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

repost from elsewhere

"...nah, that would be a blog, where blogs are boring because there is one central character with all the other people looking on..." said the goblin, adding "...but a random thread more like a round table between us, simply the last poster to post is the one with the microphone, but that microphone is always up for grabs so to speak...",


47

 

repost from "last post" thread, elsewhere

"...welcome to the world of our adulthood I suppose, where most adults retain their independence by not assimilating on the inside that which they compromise to on the outside, just that the older the person becomes, the more this gap widens..." mentioned the goblin, explaining "...for example, look at the difference in speed of speech between someone of 20 and someone of 40, or how one can't get the older person to radically change now, how he seems to be inert towards the pulls of dailylife and ourdearmedia, simply the older person is wise to it, having established his own set of values instead...", in fact, this inner independence goes headlong against society's need to have one fit in, and care too, about creating one's home, of family and wealth, which explains why neither the media, nor one's schooling for that matter, ever told you that dailylife is a self perpetuating social assimilation program, one without which our society would simply collapse into individuality, whereupon the goblin just reminded himself again, saying "...so all my actions are a compromise on the outside where dailylife always holds an agenda for us, yet because I know it to be so, establishing my own set of values on my inside is part of my journey to self here..."


47

 

Dejavu had of course only been joking about the kingly game of ping pong. He liked sport as much as the next man, as long as the next man wasn't wearing wrestling tights, or not wearing them. Dejavu decided thedope was to be taught a lesson, and not just because thedope would attempt to have him teach his grandmother to suck eggs. thedope said love cannot be learned, that it is without condition, even that of life, and also ( yes, also ) that love was not something one does, but ( yes, but ) is. Had a question been included along this flatline of thought, Dejavu would have relented, but as his mercy was being tried at thedopes insistence, not just his patience, he thought he might try thedopes love in return. Dejavu had no qualms whatsoever with anyone finding love to be what they are. What he did have though, if not trouble with thedopes plurality of prohibitions for love, was a wicked will to see them rendered null and void within thedopes own sights, just as they were already outside of thedopes scope. He chuckled a most villainous chuckle, as he prepared to mock, with every known mercy, the christianity of this man who dared to say he'd hold his hand. Yes, he'd have him try and break free of a little super fluity before the night was over.

 

"Thedope started it!!" Storch pleaded.

 

Reposted from elsewhere; well, some of it.

Storch knew full well that when the time finally came for him to settle into the still waters of his not so distant future, he would be afforded--like it or not--more than enough time to reflect upon what did motivate him, what motivated him presently, and whether or not the passage of time had created any appreciable difference between past and present motivations.

He remembered being motivated by candy when he was young. There was tongue candy, eye candy, ear candy, and thought candy. Then there was the other thing--the means to acquire it: money! So, armed with his desire for candy, and his knowledge of how to acquire it, he made plans to acquire money. Once in a great while he would spot a silver coin on the ground in the grass. A dime was like a coin with super-powers; not even half the size of a nickel, but twice the worth. And it required no time at all for Storch to come up with a mental shopping list of exactly what his winfall would purchase--a finacial planner of sorts. He now looked back and could see what his decisions were based on. For instance, he chose fudge bars over ice cream bars because it was obvious that there was more substance to them.

Storch fondly remembered the days when he had a bicycle and enough money to buy a little stick of pepperoni and a small carton of chocolate milk at the store. At the time, he was eleven or twelve, and he considered these things to be the best things in life; actually, they ran a close second to cigarettes. On the long, downhill stretch of road leading to home, he would let go of the handlebars and rip open the pepperoni using his teeth (wouldn't dare try that today), and put it in his mouth like a cigar. Then he'd pull out the chocolate milk and fill his mouth with both. Out of the ten or so times that he had done this, he wiped out only once. After reliving that wipe-out in his mind, he decided that, for good or bad, it appeared that young people really can survive anything short of a nuclear strike.

 

Storch learned early on that it was customary to keep one's money matters to oneself. You didn't just come out and ask someone how much money they make. Neither did you want them asking you the same. And wasn't it a drag if you couldn't even afford the wrappings that would allowed you to create the illusion of "doin' okness."

Suddenly Storch remembered that, in another thread, Dejavu expressed a curiosity about his idea of God. He was reluctant to answer, and now he knew that it was for the same reason that he would not tell people how much money he makes. Storch secretly thought: what if my God is so powerful that he can make a rock so big that even He can't lift it, and then Dejavu's God comes along and not only lifts it, but throws it at Storch's God, killing him instantly with a clean shot to the head? How embarrassing would that be?

 

It can be a hairy subject tar baby.

If you sit still on a whirling world are you motionless?

thedope was thinking on what Dejavu had said which was thedopes funny habit.
Not ha ha funny, although there is not a stitch that has not been burst and redone time and again along my ports and starboards in hysterical repose when speaking with him, but funny peculiar to those thedope lived with.

thedope thought that Dejavu's understanding had been duped by prudish ideas about language inspiring his temptation to mock, thinking in substance that thedope had insulted his grand/mother.

