• Member Since 14th Apr, 2012
  • offline last seen Saturday

Fiddlebottoms


"Art forms that appeal to modern leftish intellectuals tend to focus on sordidness, defeat and despair, or else they take an orgiastic tone, throwing off rational control ..."

T

Sweetie Belle abandons Ponyville in search of the source of strangeness threatening to overwhelm her. Fortunately, she has a pet bird to keep her company.

Chapters (1)
Comments ( 13 )

feeling a lack of focus with this one. your tense conjugation doesn't seem correct in places, nor does it seem purposefully incorrect, and there's some awkward phrasing in general, misplaced commas, that sort of thing.

i'm also starting to question the narrative voice. is it more befitting to have a perspective tied to the character you're representing, or does it engage thought better to present a mode of thought completely at odds with the character we're being lead to identify with? if Sweetie Belle doesn't think like Sweetie Belle, what does that mean? if she does, but the narrator doesn't tell us that she does, do we assume, or just pick up the pieces of the story we're given and try to build something with it?

at the risk of over-analysis, i feel okay saying i'm not sure there's as directed a mental bullet guiding this one as some of your other stories. we run the risk of identifying the story's presentation with its ethos, and the feeling of pointlessness evokes a certain empathy with the story itself, but just like your last story, i'm not sure this is beneficial to the reader for engagement with what they're being told and shown.

there were some solid metaphors i would have liked to see expanded on. it also feels like most of the interesting bits came towards the latter half and were unresolved. possibly in need of further chapters?

always something to make me think, but sometimes in more cogent ways than others.

:unsuresweetie:

I didn't expect it to make sense.

dear christ what the fuck was that
I do like the mental image of Cheerilee being an acid addict though

Artful, compelling, but still very obscure. Lots of things that are supposed to have significance: Fluttershy's interest in Sweetie, ponies are objects in the world, normally this ritual would be repeated five times each day, you should not expect things, the apple tree, Time for a few small repairs, etc. Not one of these has a clear meaning yet. This feels like the kind of story where the author has some strong feeling just out of reach, and hopes that writing the story will uncover it. I'm bad at interpreting poetry. I don't think the best way to stimulate the mind is to shake it a little and hope something significant falls out. I'm following this, with admiration for the style and hopeful but jaded skepticism about the content. (No pressure. :pinkiehappy: ) Love the lines about the kitchen being a good place for childhood trauma. I remember belts, but I'm pretty sure I'm better off for them.

I say this without reading a word: I'm going to regret reading this, aren't I?

It's rhetorical. I know I will.

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I remember belts, but I'm pretty sure I'm better off for them.

People have a tendency to retroactively determine that negative things in their lives "made them who they are". Even that guy who got his arm trapped out in the middle of nowhere and had to amputate it said it "improved" him.

Of course, I can't talk too much. My father? I felt immense satisfaction after informing him that I have a spanking fetish, the last time he brought up "tanning my hide". I swore I could hear him gag over the phone; I only wish I could have seen his face. :twilightsmile: He's never brought up the subject again.

Thaaaanks Dad! :raritywink:

Sometimes, there are belts and they are removed.

Wink wink.

The tree is blind, and it cannot see the apples and seeds being spirited away. It cannot see the fate of its offspring, given away freely just to release the ache in its root.

I love this line so much I want to rub it over my brainial lobes.

Overall: Some technical wiggles, as noted by others. I'm wagering the less-directed nature of this is because there's more of you on the page (so to speak) than in some other cases. (No judgments. All writing is biography or autobiography and all that jazz.)

I've had these meandering things happen sometimes, but I'm rather obsessive about letting stuff percolate, and sometimes I think that means I drain the immediacy and power from my writing in doing so. It seems like everything you write is raw, and this just seems a bit rawer than usual.

silently and insalubrious, the serpents arise in twisting mass, seeking each their end and destiny to writhe beneath the sun.

This seems very familiar, like something you've said before but I don't remember where

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In one of our chat conversations I mentioned it ("silently ..."). It is a phrase that I woke up with one morning years ago, and even though I like the image and the sounds, I have never found a context where it makes sense.

This story tastes like depression. And Sweetie Belle's only emoticon is the :unsuresweetie:face. Hmmm...

2783828

You, I like you.

2787813

Hey, I pulled my punch. I didn't tell Dad that my half-sister's the same way, and we spent a while comparing notes.

I mean, the guy's in his seventies. I didn't wanna kill him . . . :twilightsmile:

. . . badly enough.

2786711

I wish I woke up with stuff like that. I wake up with baby demons (size of a human baby, but with leathery yellow-red skin) attacking me.

As great as I always expect from my favorite author.

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