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

Goddammit your post makes a lot of difference.

 

One time I lost my differential and it seemed to make a difference as to the effective operation of my vehicle added thedope.

 

Seemed to make a difference? You lost your frickin' differential!!

Seemed to make a difference like death seems to make a difference I'll bet . . .

 

Storch hoped that thedope would loosen up and grace us with a description of of an event that had greater meaning for him than the differential he lost, although Storch had to admit that it might be interesting to hear the details of how one becomes so careless as to lose a differential. Storch was more inclined to believe that one of thdope's neighbors had stolen it, and that his unwillingness to judge another (think Ned Flanders) had caused him to both perceive and claim it as lost. Despite having no memory of carrying the differential to anywhere and losing it along the way, it is nonetheless his contention.

His neighbor stole it, and he needed get it back. If he would have went to his neighbors immediately, he probably would have caught whom ever it was with greasy hands and downcast eyes. But not now. And he certainly can't just waltz on up to his neighbors and ask if he can look up the skirt of what ever vehicle he suspected was benefitting from the one-sided transaction that occurred involving his differential. No way! Storch wanted to suggest to thedope that he should take advantage of human nature and offer a reward; to use humanity to his advantage!

 

repost from elsewhere

"...so one's old age finally helps one to turn inwards..." said the goblin adding "...but why turn inwards only after one's old age forces itself upon one...", somehow the goblin's battle for his mother against her slowly engulfing senility had shown him that much at least, that those who are ill prepared for their own retirement often suffered within that aimless freedom of it, where the goblin just remarked "...so the real question for me here is how to turn inwards then, seeing that all on my outside is not mine to keep anyway, just that everything other than myself belongs to a dailylife that invariably takes back whatever it has offered without pity nor choice..."


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repost from elsewhere,

"...and so, may we have the next contestant please..." the goblin smiled while the lights and camera turned to a new face smiling, she seemed a little tense but alert while he approached her, "...well hello there miss, and let's give a big round of applause for..." the goblin passed the mike towards "...michelle obama ..." as the clapping starts and she shivers shyly the goblin says his ditty "...nice to meet you, to meet you..." as the audience shout out "...nice..." the goblin continues "...OK, michelle are you alright, you remember the rules of our little game then, the curtains will open you have ten seconds to memorize everything you see, then we'll close the curtains and anything you can remember is yours, it's as simple as that, you're not nervous I hope...", she looks across to the goblin "...well flea a bit really, but I will do my best, promise..." and with that the great curtains open while the audience counts the seconds down on the clock "...ten, nine, eight, seven..." frantically her mind made a quick picture as her finger pointed to where the televisions, cameras, laptops, and the car were, somehow she knew she could win this "...three, two, one..." the curtains dropped together "...well michelle, the big question, can you tell everyone what you remember then...", "...well goblin..." she starts with excitement and then bursts out "...there's that batwoman mask, that sensuous thin riding crop, the super sexy tight leather corset with uplifting cups, oh and those pointed high heals, that pair of handcuffs, and I think I saw a black hood with matching black swimming trunks for him..." the fingers of her hands clutch together in expectation to the goblin who, turning to the audience again, says "...oh and didn't she do well folks..." as, a bit confused, the goblin dashes behind the curtain to check for himself just in case she was right


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repost from elsewhere

on waking up this morning the goblin greeted the rain with a feeling of goodbye to summer and its tourist season but he knew too that it never really stopped though, only that there would be less people now, and even then there were both times when the heat shot back up or when some event in geneva would return everything to a panic-like situation again, just that it wasn't summer any more, it didn't have that dire limitlessness to it, no, it became only an "intrusion on" as opposed to an "occupation of" the goblin's lot, "...in fact if anything, the stress of the situation usually causes my posts rather than curtails them, just parrying with my pen then, the stress actually pushes my pen onwards..." ventured the goblin, adding "...ah but this time this summer had overwhelmed my defenses here...", perhaps the goblin was explaining, to himself perhaps, why at the time he most needed to post, he just couldn't face the slot like this, resulting in a very unusual silence from him


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repost from elsewhere

"...we owe it to our past not to forget..." repeated the goblin, "...and we owe it to ourselves now to keep on while we can...", so the goblin always posted regardless and had posted to date to prove it, "...for this is an edit thread, where to surrender to silence is to deny oneself the challenge of seeing what one can post, so the real "win" is not in being "the last poster" in itself but simply to see if one can keep on posting regardless..." but it wasn't in any regardless manner that the goblin ever posted here, no, he was always aware of both "what" and "where" he posted


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Stolen from Storch's owner.