If you sit still on a whirling world are you motionless, repeated/reposted thedope now to Dejavu. How can you distinguish the light of a single candle flame from the sun while surrounded in sunlight? Everywhere love is all around. Actually you can't suggested thedope, the only way you can make that distinction is by casting a shadow.

 

Then there was storch.

I fucking adore ping pong the noble knip knop. A family excursion during holidays through three generations of testosteronic fertility. Care to ping for serve, thedope asked storch. Don't worry, there is no danger of you drowning in the shallow end of the still water.

 

Storch was saddened by his inability to walk on water like his friend thedope. But he would have to learn to live with it.

 

Storch, implied thedope, The imp lied then? i tried to assure you you are safe in the water,
that is unless you got what you want from me and didn't find me so attractive in the morning.

I will find you equal to any virtue regardless and free to do with yours as you will, offered thedope.

 

Storch wondered how long it would be before thedope figured out that it doesn't matter whether you're in the deep end or the shallow end if your head never goes under. But all that water beneath you does feel like something to write home about, doesn't it?

 

thedope wasn't exactly green around the gills with envy at storch's accounting methods knowing that to be fully immersed in the deep is an interminably and imperturbably powerful bliss far from atmospheric disturbance.

And they tell me this, it is impossible for a man to live and breathe under water.....

 

Which confirms my point that neither shallow nor deep has any bearing on anything. In that, they are right. Keep listening to them.

 

thedope couldn't decipher storchs' last paraxial view and wondered if just keeping quiet would suffice for keep listening because he wouldn't know what to search for. Perhaps it will come to me as our friend Dejavu is not amiss in suggesting, and I will comfort in the anticipation that after the thought has come my patient questing shall be satisfied.

 

Dejavu felt a touch of gilt, not the christian kind to be sure, but the usual sort after having scratched the surface of things. His host, fleamailman, had been pleased to see them taking themselves seriously as posters, and it was as though at those very words, he had instead transmuted into a flyer and fit the bill for every billowing. He was going to livewrite his way out of this situation if it killed him, which it actually could considering the freak forms of electrocution afforded by todays modern computer interfaces. For a start he was going to desist from assisting thedopes "christ-teaching", a contradiction in terms that thedope could choke on alone since he had the choice not to. After that was finished, at the end of the last sentence, he had time to discuss god with storch. Dejavu stressed there was no call for embarrassment, since he didn't have a god, nor could he circumnavigate the rock by atlas, and that the god of storch could go on not uplifting if he liked. That over and done with, to more important things, pepperoni and chocolate milk, Dejavu dreamed back to the time when he too had a bike, the freedom of a bmx. The freedom of surviving everything short of a nuclear strike. Back to an age when he had no aspirations ( not that he had any now or at any other time) towards learning Latin. Back to when he would have said 'malo mori quam servus esse.'

 

thedope, being fond of Dejavu, thought to wish him god, oops, he meant appropriate, speed on his effort to turn over a new leaf, even though it is likely to expose not much more than a patch of previously unexposed detritus. Is it a tantrum of some sort he wondered.

All the same thedope felt to display the proper reverence for a change, desired, and remembers the simple pleasure of finding a nickle and negotiating it for some thing of enormous value for the moment, like a day old doughnut from the bakery around the corner from the brewery next to one of his boyhood homes. For a dime he could score a whole pound of bananas from the grocery, his uncle had taught him that.

A nickle and a dime, five and dime toy isle down the street, yippie.

 

("...keep them coming, I'm reading your posts like a fire that burns upon content..." went the goblin again, adding "...it gets better, in a few years time you will be known, why, because readers want more from posts than what has been given them to date, for post and discard what you see around you, yet livewriting is reposting where what you have posted of yourself is your own benchmark to go on, so do you think you can beat your own benchmark then, well you'll need to repost if you do, no rush though, for you have the rest of your lives to exact your posts then, where whatever results doesn't matter as its lost whereas whoever results does matter...", yet by now everyone knew that goblins were not to be trusted)

 

Storch had enough faith in thedope to know that within eight to ten months, his 'cipherin' skills would rival even that of Jethro Bodine, and then Storch's view would not remain such a mystery to him.

 

Don't tell me I have to desist and cease from corrupting the eternal youth of thedopes misunderstanding, said Dejavu to himself looking about for a non-deciduous fig. thedope spoke as though all his leaves had fallen, but this was to be expected. Everything was supposed to be expected in thedopes world, so surely a man for all seasons could do without whitewash? Was this really lifes winter for thedope? Dejavu doubted it. It was probably just a little frost on the windowpane of his study. If thedope were able to understand Dejavus prudence as anything other than prudishness, he was sure thedope'd be someone else. Enough. He was again thinking of the earth, and of the simplest riches and remembrances. The words for them could wait. And the high seas? Let mal de mer take them. Make men of them. Let adventure be mast and mainstay. He had never known whaling or blubbering.

 

Storch wondered why thedope would make reference to his gills, and then confess that "they" had told him that it is impossible for a man to live and breathe underwater. He smiled at the thought of them having to come up with a way to help lead thedope to the truth that he has no gills. Storch thought that they were wise to take it slow, and first establish within the mind of thedope some basic criteria by which men are distinguishable from fish. Starting with gills would have been my first choice, too, and then I would have moved on to his lack of fins.