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Progression Literature: Literature of Outcome: The introduction of a new literary genre

PROGRESSION OF LITERATURE: LITERATURE DE Outcome:

INTRODUCTION A new literary genre

What one hears, reads, says, sees, tastes, feel, remember and experience affects our understanding. It is the "truth" as we perceive it. Recalling, in particular, evokes attitudes and emotions linked to 'true' knowledge of past events. These experiences affect how we experience and interpret the present – especially if a past event is somehow related to a present or imminent event. For example, if one had been bitten by a white dog in the past, and new white dog it can produce an automatic reaction, like fear or aversion, even if the dog now looks nice to others can not understand their reaction time apprehensive. Their perception of reality is different, but you and the others are both filed with the encouragement and the same information at the present time.

In fact, much of what we might believe to be a "fresh" experience is likely to be based on many past experiences that may or may not be directly related. A beautiful woman never before seen by a particular man, can attract, they have no effect on him, or repel, depending on past experience / inexperience. First impressions are often based on experience, I learned prejudice, or instinct: a classic study in the journal Scientific American showed pictures of the face male same, but with different amounts of hair, to the defendants. Villi ranged from totally bald with long beards and long hair with a mustache. Respondents were asked to put faces that saw the end, according to attractiveness. The clean-shaven face, clean-shaven and his hair neatly trimmed, was chosen as the most attractive. Total villus and total baldness were lower in the list. Furthermore, the presence of a mustache falling confidence. The faces presented were identical in all other respects. The transition from one stage to another in the villi compared with baldness was considered a key attraction, but the test subjects did not see the progress of the face in stages cumulative (progression).

The progression in the literature (cumulative stages of the revelation of the facts) is what makes reading enjoyable: we are not sure of the result, and what we think is true may develop in different directions, depending on the information given. In fact, readers of different security different reactions. A beautiful novel captures the attention and interest of most readers.

real-world experiences are, in general, as complete as a novel written by hand. modern writers, of course, reflects the chaos of our modern world emerging in what, for convenience, I call the chaotic literature, literature white noise, with deconstruction, more or less, or minimalism. The result is a nuisance for most readers, who must deal with factors stress in the same real life. Time, for example, is short, and many of the most popular works, like the works of Stephen King, was eagerly read by a world completely different extends to savor and enjoy, however macabre. fantasy and science fiction works have their loyal following, too. In all writing, the "truth" is important – a guide in the fog, a face in the mirror, or a beacon in the night. However, 'truth' is perceived through a fog of prejudice we met in life experiences over time. Truth 'has an impact: among other possible implications and reactions to disclosure, emotion and thought can be stimulated or depressed. At any time, what is perceived in the real world as "truth" can change suddenly.

Ian FA Bell describes the approach Tony Tanner to this phenomenon in his introduction to Tanner Mystery of America

"Tanner conceived of the dematerialization language in American literature, going beyond the structure of binary oppositions, as a continuous process of self-invention. This movement involves literary strategies transformation: the construction of the ontological identity, character and modes of representation. As observers Tanner … if life was "in flow" or constant "Metamorphosis", then the writing should be the same. As Emerson says, "In the beginning of America, was not only the word but the contradiction of the word. "

Bell goes on to describe the analysis of Tanner of the language of Hawthorne in The Blithedale Romance:

"… The Blithedale Romance is not ask what is the real, much less the real, as reality is just" not known by the conviction you've got. "As an American romance, however, Hawthorne may be suggesting that to know that reality is not real could be the beginning of an experience real. Tanner tracks the binary between reality and fiction, counterfeiting and real money as a means of determining the "real" copy, if "forge" the uncreated conscience of his race or counterfeiting of money, "both 'forgers' work to falsehoods and fiction in circulation."

And finally, in his study of Melville's The Confidence Man, Bell says what it says on Tanner "reversibility" and "interchangeability"

"Melville novel of confidence in the new world of America, shows how" reversibility "can be recast as" exchange. " This term, borrowed from Thomas Tanner Mann, records of "the multiplicity and dubiety pure ontological being" in a world where identity as determined by the constructive nature of language, is constantly being reinterpreted. "

Whether the new tongue, the style Orwellian or Spin City, in the case of a story or personal experience, above all, rely on personal experience, and then the voice of authority. Anyone with intelligence, more sufficient interest in the case, may eventually recognize the twists and spirals in the official version of Kennedy's assassination. Calling people who dismiss the official version "Conspiracy theorists" while supporters of the official version called "analysts" murder is an example of the polarization can occur in the pursuit of "truth."

Simon Christopher Sharrett comments art book, Dangerous Knowledge (Relative truth and images on the JFK assassination debate) with some trenchant views:

"The debate came to be endless … an "epistemological crisis" as each official and unofficial investigation refuted an earlier claim to truth, and the interpretation formed a great Moebius strip that captures the body politic and the truth will give indeterminate, but continues to provoke debate. "

Sharrett notes a lack of moral center, these twists and turns of the truth:

"Simon invokes Michel Foucault's observation that" power is principle, not so much a person in a certain concerted distribution of bodies, surfaces, lights, gazes. "This time convincing, obtuse, and the observation arid is emblematic of much postmodern discourse … Foucault linking the eyes to power is not the sum and substance of the method of Simon, but hard to put this work in a year scholar, eloquent, but he worked real need for a moral and political center. "

Even the official versions may be abandoned if necessary, sufficient time has passed now that the Tonkin Gulf incident, it provided an excuse to bomb Hanoi, and is not presented as "truth real. "Evidence suggests that the incident never happened, but it is too late to Hanoi, and for many Americans who have not seen the new evidence, the U.S. ships shot in the Gulf of Tonkin. 'Truth' for those who have come to account or the new tests differ from those that did not, and both groups say they have "Truth." Progression of knowledge of the position first to the second was incomplete. incomplete transmission of "truth" is constantly produced, creating divisions and conflicts. In fact the "real" is almost a commodity.

