oh how I hate editing posts, so let's do it together

repost from elsewhere, another "last post" thread

dawn after last night's posting party finds the goblin sweeping away the previous posts with the words like "...I was someone else then..." while outside somewhere, in the looming now, the city wakes to a clear cold sun that pitilessly shines over the arena of exploitation and profitmaking as the goblin, his weapons ever ready, shouts to the mass of ever eager onlookers "...all hail to the moneygod, we who are about to work salute you now..."


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repost from elsewhere

which was the very moment the spacecraft landed, and a little green alien said "...take me to your leader...", the goblin replied "...well, I don't know if he's actually the one you want, he's rather busy too, but a word of advise then, don't mention the housing crisis, unemployment, the price of petrol, global warming, the troops in alfghanistan, the deficit, gunlaws, unlawful detentions, torture and the exchange rate, second thoughts would you like larry king or jerry springer instead..." to which the alien scratched his head, got back on his spaceship and whizzed away not quite sure what to make of those humans then, yet the goblin was quite used to it


4 21 292

 

repost from elsewhere

back in the village, and still looking after his mother in her mental decline, the goblin looks out the window and notices an old woman, who was now watching from the safe distance of the church path behind the house, the funeral in the graveyard of someone who apparently had, some 35 years before this day then, refused her daughter something, and it was as if that ancient phrase captain, I have holed our boat and together we will drown now was just written into the old lady's staring face as the goblin watched her in his turn too


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repost from elsewhere

the goblin had come to an agreement with the owner of the bistro, in that as soon a the place filled with lunch people, the goblin would uproot to the bar and continue tappidytyping from there, the owner had once asked why the goblin typed so much, "...well, life is a race with death for revealing oneself through one's creations...", "..yer ok, but that isn't going to pay the bills then, is it..." the owner replied, so the goblin just found himself remembering that phrase he knew domine, quo vadis, guessing he was simply going back because others were departing from it, and typed on anyway


5 23 332

 

repost from elsewhere

the goblin lets the post write itself, he often feared that if he didn't, it wouldn't, so the simple fact of switching off the distractions, first those obvious ones, and then recognizing the others too, had become an objective in itself here, in fact the bistro was better than his home in this way, yes there was both noise, people, and clutter, but they were not his, they, like the rest of it, were happening around him and not to him so to speak, then suddenly, he voiced aloud to himself something looking at the slot, saying "...this life will always find those tokens of value for one if one doesn't recognize true value for oneself...", so the other heads in the bistro would turn towards him for a brief moment, before they too, dismissed his utterance as yet another distraction for them


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repost from elsewhere, the "recollections" thread

"...we wish you a merry christmas and a happy new year, good tiding we bring..." and on hearing that song now, the goblin would be once more back at the bookworm bookshop with the ghosts of his past, as the son stood by the counter and recounted how he had once received a postcard from someone who had died in the planecrash the day before, the mother, sat at the cashdesk, priced the books, and somehow, the goblin fitted as he hand-wrote his "dear all diary", or something else, wordless except for asking the spelling of something, until the droning carol music, which had got on everyone's nerves there, had got to the goblin's too, so he paid his coffee, and started singing in tune "...we wish you a merry syphilis and a happy gonerear..." only to be "dirty looked" by the mother into silence who couldn't help herself bursting out laughing two seconds later, "...we are not the red cross you know..." she would say, but the bookshop was exactly that, and when she suddenly died a few years later this world collapsed, and within a year her son too, first having lost the battle to alcoholism, was found drowned in the river, so if they are reading this now their goblin friend misses them and this journey to self should be in part theirs he feels


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repost from elsewhere, the "who has the last word" thread

these words, once written, live on adrift this forumland where, sooner or later, one came across them again thinking "...oh yes that was me then too..." before moving on to yet other words, so perhaps for this reason alone no one can ever really have the last word now, the word has only itself, as an infinite then, against the short span that it is looked upon, which is a finite I suppose, "...so perhaps it's not who has the last word then, instead maybe it's which word has the last person ..." ventured the goblin at a sea of infinite words to choose amongst