I wasn't real. Nothing about me was real. I was an organism twisting and squirming in its environment in an ungraceful, involuntary reflexive dance of conformity. Just keeping up with traffic, officer/teacher/parent.

That's right, just keeping up with traffic. Proper tones and proper words in the living room and classroom are mostly a matter of tribal politics, as are the proper tones and proper words on the playground. If I had called them breasts on the playground at school, the social repercussions within the sub-tribal community of juvenile males would have been just as serious as if I had called them tits in the classroom or living room. And the same applied to calling a vagina by the wrong name in the wrong company.

Everyone said that the most important thing is to just be myself. I couldn't help thinking that if that's the case, then I'll necessarily need two selves--one for the real world and one for the other. As to which world is which, well, each one offers its own brand and degree of repercussions. We are what any given moment calls from us. I didn't learn to be myself. I learned that the most important thing was to stay aware of my immediate surroundings and to keep up with traffic.

 

repost from elsewhere

the goblin thanked everyone repeating "...all the matching pictures are either gifts from members who felt they wanted to share their finds here, or they were ones that I have come across on forumland..." said the goblin adding "...so I never take credit for the pictures since I have only matched them...", the goblin drank deep from his cup once more, looked across the bistro floor at the dog lying there who, forming a perfect circle, now placed his chin of his tail in a "boy I'm cute" statement while waggling his ears, probably morse code ".... . .-.. .--. etc.," slowly registering within the goblin's brain as "help, I am bored out of my banana", while it's owner nattered on relentlessly into her cellphone over a cluttered table , the goblin just typed on, saying "...actually, I'm prolific so I guess everyone's interest will probably wane before I'm through doing my air/edit/backup here...", but either way the goblin preferred to go at it one post at a time, just looking at the text trying to visualize it before once more running through the collection of possible pictures, saying "...well, it'll never be anything more than just this then, just an exercise in anonymous self-honesty while it lasts I suppose...", yet by now the dog too, was fast asleep but then again who could blame it for sleeping


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repost from elsewhere

"...confession time then..." went the goblin, continuing "...actually, I can't write anything alone by myself here, I mean not off-line that is, so no, I need that feeling that these lines belong on some forum somewhere before I can write them..." mentioned the goblin feeling that the credit, if any, should really be shared amongst certain anomalies here, that is, these unknown readers here, his anonymous self, miscellaneous pictures found from google searches, and an endless open void called forumland, adding "...just the pull of the unknown then but I still thank you for it..."


48

 

repost from elsewhere, the "life, the universe, and everything" thread, someone adhering to "the truth biological of scientific observation" theory now

"...ah mortal, so you really think one human can ever know the whole truth, and then claim each previous theory in its turn was a delusion, when surely what you have is just another theory in its turn, just humans, for all their religious belief and scientific observation can only theorize at best...", simply the goblin knew that he should try to know the truth too, but it was ever a truth that is as infinite as his own mental grasp of it was finite, not that that would stop him from trying to grasp it though, "...simply, you humans in your weakness make props that you can then lean upon, but perhaps calling them delusion would be an ungenerous way of looking at your interpretations, so it's a prop where otherwise a gaping hole within one's life would be, just the prop plugs that hole then, hence humans, as I pointed out before, need the prop because their own insignificance would hit home if they left that hole there, "...so ok, let's now hear your theory the truth biological of scientific observation" theory is just that then, when all one actually knows is this life is a journey to self here..." concluded the goblin off to make a coffee and to find a matching picture that kind of underlined this refutal then