Literature can be replaced and reach new heights if the principles progression and the perception of "truth" properly developed by the innovative writer. In the examples presented in the small sample collection short-short stories under this Article, the range of possible progression literature (the genre could also be called the literature of the outcome) can be impressive – amazing and i9t can happen in "real life too. Movies like Pulp Fiction / progression outcome display qualities Tarantino. A murderer whose death is very alive after his death, with an incredible impact. For customers in a restaurant, terrorized by thieves, you never know one of their 'rescuers' died later, or that the two men had entered the restaurant to eat after cleaning a car full of blood and pieces of brain. Williams A Streetcar Named Desire brought the same approach the stage to the film we realize that little by little "truth" not fully known to Stella, whose passions are manipulated by Stanley, her husband's brutal.

Much can be done to fully develop the new genus. The collection short story-is shown below presents controversial religious experiences and interpretations, such as felt or reported by persons under conditions widely different. The weather can change "reality" and "truth" to the reader or for those in the stories, as more information is obtained., The information could be false, however, leading to false conclusions, which may or may not alter the perception of others of what is "true" or new information may reveal a "new" or truth is not suspected, or confirm the suspicion. Anything is possible, for the "truth" is what perceived by each individual, or recognized by the voice of authority. Those affected by the "truth" can create situations or living in different universes, depending on the person, not to mention the vicarious experience that the reader or viewer feels (through literature, film, video games, etc.).

In addition, the writer-as-true can present the "truth" more vivid and more emotional impact, using the arts and sciences, the establishment of "truth" proper proportion to right and wrong, with the potential to sculpt the moral point of view that a simple count of aggregates of events can not, it reveals an aspect social and interpretation of "truth", provides a personal weight to the individual. Engels, commenting on the impact of Balzac's Comédie humaine, Balzac watched delivered "more wonderfully realistic history of French society … of which, including financial details (for example, reorganization of real and personal property after the Revolution) that I learned more from all the professed historians, economists and statisticians of the time together. "

A simple example is the progression to reveal how two people come together after years of absence. Evaluate the differences now present, compared with the past. These may be psychological and physical. What if a person s just pretending, and not as it seems, or maybe not the person of the past at all, but is merely masquerading as such? Could you / he / the other person can always find out? Maybe, maybe not. outcome for the reader be stimulating, surprising, disappointing, etc., not to mention the reactions that can be created by the writer as the story progresses. The truth becomes an object itself himself, with his own life, his own story, set in and out of the progression, and can not be 'true' after all. However, the "truth" may be more important than the "reality" for political reasons or social practices. 'Truth' be what finally ends I think. If our information remains scarce, or even supporting facts accumulate, the "truth" remains unchanged unless the conflicting information comes to be accepted by the recipient. And experience only in conflict, false information during the first? We are all familiar with the effects of advertising and propaganda. Therefore, the "truth" is a hostage to fortune.

The progression could highlight how people change over time – such Once a sinner can really become a saint! However, other advances involve the disclosure, where it develops a character to the reader through actions events, and so on, but then unravels or is transformed so that the next learning. There is always the possibility that what we think we know is not real. Dialogue – Real conversations – could reveal "the truth" – and can be persuasive – if "truth" is fully revealed. What if not? I take example of a person believed to be a scammer out to be a saint, but view the world in the news, hearing of his suicide (which is not presented below) as a man with a reputation for paintings that took "the coward way out." Read the stories short-short yourself, then decide how cruelly you could make the news reflect the "truth" as the official version has it. There are two "saints" in the collection of short stories, "says literature progression much more than it seems.

In the literature of progression as well as in real life, the "truth" is indeed in the eye of the beholder, and I hope to be forgiven by appropriating the clichés of the collection of short-short stories. In the examples of the progression that choose to offer, brevity is used – but again that the goal should not be misleading or tricks to play on the reader, not necessarily to be brief, for the working writer now has a tool of power. I suggest a respectful manner original perspectives on the stories of the founding of the literature progression, as they may relate beautifully in the hands of talent, the prospect arises or known or seen below.

  1. However, my thesis reading material may include several bases in the genre that anchored my ideas for progression of literature in the domain of stories
  2. Think about the consequences of knowing "truth" – unless the dog now he is a friendly way. Where, it is their "truth" to others?

The literature of progression invokes past events, but could now face a different part a totally different story, and "you" can be in a different situation: for others, his story of a dog bite may seem completely senseless, if this dog is known to be friendly to everyone. And so on. .

  1. Why?
  2. Thus, false perceptions or deception, or misinterpretation may occur before or after the offering of 'truth', and you may be able to discern which version / Experience is "real" despite a history in this case involves misperceptions and false conclusions based on ideas and experiences that were "false" but seemed "true."
  3. Outcome can not give the "Truth", due to the large number of contradictory statements stating the "truth."

It is not the item or the shameless voyeur involved in writing non-fiction novel, in relation to our concerns, where historical characters are fictitious materialize to improve or meet a stereotype Originally created to promote a version that is controversial. Particularly concern is when the stereotype is advanced to the "truth" by the new treatment of fiction. If the writer is really familiar with the historical character then the need to rely on what remains of the "truth" in the [official or any other files] available, the "new truth" may become the final and lasting impression. For example, Don DeLillo Libra presents a view of Oswald in cold blood of his wife's treatment, based on their reports. The DeLillo gives us glimpses brutal treatment of his wife Oswald are engraved in memory: what Oswald told me about his struggle with his wife has no place in the version of "truth" DeLillo created.

