Well, kids - I am working on a story called New Bedlam. It'll be a short piece -- no longer than 3 pages -- on a boy's plight in a mental institution, and love lost to suicide. I want opinions on waht I have written so far. It's needlessly abstract and makes little sense, but taht is what i am going for---it's your job to find the meaning in it for yourselves! No opinion is invalid! But I digress. Read along:
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New Bedlam, Chapter One Excerpt
The sun broke against the moon’s hew, and with it the breaking day. Much as the crow flies in the winter. Its majesty unhindered by common place eventides and complex bewitchment; against the grain, and with common foe. The rabbits were the exodus of the forest. And now everything weighs on Egan; the choreographed dance of the summer ray on his chest, the reaping stone. It all seemed as if the serpentine waltz would continue forever, where the snake offers the pomegranate and relishes in its spoils. The spoils of a war lost in the annals of a crazed man’s meanderings through the garden of grief.
Egan sat in the sun, absorbing its corrugated, wretched remembrance; where he was recumbent in the budding afternoon. It was the season of life, and he felt ever more enraptured by the beating beams of brilliance on vying verily for his vantage, veering for his visage; the candor of it all, grim with the sun’s austere entrancement.
He pondered the myriad creatures lying in wait, wanting the blood of stalks. They plying for the sky, but would soon be shot down by the ravenous beast of the yester-trees. And thusly, they shall die, but live anything day had their seed progress from it’s roost to the precipice of the soil, the rounding luminescence of the iridescent ruminations of the ground parched by gamma rays.
And again, it sounded high, bring me forth, oh master of the leaves green. Where again our sun would breathe life into the caustic interstitial mass that was the canopy of foliage and the grand designs of whatever god governed them. Away in the passed dusk, the past of reminiscence And again in the dawning of a grandiose epiphany, Egan thought again of the fox chasing the rabbits, and it’s feet chasing he ground. [more to come]
Bad Mojo
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