gazing readily upon a year sprung afresh...Every part of this love, and it was a modest slice, was part of me...

Little aspirations drum around his head, the thought of living another day...
the marriage of their lips testament to their adoration...

Once majestic palaces...in devastation somewhere between here and infinity, small bustling civilisations - in the shape of little camps - peppered the landscape, smoke rising from their core...

 

[Stewart]

A bit heavy for a short story; would help to understand the intended audience.

To be honest, I was just sitting in work one morning (just over three years ago, when I think about it) and when lunchtime arrived I just opened up MS Word and wrote.

I don't tend to bother about audience, or cater anything to a reader's needs, as the art of filtration eventually works its wonders so that everyone knows what they like and what they don't, what they can accept and what they can't, and what they can cope with and what, likewise, they can't. Thus you get your audience.

At the time I was wanting to do a series of short stories about love - lost, found, unrequited, dark, sex, different -philias, and more. This, as I recall, was part of a fragmented story that I intended to bookend the collection. Needless to say, the constraints of a full time job - and internet addiction - meant that it went unfinished.

I'm trying to find more time to write...every day, if possible, as recommended by they.

But parts stood out for me:

Nice choices.

 

[Eugen]

To be honest, I was just sitting in work one morning (just over three years ago, when I think about it) and when lunchtime arrived I just opened up MS Word and wrote.

I dare say it's quite some piece for one afternoon's streak. Takes me ages and rewrites to get anywhere. Your rewrite with 'new eyes' will be something to look out for. I'm nourishing Lolita like tit bits off a chocolate. That's where I want to be. Finish this baby, Stewart.