However, the outcome literature, in the form of progression, you can grab – even of a work DeLillo – a new perspective and relevant. David Foster Wallace summarized the challenges for the writer of literature in today's changing world, where entertainment is cheap, easily accessible and well designed:

"(There is) a contempt for the reader, an idea that the marginalization of the current literature is the fault of reader. The project is worth trying [to] … the reader with things rather than ignore them, but to do so that is also pleasant to read … Part of this has to do with living in a time when there is so much entertainment available … and find out how fiction is going to demarcate their territory in that sort of time. You can try to address what makes fiction magical in a way that other types of art and entertainment are not. And to find out how fiction can engage a reader, much of whose sensibility has been formed by pop culture, without simply becoming more shit in the pop culture machine. It is incredibly difficult and confusing and scary, but it is clean. There are many commercial mass entertainment is so good and so clever, this is something I do not think any other generation has faced. That's what it's like to be a writer now. "

Progression of literature can be exciting and relevant. You can do many things: turn the reader's perspective on the contrary, a better understanding of human nature, to restore truth to the story – in the author's intentions and capabilities. "The literature of the outcome, or "literature progression," in more skilled hands than mine could also provide a revitalization to modern literature, with a new depth and emotion in her inimitable approach to the craft.

Judyth Vary Baker Stockholm Sweden (degrees in anthropology (BS) Creative Writing (MA), and English literature and linguistics (ABD) … gender became UF and U of LA @ Lafayette 1986-1999

References

Tanner, Tony. Mystery of America: American Literature from Emerson to DeLillo. Cambridge Cambridge UP 2000.242 pp. ISBN: 0521783747 15.95 pounds (PBK)

 

Sharrett, Christopher. Review: Dangerous Knowledge: The JFK Assassination in Art and Film, by Art Simon.

Philadelphia, PA:

Temple University Press, 1996. 257 pp., Illus.

Reviewed by Christopher Sharrett

Vol 22, Cineaste, 01/01/1996, p. 59.

Marx, Karl and Engels, Frederick. On literature and art. Editorial Progreso. Moscow, 1976, p 91. (Trad. Andy Blunden)

Brown, Charles Brockden. Wieland or the Transformation: An American Tale. Version Gutenberg etext 2008.

David Foster Wallace. Quote from an interview about his bestselling book, Infinite Jest, by Laura Miller, for Table Talk, Internet forum.

================= An example of progression fiction:

THE EVANGELIST (story # 1)

 

 

The Holy City … battered fortress of gray and brown and white stone blocks, where two thousand years ago Roman soldiers Jews marched in the center of the Temple, and killed … where a thousand years ago, the Crusaders had arrived, with their banners and decorated crosses, announcing "Convert or die! "Muslims, and killed them, overcome by shouting" Death to the infidels! "And when Jesus, incredible patience, hanging from cross, when one thought could have saved him the agony indescribable … but was love itself, and conquered all these things.

So thought Jeremiah Mosley – face pale, ascetic form, trembling on its own because it was exquisite agony – after great financial sacrifices – indeed in Christ own town – and Christ could come at any moment, like lightning from heaven would be so sudden – Christ separate the sheep from the goats and save those who believe, and it was he, Jeremiah, prepared for that? He had come to Jerusalem to seek the advice of a saint, to seek, too, a sure sign that he was really destined to become an evangelist – to spread the Word, the Good News – wherever they may be sent by God, the living God, not a fairy tale character, but the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob had come to him in a dream, and touched her shoulder and said: "I love you."

He had spent much of their savings to get this beautiful room with views of both the splendid, if the city devastated by war. The porters were civilians, even if they had laughed when they saw their battered suitcases and how they kept his head down and just prayed quietly. For them, the young man with curly black hair was just another fan on a pilgrimage. When they brought the bread and wine into his room as he requested, was surprised by the size of the tip he gave them. They knew it was almost everything he had left in the world.

"I'm in your hands" Jeremy whispered, pouring wine into two cups of dark glass. One of Jesus, one for him. He broke the unleavened bread, coffee in two halves and placed the bread broken at the center of the table with two glasses of wine on each side. The pure white cloth was linen. With a burst emotion, Jeremiah was thrown into the ground and whispered fiercely: "Come, come, Lord Jesus! Just take a sip of wine that I know You hear me, and I agree!

Then he waited. The sun went down, sending tremors, ghostly shadows of the room. blue haze filled the valley and clouds red-orange color lit up the sky as the sun went down, down … and still waited. Sweat beaded his forehead. – Please! — I have to know this is what you want! — It was a small sign that sought, like the fleece of Gideon threw her down, asking only a bit of dew on it, without none in the surrounding soil. A sip of wine, when he was not looking …. Was tempting God? … Is a humble request … just take a sip of wine, Excellency! – Please! —

In the sill of the window as the sun set, a white dove flew down, he was a moment looking into the room with their sad supplication, and then with a fresh salsa of its beak, and a murmur low, pulled a pen from his chest and dropped it on the windowsill of the window. In axis ivory was a drop of dark blood. The wind whispered away the pen with the wind in the afternoon. The dove with its beak dipped in a courtship gesture, then flew with a soft hum of his wings, white.

Jeremiah was not sure that he saw it.

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She wore a dress of two thousand dollars of clothing handmade for him by one of the best tailors in the world – he had specified white linen pure – and brilliant diamonds in his hand showed that he was prospering mightily with people. Outside his dressing room, as Jeremiah finished fixing her hair, just as it should be combed, he could hear the chorus of the hymns in front finish was selected to lift the people from their lethargy in the hope and praise to God. Her black hair had fallen and was not as curly as it once was, but the implants had corrected the receding hairline: it was perhaps ten years younger he really was, and with a little luck, he will survive all his critics, by God!

"Pastor Mosley!" came the voice of his publicist, "It's time!"

"Just one minutes, Rachel!" He said.