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repost from elsewhere

"...do you think I talk to myself slot...", "...no goblin you've got the muse and me to talk to, but mind you what with innerman lamenting the superficiality of outerman, and outerman craving "this, that, and the next thing", the wonder is not if you do actually talk to yourself, it's more how you can ever get a word in edgeways...", "...hello you two..." said the muse who popped in from the back room "..I heard that, is that you goblin worrying about whether you talk to yourself then...", "...um, well I, um...","...yep, he sure is, muse...", the slot had noticed the goblin was seated looking down at his shoes woefully, the muse put her hands down on his shoulders from behind him "...there there goblin I am sure you're not talking to yourself, any schizophrenic will tell you that much...", the man in the mirror found the whole image rather appealing as the goblin lifted his hand to his shoulder placing it on hers saying "...thanks muse but..., ...", "...goblin..." she moved around the chair to look at him clearly, then, placing a lone finger on his lips as only a woman could do, spoke softly "...anyone can post but only mad people make interesting posters, leave sanity for shallow people, we're different...", "...that's better Your Madnessty..." joked the slot as the goblin then started typing his hapless posts once more


8 27 405

 

So True...You Are Wise Beyond Your Years fleamailman...



Cheers Glen.

 

("...nah, I'm not wiser beyond my years..." replied the goblin, explaining "...alas those years are just too many, yet here is one that you'll relate to I guess, or you will do at least...")

repost from elsewhere

"...my children are dead, long live these adolescents..." joked the goblin not really laughing as he loved them no less now too, only that he seemed to live his life in shocks of realisation as if catching up with the present day reality, that yet again something had gone from his life, and that their ghosts now called to be buried amongst the other chapters with some passing words, "...children, this clown will always be your clown and he'll remember you in his jests, I promise..." the goblin voiced, the muse looked on with approval, she liked it when the goblin was honest with himself, then he flung a handful of earth over her too, the children burst out laughing "...oh daddy, you never grow up do you..." well they would have said as much if they haven't grown up on him like this


8

 

repost from elsewhere

morning rush hour and the man in the mirror, somehow guessing the goblin's mood, starts singing: "...crappy workday to you, crappy workday to you, crappy workday dear moron, crappy workday to you...", the goblin then imagined he could hear a whole chorus of the same song coming from the fellow passengers on the bus, and yes, the goblin was probably right too, just that the mute switch was turned on it seemed


6 30 453

 

Just Popping In To Say How Much I Enjoy Your Posts, They

Are Refreshingly Different To Any I Have Read In The Five Years I Have

Been A Member Here.

Keep Up The Good Work...:2thumbsup:



Cheers Glen.

 

("...thanks, then I will continue under your encouragement, and will see if I get the other livewriters interested in posting now..." replied the goblin, adding "...I tend to chat in brackets and edit my works below, for it's just a thread where someone can edit and air their posts on a communal basis rather than being someone's individual journal or blog..." and with that the goblin posted on, hoping other would chat with him or edit stuff in their own right)

repost from elsewhere

the goblin was really enjoying the fact, that his wife and children were away on some shopping-holiday weekend leaving him to get up to something, even if at this point he couldn't think of any secret urge worth gratifying, lamenting "...oh no, this is absolutely awful how one sees though one's own temptations in the end...", so the goblin ended up simply going back to the bistro once more thinking how those consequences make cowards of us all


6

 

repost from elsewhere, a british "last post" thread

meanwhile back at coronation street's rovers return, "...oh knees up mother brown, knees up mother brown, another stout with your chip butty goblin, hows that anthropological report going then..." the bucksum barmaid asks over the counter where the goblin types away next to her untouched offerings "...well I'll get round to eating them later(lying), btw do you have any coffee by any chance..." asked the goblin half in prayer to a somewhat bewildered barmaid rubbing the stubble on her chin as she tries to recollect "...eh, coffee now is it, um, I'll go down to the cellar luv, do you know what the bottle looks like...", "...no that's alright, I was..., ..." as they both suddenly gasped as they saw a policebox appear by the dart's board where out pops a man "...hello, I am the doctor, I say, could I have a chip butty too please with a coke now...", the barmaid leans over to the goblin again whispers "...bloody londoners from the BBC, always the same, he'll start asking directions next, just you watch..." the barmaid voice grows louder adding "...here you go luv, if you want more HP source just holler..." as she plonks the chip butty on the counter, "...thank you, and you must be a goblin my good fellow, always nice to meet someone from the computer world, btw you wouldn't happen to know my way off this ITV channel by any chance..." the barmaid just squinted her face and gave a nod of "told you so" to the goblin who added it to his report here