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Dejavu caught himself in reflection on the scrying screen of the terminal. Flea was there grasping the infinite, not trying to, and he was in admiration of his proliferation. In Dejavus own sphere, in his outpouring, profligation made its empty threats as usual. Keep on keeping on Dejavu, it said, you'll make something of yourself yet, you'll be a made man! He wasn't perturbed, disturbed, or curbed in his continuity, but then he wasn't in complete possession of it either. It flew before him, there, mute, everyones and no-ones. He looked over there again at his companions. Was storch really a teacher? It made sense, since he was also a bartender, and he appeared to have hated sundays as much as any self-possessed child should. You know, he soliloquized, there's really no telling. He didn't mean this as relating to storch though, but the business of the bank, a concept that eluded any sort of solidification, at least in his own mind. It was a pooling for resources, where every physical foundation was openly acknowledged except the human being. The human being seemed to be acknowledged only as a closed account, its taxation a given, and its labour pains collateral when they weren't an overhead. But here he was being insincere, he thought. He was not giving everything its due as a human institution. He jumped train here, and set about setting up a theory to present to flea that might make him reconsider the one he had about the journey to self being the journey to death...or had he already reconsidered it?

 

Storch liked the idea of being thought of as a teacher. But aren't we all? he thought. Everyone on forum land, whether they knew it or not, was teaching him how to get along with others. Some were doing a better job than others. He'd never had the incentive to get along with anyone. And now he had come to the point where he wanted to get along with some people, including Dejavu. Already Storch had determined that in the event of certain movie reenactment scenes, Dejavu would be moved up to playing the part of one of the gap tooth hellbillies. Maybe there will be three hellbillies in this scene, and thedope can play the parts of both Ned Beatty, and Jon Voight; but not at the same time of course.

Storch was also amused by the idea of being thought of as a teacher because he knew virtually nothing about geography, history, math, and was a true drop out.

Storch hated Sundays because that was the night the neighbor lady came over to take him sledding with her kids. He noticed that her kids--his friends--weren't in the car, and neither were any of his brothers and sisters. After sledding at a stranger's house with some strange kids, the neighbor lady and the stranger told him to play with any toys he wanted in a recreation room. Then they asked him if he would like to play with those toys everyday. Being five years old, Storch first thought that this lady was going to give him the toys--Tonka Toys! And then the strange lady asked if he was tired and wanted to go to bed. That's when he figured it out. He got up and put his coat on and hurried out the door and got in the car. Even now he could remember sitting there alone in a sort of vacuum in that car hearing the high-pitched whining sound that silence sometimes makes when you're too stunned to breathe at first. The neighbor lady came out and got in the car. She wouldn't say a fucking word.

When they got back to his house, he got out of the car and walked to the house as fast as he could. He went in and took off his boots and coat. As he was doing so, he was watching the neighbor lady giving his mom a look that was intended to be hidden from him, but was not. She was giving his mom an intense look as she gave her head a couple of short, quick shakes. He went into the living room and joined the rest of the pack, though he really didn't feel like part of it any more. They were happy, and Storch was sad, he guessed. It would never be the same. Whenever that lady came to visit his mom, he watched for signs of her getting ready to go. Then he'd go out to the swamp and out of sight until her car was gone. Fucking Sundays!

 

Dejavu puzzled over storchs story wondering what the neighbour lady and his mother wanted with him, or without him, and then thought it better to stop puzzling in case storch delivered him any further up the line of motion picture promotion which was beginning to leave him down cast. The account made his own hatred of sundays sweet by comparison, the last precious one of two days sullied by association, by its having to tip over into a school week. A moderate hatred, not always present either, and certainly not directed at anything in particular. Dejavu got along with storch just fine. He wasn't going to use the word swimmingly, as he was trying to feel as though he'd emerged from if not brooked the babble of so many water courses, and was now scaling the heights of various knowledgeable branches he could hope to, in some measure, descend from with impunity.

 

Storch's mother was attempting to give him away/get rid of him.

Storch's father was dead certain Storch wasnt' his. His father found it hard to live with.

 

I'm all for the unity of imps.

 

Parents should be mean and not absurd.

Are we kicked out of the womb or do we kick ourselves out? The thought that it was neither nor both was too much for Dejavu, who was looking more and more again like a navel orificer in his umbilicity, imbucility, cilibumity etc etc.

 

You would be thedope, said Dejavu. You want the imp oh so bull. An imp roper harnessing of the heavens under the singularly dense cloud-like auspices of almighty imp er tenants.

 

And all imps were for the unity of thedope. But none of them were holding their breath.