Rachel was so efficient. I needed that. It was a lazy, as a romantic. She was about to put on your Rolex, but decided against it: it is too flashy. With a spray of cologne from Paris to each wrist and a quick look in the mirror to make sure his tie was in perfect order, Jeremiah paused to look more closely at the reflection there: — You buy a used car from this man? – asked inside. Critics say that they knew better.

They said he was crooked … which robbed people filled their coffers with dollars, and threw down their prayer requests. cures that did not happen. May the Holy Spirit was not a holy spirit, only artful spectacle calculated to separate the gullible from their money.

I did not know how else to get people to listen, except for doing a show to get their attention. If it was so bad, why were twenty thousand people out there, waiting to come out and help them transform their lives (as if could do that!). It was God who had done this. As always, he was shaking, because he really was, at bottom, ultimately, a shy man who would have preferred a quiet life in a monastery. Instead, the show must go on. And on.

– Please, God! – He whispered the image in the mirror. – Please! – Was his only prayer, just a gasp of hope half strangled, some people out there would be healed, their lives have changed because of the Hand of God is moving among them. Ah, the Hand of God! – Jesus! "She managed to say, before his throat closed in terror. To meet all these people again! He had seen so many come in wheelchairs, they leave, disappointed.

He was thrown against the mirror on his knees and raised his arms high in the air, leaving finally rest in the mirror. "God, God, God!" blew aloud, and then, half strangled voice, he added, aloud: – Please, God, have mercy on the poor! Take my life, if you wish, but to help his sheep! "

He calmed down, got up knees, pulled the talcum powder that clung to the knees, where he played some of the white powder dropped that perfumed her underwear … He wiped his brow with a clean linen handkerchief … Deep breath ….

Pastor Mosley —–! – He Rachel almost angry voice on the other side of the door.

He opened the door was half-blinded by a bank of photographers and their flashing lights.

"What are you doing here? "He asked, pushing past the photographers, and direct their anger to her publicist, the wife of the black-rimmed glasses holding a walkie-talkie to his ear.

"They say you're being sued by a guy who says his eyes did not heal, after all," she said.

"It's crazy!" Jeremiah was broken. "I do not heal, Jesus does." He put a good face and began striding down the hall. He's man was God, he could not allow these people to see any fear. He smiled and went his way, his publicist and two at his side underpastors ..

"But there is some good news, too, the pastor! Someone has healed, and they are calling a miracle! Yes, the pastor! – Someone could cure !—" hear the emotion in his voice, and in the crowd. I hoped it was true.

Deep inside, he wondered whether a psychological event occurred that had convinced someone who had been healed, or was a setup by someone once again trying to prove cures "were all false? Maybe this time it was real. It happened, sometimes, despite what his enemies said. He never knew exactly when something miraculous, or that they expect the crowd, because it was only the power their faith into action. He remembered what the Bible says that Jesus visited his hometown of Nazareth, but could do miracles there because people had no faith. — A prophet is despised in his own country —

A lot of 'miracles' were just psychological, but even that was something. Better than hopelessness, helplessness. Someone had to care. And occasionally, there were inexplicable, mysterious changes hat doctors could not explain. He would have liked to have seen any sign of God in your prayers today, but as always, ran on empty. The signs were so rare. Enough not to drown in terror. Was doing the right thing? Otherwise, Jesus could take his life, he was fine.

– Search – Christ had said, – and you will find .–

Except for me, pensó. "I doubt that you are going to drink wine with me some day, but it was fifteen years without w —

Now he calmly walked between rows of photographers, reporters, and people asking him to heal. As if he could cure anybody! "Praise Jesus!" He told the people. "It is Jesus who will heal you!" – Oh You secret, hidden, inaccessible and silent …!– Lord

A sense of drift of peace came over him then. He got into the elevator and closed the door. Blessed silence … and most of the photographers and reporters were now cut off. Now, to cross the street … With the shepherds on the right and two security guards on your left, Jeremiah glove crossed the street with its masses of people screaming. He went into a huge auditorium, he set a minute, hiding behind a big screen, while singing backing vocals and an organ of great player …. hearing had worked until about an hour, singing in the choir and see giant screens showed the miracles and events in other crusades.

– Please, God! – Gold, once again the usual prayer, looking, looking … standing in the middle of it – done with his arms crossed – note that somehow, in the rush, had lost a solid gold bracelet links. "Damn!" said, the elimination of gold barbell alone. "Lost another one!"

He put the barbell in his coat pocket.

It was peaceful in the hotel room of the evangelist. A guard sat sleeping in the big bed, ensuring that anyone who came into the room to steal some of the things the pastor as a souvenir. At half-asleep, two maids entered the room, dust cloths and a cleaner to cool. In the mirror, where the hands of the famous evangelist had pressed for a moment against the glass, white talcum powder was, curiously, has created a pair of white doves. A maid began cleaning it away, when, too late, the other with eyes wide open, stopped. They knelt down and began to pray, mourn, but Jeremiah never saw anything like that, or the protector of sleep.

Story # 2 ======= ===============

APPEARANCES (Story # 2)

by Judyth Vary Baker

There she was, lying on the unmade bed, the fading evening light. I could see the legs straight out the window with its shades of plum and green stripes, swaying trees beyond. There was a ocher glow in the sky as the sun set, with clouds of red bathing edge of darkness. His legs were thin, too thin, but then, she was a model with slim frame desired by clothiers and designers. She wanted to eat, but did not dare: outside, he saw birds flying in punctuation points black and red clouds, thought they could eat as they wished, without thinking about appearances: they were all soft, soft, diffuse light and fluffy. Fat perhaps according to clothiers and designers.