[footnote: dr who did find his way back to the BBC after accidentally landing in ITV's Coronation street , not least because the goblin had given directions in exchange for a giant tin of instant coffee, that is, moments before the barmaid, now changed into her revealing sexy space suit, entered the tardis saying "...back in tick luv, the doctor has promised to show me his knobs..." where the goblin just squinted his face and gave a nod of "told you so too" as was customary on coronation street]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fz4M4iU8ApM"]Doctor Who - I don't wanna hurt you - Sway - YouTube



7 33 487

 

Were do you live Mr Little goblin sir?

This is the first I've herd of you
Your post's recite so ever nice
With your wager you should double


Have a great day Mr Fleamailman

 

("...I like your post indeed, it shows much support and promise too..." replied the goblin who came from geneva switzerland, adding "...well I'm just one those anonymous livewriters I suppose, they're an odd bunch, yet they seem known by their posts, even if my goal is anything but that fame and fortune that those writers crave for, no my very last post will end exactly as my first post had begun, in silence that is, ah but once you know that it is unwinnable, whether one carries on from there kind of shows one to oneself...", and with that the goblin posted another)

repost from elsewhere

ah no, life's angels were not there to be nice, they were there to help one find oneself by them then, and yes the goblin had fought them often enough, yet still this snow like slot at the bottom of this thread here was his journey to self, not theirs then, so his onward posting steps compacted the snows of time once more, and then more snow would just cover his footsteps in their turn, but that was posting lot, though as long as the goblin trod onwards, on this thread that is, then he was in with a chance, still winning the unwinable, for in writing what else mattered beyond its continuation, what else could matter where one was anonymous


3 35 510

 

repost from elsewhere, the "what are you doing" thread

the goblin is now vaguely watching his son try out his new game on his playstation called "doom-magi" where the box, written in german and as far as the goblin could make out reads something like oh but yes, a realtime action packed game where you get to chose between one of three heroic wise men balthasar, gaspar, and melchior, and while trying to keep up with the traversing star you relentlessly battle your way through those throngs of head-counting minions of the evil herrod till you finally reach bethlehem, collecting gold, frankincense and myrrh, only stopping to trade at taverns for lifepoints, weapon/armour upgrades, and camel speedups at which point the goblin kind of felt that he might in fact be reading the explanation on the back to the box all wrong then


7 36 528

 

repost from elsewhere

and then the goblin suddenly noticed whole hoards of barbarian bankers at the gates of the western empire, so was the world about to witness the sack of wall street then with another dark age to follow, the goblin wondered but his imagination stopped in its tracks even if the parallels to the fall of rome grew in his mind like storm clouds in an ominous sky, "...ours is to witness..." the goblin slowly repeated to the now silent slot, it was as if the liver of the moneygod had been divined and its omens were not good, "...ours is to witness then..." he just repeated again and again to himself


7 37 543

 

repost from elsewhere, a snapshot from some dark moment long in the past

another email to say that the goblin's mother swallows again and although the event in itself had passed, the family consensus upon this normally unasked question was now there, squarely answered too, that of if she couldn't eat for herself, then no one would force tube feeding upon her, "...and, if that's this answer for my mother, then it would be the same for the others as well..." said the goblin knowing that the response of each family member here, was in itself, a living will of their wishes for themselves here, should they fall into the same situation that is, "...how the suffering of others just turns oneself inwards, thus the self grows by these moral dilemmas that they place upon one's heart it seems..." concluded the goblin before his work pulled him away, but at least the "what if it were me" question had been faced and answered here, where the rest was just fate then


5 38 560

 

repost from elsewhere

the goblin's muse, the goblin ventured, was a daughter of a lesser god perhaps, but he loved her no less for it, if anything he loved her more for it, "...my muse is madness, her gifts are more infinite and her adventures unguessable..." explained the goblin who had seen her so often touch his sane and mundane world with her magic depth


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