There were flashes some raindrops on the windows, because with the light end came a quick shower in the rain, against the deep blue of the deepening of the sky. The yellow and gold of the sun went out last time to a soft glow tangerine, noting the tall buildings and skyscrapers that rose on the horizon. She wiggled her toes, stretched wide, she thought to herself, I have prehensile toes! He could pick up anything with them – a talent that does not pay a dime. He saw his knee bone sticking out more than they should, thighs began back knee-bones, too thin, too thin. But there was no remedy. I knew they would put on makeup to hide dark circles hunger made it great, dark eyes brilliant look even more mysterious, and she'd walk down the red carpet on the arm of Max Taylor, movie star smiled and waved to the adoring crowds, broke her photo, her dress declared simply enchanting, her hair once considered suitable for Max. was gay and liked to be with him, is normally too tired for sex: they made a good pair.

Well, she was fourteen hours before she had to be ready for tomorrow appearance at the Oscars. Fourteen hours, returned phone calls, and room service bring in another hour, dinner, consisting of a cup of soup, a chicken wing, and a leaf of lettuce, vitamin capsules. She wanted to swim after that, but wondered if she had the strength. Stay in bed, for he was so cold that was better: the nails would not get splinters in that way. Why turn on the telly? Why not see raindrops come together, as the wind blew sideways in the mirror, see how they merged and became fatter, then dribbled through the clear panel, falling into oblivion …

He to look at the alarm clock: forty-five minutes for dinner. There was a slight tingling along blankets crossing the flat stomach, and looked to see what caused it, but there was nothing. White hotel sheets, hotel white blanket, white hotel mattress, with its stripes of plum, were, as in all hotels everywhere formal luxury, their common destiny in the hotel after hotel. elegant rugs and lamps cut and polished wood with glass: hotel pamphlets, brochures signs List cafes and cabarets and caffe latte. A hotel like the other: either filled with antiques rigid with bright brass railings and carved lace and flowers, sterile or modern, is not good Norwegian Wood?

What was life over, he wondered.'ll Strut my stuff a hundred times Moreover, what then? I wish I could believe in God.

Incredibly, she felt the electrical contact on his belly again and again looked down past her bare breasts shrunk starve to twisted sheets and blanket over his average in the form of a white cross, the red stripes Plum takes a large "X" as if the lock of her womb empty the rest of your body. As you breathe, the "X" went up and down, up and down … and as the night sky dark for Deep Purple, thought he saw in the "X" to hesitate, and move sideways. As he did so, the itching sensation returned. This time, he drew the sheet and blanket to her chin, covering herself. I have cold all the time, she thought to herself. What soup so good you will feel the heat! He checked his watch: fifteen minutes, leading to dinner. Remembered as a child, saying Grace at a meal of bacon, eggs, toast and jam, hot chocolate on the side, and how his sister and his brother grabbed the last pieces of toast, but she just let go for it, which had more than enough to eat. Donny was dead, now, just like mom and dad in the car accident that so suddenly took their own lives. As for Donna, her sister, she had not seen for several years: Donna was heavy, having children … ashamed of her stretch marks after her thighs.

. I'm going to say grace over the broth and chicken wings and lettuce, he thought to himself. Jesus! I would like to appear! But these things really happen, right? It is always a mere legend.

Then it happened.

The soup had gone cold. The lettuce was on the floor. They had forgotten about the chicken wings, but never mind. She was washed with hot and hotter, lavished with it …. He lay stretched out, the arms wide, his eyes wet with tears. He rolled out of bed, drawing the sheet and a blanket with her and the quilt that had twisted to make the "X" well. On her knees, she whispered, Thanks! Thanks! Thanks!

 

"But these things are hallucinations, "he said, looking askance at eating a normal size." What about your contract? "asked with anxiety. "If you change sizes, was shot in Victoria's Secret, and the rest will follow. And what Henri, if you stop going out with him? He always deals going good movies. "

"I am rich," he said. "I do not need more Victoria's Secret. And I do not need Henry either. "

"Well, I'm not rich!" He said heatedly. And you have a contract with me to be responsible. You ever had a fucking hallucination. As your agent, I insist that you consult a psychiatrist. "

"You do not have that right," she said.

"Absolutely. I'm going to sue if you do not. Then see what is going to be rich."

There she was, lying unmade bed in the fading evening light. He saw his legs straight out the window with its shades of plum and green stripes, trees swaying more there. There was an ocher glow in the sky as the sun set, with crimson-edged clouds abuse darkness. His legs were thin, too thin, but then she was a model with a slim frame required by apparel manufacturers and designers. She wanted to eat, but did not dare: outside, where he saw the birds flying in points punctuation black and red clouds, he thought how could eat at will, without thinking about appearances.

Henri would be tonight, to sleep with it. He was a powerful senator. They met around the world: the "photo shoots" were all the lucrative deals. Some of them were photo shoots real … After all, she was much thinner than his wife, Bernice, who was trying to get pregnant. Models of the mark was more fun to be with them, and the contracts and magazine covers I've done to her hotel and meals and the dreams keep coming.

History =============== ===== # 3

REVIEW (Story # 3)

 

By Judyth Vary Baker

 

"Henri Ballantyne was very shortsighted, and middle-aged, but was still a shock handsome blonde, and had the body of an athlete. The fact that his wife had just died, she became one of the most eligible bachelors in the United States, although he was still dating avoided. Henri career as a U.S. Senator was nearing its peak: it was a powerful man is now beset by paparazzi, pain a picture of him with a movie star. In Berenice funeral, Henri had let go a little, drink too much and saying something about reckless and premature sudden death of his wife. "Of course, these people are fools, "said Charles Henri." All that nonsense by rising again on the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. What I wanted was her, damn it. Now I have to go find another woman respectable. "

"Why not keep your opinion that" nonsense "to yourself? "Asked Charles, wishing it had been his wife, rather than Henry, who had kicked the bucket. Carlos had silver hair now, and a belly, but wife looked even worse. Carlos left foot looked bad, the leg two inches too short which made the shoe thick and heavy, as necessary, and then looked with envy barely concealed in his youngest client, a former Olympic star whose biceps were still firm. Charles was interested only in the last issue of Henry, but was work to keep Henri popular. At this time, his job was in jeopardy. Henri surreptitiously lit another cigarette, that Charles earnestly hoped that the waiter was not to see.

"Maybe we should go to the terrace," suggested Charles, picking up his glass of wine. "There's a cool place there under the umbrella."

"It's the same for me," he said Henry. They moved outside the restaurant rocky terrace, sheltered in the rows of bright red umbrella printed in white letters, curling 'Coca Cola'. Carlos was glad to be back in Budapest: he hoped that the mineral baths, wine good, cheap, and pretty women would sleep with him willingly, even though his left foot badly. That kills your shoe-mata followed him everywhere, and most women look to the width of the shoe floor, hearing heavy sound of it, and instinctively avoid intimacy with him. It was not fair. Charles was also cursed with a cast of sad eyes, a sad turn down his mouth and a voice so hoarse he could not succeed, as he had dreamed, in politics. He was forced to work as a mere consultant, well paid, to guide candidates for senior positions, and keep them there, by making certain the right things and said the right things .. Today Henri was concerned, whose chances of re-election had been good until today.

Henri was part of a Senate committee on a fact-finding mission EU tour with a stop for fun in Budapest, where he had dinner with the Minister of Culture, stating his view that religion was a farce and that Jesus was probably a closet homosexual. Damn Carlos sighed inwardly. Henri had made his opinion known to the new Minister of Culture – a devout Catholic – not to the old, who had been an atheist.

"This story is not going to go well with their district Maryland election, Henri. "

"I know, I know! So what the hell do I do now?"

"It may appear in the church. And sure people know about it. "

"If you can not solve this problem, I will leave politics "He said Henry, taking off a few thousand at the hands of Carlos." This should cover the cost of slightly more quick trip from here. Do what you can conceal the fact. Okay? "

"I'm not Mr. Fix-It," complained Carlos. "I suggest you stay away from religion completely after this. I feel I have mentioned the word "church" – but how would I know that would eventually attend a healing session worship Hallelujah Praise-Jesus?

"You have twenty thousand members," Henri said without conviction. "And I have to admit that fascinated me."

"Hypnotized not in trance," corrected Charles. "I have created the right church for you."

"Yes, you should have," said Enrique. "So now, get me the hell out of this mess!"

Henri, whose poor eyesight was the result of a failed operation to reduce Visionary been close, they could not wear contact lenses more and dared not risk a repeat of the operation until it became in the most advanced methods. Maybe one day, he thought. Meanwhile, he was stuck with glasses, and hated even older and out form. Had actually been trapped in this jamboree Jesus, Hallelujah "Praise God" and, mesmerized, walk in the clouds toward the altar, knelt there and said thought. A man came to him like a cloud, his vision became dark, as if an angel hovering somewhere deleting all the overhead lights and heat, then the evangelist asked if he could "lay hands' on it.

"Do you think that can be cured? "

The man seemed a little tired and in a hurry, as there are dozens of others who also sought the "hands-on" experience.

"Cured of what?"

"Whatever your need is, of course. God will heal you now if you believe! "

What was that thrill of hope ran over him, as the hands were placed on his head?

He felt a sense the exquisite peace overflow it. The evangelist's hands seemed full of electricity. It was strange. Henry's lips broke into his secret desire.:

"I want my eyes to be healed!"

"So – to be healed, the eyes! In the name of Jesus!"

What fool I was! This utter fool! For nothing had happened. There is one thing. He had some blurry spots before his eyes, like a thousand little dark spots, like He came down the aisle toward the front, and yes, the tiny dots disappeared, but is that all. He was as myopic as ever.

Son all false! He thought to himself. No one person was cured of this altar, except maybe an old lady who said she was healed of cancer. Oh, yeah! There was "believe" to see the report of the doctor! He got the name of the elderly and address. We had to fix healer named "" if she died of cancer.

————————————————– ————————————————– ———-

"Okay" Charles Henri said, "It is true that the black spots, it was. And the woman with cancer has improved. But then he died of a stroke."

"But you get those points before your eyes when you drink, Henry, his manager said. "It comes and goes. Think of the consequences! Took his picture there, with the preacher crazy hands on top of his head. My God! It is headline news in all the damn tabloids in the country! "

I know, "said Enrique sadly. "But what I can do?"

"At least you did not get" cured "of something and feel that I had to announce the world, "said Charles." That would really have ruined everything. "

"Of course I have drawn on psychologically," he admitted Enrique. "They have created this service as a fine art. And of course, did not cure me. I feel like the closing operation.'re Raising money like crazy, you know. "

"I suggest you do nothing about it," said Carlos. "At least, not directly as the source of problems. Just promise me next time, you stay away from anything to do with churches. For the rest of your life — or is it goodbye to the race. "

"For Of course I will! "

"Instead, start going to hospitals. Go and visit some children with cancer. Beso some lepers. Do something nice, but stay away from the damn churches. Maybe I'll forget. "

"I hope so," Henry said. "I hope so."

It was not the paparazzi who were responsible, as Princess Diana had been persecuted, but the car crash was photographed by paparazzi. The senator was photographed surprised, too, regret the fact that the accident would not have happened if I had not taken much valium

And here she had been pregnant!

  1. Then the individual had a nervous breakdown. The tabloid reported that he committed suicide with pills sleep in the same house where he was born. His suicide note was brief and regrettable.

Jesus had not been there to rescue the boy: the Evangelist had been on his own in the Valley of Death. Now Henry was in the hospital. He had fallen into a bit of ice and are currently receiving pulled straight back – in traction. He was doubly angry because he was experiencing double vision of his concussion.

The ophthalmologist came with your device to check the eyes, and Henri heard him shake his head, while making little sounds like a hen clucking mother worried about a girl.

"He's had some the real problems with these eyes, right? "

"A guy like you foiled an operation on my corneas," he said Henry. "Wrecked chance of escaping my glasses. "

"But the other condition, that is," said the doctor. "Just when you had the operation in your retina? "I was looking deep into his right eye irritant with the black and bright light.

"What operation?" What are you talking about? "

"The right retina was torn, obviously loose and reattached by laser. The left eye had some work on your retina, too. "

"I've never had anything done to my retinas!" Henri believed that the evangelist had put his hands on, and a species bitter horror began to accumulate in the interior.

"Well, it's been a while, I guess. Perhaps you've forgotten, but I can not imagine he would. If there were no been obvious for this emergency operation, you'd be blind right eye. "

The ophthalmologist looked again in the left eye.

"Yes, the same, only not as bad, "he said." The left retina was also re-registered. Sure I remember seeing a flood of what we call "floaters" in your eyes? A feeling of a shadow falls over his eyes, as if a curtain is closing down your vision? "

O my God!

Suddenly, Henri undersood. The darkness of his vision, as he knelt down, protecting the hard ceiling light in his eyes as he knelt — and the hundreds of small dots dark swirling in his eyes, as the evangelist shaking hands gently touched his head, and Henri had asked to be cured.

"Oh, God," she whispered, as he lay sprawled on the hospital bed. "Oh, God!"

Story # 4 ==== ====================

REPAIR (Story # 4)

      Jeremiah was willing to die. He had been long prepared for the event. His only regret was that he had no true faith enough to heal everyone who had their hands – for he had prepared with much prayer and fasting. I had never actually seen a vision, but others around white doves reported in windows always landing wherever he went – hotel after hotel.

It was strange, in fact – but had never seen a single white dove itself. However, he had tried to follow Christ as an example, believe that he could lay hands on people and cured if they had enough faith as the Bible promised, on behalf of Christ. He had seen a series of miracles – No one can deny it! – But there were so few among the thousands who expected to see walking again, back to being happy, have hope again. It is unfortunate, because he could not deny that there have been hundreds of spectacular failures. Psychosomatics. Self hypnosis, maybe. His tireless nemesis, Henri B., had planted even "cured people" in his bestseller congregation to proclaim that he was healed. Jeremiah, unfortunately, including some false stories 'Cured' people who had infiltrated the church, paid by Henri B. He had lied. Had been included in the book — along with a dozen cases authentic – (he assumed they were real!) – all to glorify the name of God and his sacred power of healing through the shed blood of Christ. In its Instead, the anger and derision. The allegations of fraud. Prostitutes had gone even claiming that he had slept with them. Lies, lies, lies!

Henri B., Senator, said he was sick of scammers acting on behalf of God, so that it paid actors to pretend that she was well. The Evangelist had not been told by your 'God' that people really had healed. I was completely disoriented. His "God" had disappointed him.

All this had occurred because the evangelist had put his hands on the senator's head and declared that his eyes were cured. He had done on inspiration. Was impressed – to a certain — the eyes of Senator were about to lose his sight – but at the last moment, had been saved, either for his healing, or because Henri himself had gone to an eye doctor and got surgery. Whichever way he looked with eyes Henri B was saved.

But Henry did not see that way. The doctor – Only was the healer. Jeremiah had asked to see a doctor for your eye exam to make sure that he was healed, and the doctor had insisted on operating. Since then, persecution Henri B had been relentless. Thoughts of suicide had crossed thoughts of Jeremiah and again. Now, the wait was over. No more fasting and prayer in the lonely nights. No more tears, was lying face down in the face, asking people for healing, praying for the conversion of his hero, Jesus. They might even consider this final event, terrible as martyrdom. Dying for Jesus

  1. Finally decided to write that the devil was forcing him to die, was not his choice.

Jeremiah was so weak that he was only now forced to put a small cross below the words "I forgive all my enemies and put all my faith in the mercy of God." The word mercy "Had a long tail, inky after that because he could not see what he was writing, I could not feel the pen in his hand numb. The eat your stomach pain alive. He dropped the pen, as a seizure of drugs he had taken his body filled. I knew it would soon be dead. "Father, forgive my enemies "tried to say, but with so little breath left, that is out ….

————————————————– ————————————————– ————

Henry had moved to a monastery in Sweden. It was built in the fifteenth century of the hand-cut stones. It was cold and had always been cold. It was dark and had always been dark. Bernadette – sister Berenice – the monastery had been suggested as a suitable place in the private penance, a new life. Catholics allowed to find some peace in his soul, perhaps, in a primitive way that his mind to take charge could understand. In her jealousy, had killed his wife. Then he had handled the evangelist into bankruptcy, and until his death.

Too late, he had learned that no eye doctor had operated eyes. Too late, he realized that the evangelist had done – by an unknown power – his eyes healed. And for that, Henry had destroyed! had gone to his church in financial ruin! A million-dollar check that fixed, and his statement that he was healed ended with much of the burden caused by false 'cures' mentioned in the book that had been disgraced evangelist so deeply. But none of this would bring back the man of God that in his suicide note, had written: "I forgive all my enemies …"

As Henri whipped himself (he cut his body with twenty lashes every night except Sunday), he gritted his teeth and let the pain sink in the flesh.

"God forgive me, I did not know I was doing! "He prayed every night, when he finished cleaning the blood from the back and the stone walls. Then he lay down in bed hard, flat, leaving the cold flow over it. The cold sank into the mass of festering wounds in the back. With his diabetic condition, I knew it would not last too much longer – perhaps years or so. As for the brothers and monks, who considered him a saint in training-wonderful-and with their eyes in silent admiration, allows privacy in their efforts to repair their holy sins and the sins of the world.

'Brother' Henri prayed constantly, asking for forgiveness on all of the man who had destroyed, taking into account the power of silent God who had cured her eyes. How many more blows of the length of cord that was around his waist (when it was using) would have on your body? When he had no more strength, would stop eating. By Finally, his pain would be over. Forever.

Story # 5 ===== ========

DIVISION (story # 4)

 

By Judyth Vary Baker

 

Henri Ballantyne was very shortsighted, and middle-aged, but still had a shock of blond hair, handsome, and had the body of an athlete. It was one of the most eligible bachelors in the United States, a powerful man found himself harassed by the paparazzi, pain a picture of him with a movie star. Charles, his political manager, he was told to find him a suitable woman to date. Henri still missed his dead wife: "What I wanted was Bernice, damn it. Now that she is dead," said Carlos, " have to go look for my other respectable woman. "

Carlos had a great Rolodex and a vast pool of email addresses, but the combination Movie Star and respectable wife eluded all attempts potential. Then, a break: Berenice sister – Bernadette call.

She very well Henry knew he was cheating. It was a shame they could not bear children. Too often, he demanded to know whether he had finally become pregnant, only to learn that once again, everything went wrong. When the problem was finally diagnosed because of Henry, Berenice, who celebrated by getting drunk. The relief! Blessed relief: Henri, looking to feel and look better, has a eye operation in the same week, but something went wrong, and both his corneas were damaged, forcing him to remain in the thick glasses. Henri tried to sue the doctor, but the papers he had signed before the operation, and doctor's reputation as a result of an agreement out of court. Bernice had done what she could to help: he tried to get inside information became friends, before the lawsuit came with the eye doctor and even had a little minor surgery, that the good doctor gave him free, knowing what Henri had been upset.

Then came a meeting after regular office hours, when Bernice, realizing that the doctor had the same taste in good music that she invited him to accompany her to a concert of Bach. There was almost by accident: he had seen something quite young Enrique in the arm, and with jealous rage, she called Dr. Richardson.

They gathered outside the concert hall: it was very clear with bright blue contact lenses and thick hair, blond, long hair tawny Enrique reminding itself. In the afternoon final, she called her companion 'Pablo'. At the end of the month, meet regularly for concerts and more.

————————————————– ————————————————– ———-

Me I feel guilty, he said as he combed through his own dark, shiny curls. But I do not! She was still an amazing woman beautiful. She carefully examined the glamorous yet listed in the hall mirror, wishing her stomach was as flat as his secretary, but … can compete, thirty-eight years, with women fifteen years younger? She felt a little time lately – was the old approach her now? — And that made it seem all the most important for her to spread her wings and take a man worshiping his arms.

Henri is discreet in his indiscretions, he said. And I too! It is good that we had no children to complicate matters. He chose the right bag for the afternoon, checked her hair in the back, then took the elevator to the lobby. Paul had sent a good New York limousine to pick up in arms – but inexplicably, he entered the limo, his thoughts turned back to Henry, who was treating her much nicer, now that he knew it was her fault, not hers, who had babies.

And I always bring nice gifts, now. .. For he is, decided he is guilty! I soon go to Europe, and I'll be back, but only We are acting as the Royals have done for centuries. Generous to each other in public, and yet even sleep together! She would not dare compare the two men in bed, Henri had known a long time now, and Paul's fascination with his forces vanish. She should be thankful for the good sex with two good men a comfortable life.

His spies told him that Berenice was pregnant and that she had been watching the same ophthalmologist had destroyed their chances handsome to look again! No – but see the eye doctor! More than that! The doctor divorced with two children of her own and, obviously, was the source suddenly Bernice pregnancy. How dare you! "And next year was an election year! "He thought he could hide what he had conceived, when there were photographs, and even a video? It is true that she was being very careful – which of course did not want to damage the reputation of Henry – but he possessed in hell that she is left to get pregnant? Damn!

"Women want babies," said Carlos. "She knew it was useless to you as well "

I had to pause until stopped Henri teeth gnashing.

"I have to be very strong with you, Enrique, Carlos said. "His short trip abroad, lack of pain when she died, has noticed. His family received a phone call – "

"" No doubt of it! "

"They seem to have received the information that is disconcerting to them. Something about her hiring a private detective, who now wants a reward to remain silent. Or, will talk to the family of Berenice. They also have a reputation to consider. "

"It is against the law, which I did," said Henri bleak. He tried to pretend he was not as deeply concerned as was in the cool little bad news. The first was a little evil sister Berenice was to exhume the body to have an autopsy.

"I thought that Catholics not doing things well, "he complained.

"Apparently, sometimes they do," said Charles. "I suggest you get yourself a good lawyer."

"I can not begin to express to you how much I despise you," said Dr. Henri Richardson, who was sitting uncomfortably with him the lawyer's office. "I found her diary, you know."

Paul Richardson said nothing. The burning hatred in his eyes was enough to Henri keep quiet. Henri did not want to jump up and strangle him or something. It is expected, with a male paralegal eye care, to speak before the DNA test on the dead fetus Berenice's womb. Henri had requested the test.

"Another thing," Henry said. "This all started when she volunteered to spy on you, for your information. Before I file a lawsuit against him. "

"She told me all about that," Paul said softly. "And she apologized."

"She was never good at those things," Henry admitted. "That's why I was so surprised. That she escaped all this with you. "

"You were not much time to notice."

"It was all enough!" Henri broke. He dropped his face in his hands, then, as if about to mourn. Paul was surprised by this sudden change of emotion. She ventured a comment.

"I think both have missed."

"If I never had that operation!"

"Well, I feel it was unsuccessful up. "

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