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

repost from elsewhere

"...well it's a bit like dealing with schizophrenia, one likes uncle sam and americans normally but, form time to time, or term to term then, extremist elements take over and one is just left wondering if uncle Sam hasn't flipped again..." mentioned the goblin thinking about dick cheney's "gitmo-democracy" policies, continuing "...well yes, obama might only have a way with words now, but isn't "a way with words" still a way then, where what went before him was no way at all in my view but for how long now..."


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repost from elsewhere

"...ah yes, we hit upon that one's looks problem again, one's photo no less, and how unfair it is now, something one has no choice about where on this forumland you can present yourself as the person in the mirror if you like under the graces or ravages of time I suppose, but it's not the provable you, not to me at least, nor the you that interests me here, so tell me then what you would like to look like if you had a magic wand, so between you and me this anonymity means that I'm probably imagining you to be like that already, amazing then how women look so beautiful when they feel beautiful about themselves, and how they flog themselves for that goal of stunning beauty which would probably lose them their partner, perhaps it's that feminine counterpart to male bodybuilding..." the goblin paused, not an easy concept then, continuing "...think about this then, simply if stunning beauty were really the type of beauty every man was looking for, then why don't more women meet that criteria in real life when in fact so few do...", a quick gulp of coffee and then "...no, men admire stunning beauty yes, well who doesn't then, but only as something to look at, and yet, as with the bodybuilding analogy, first the vanity factor of it is a real turnoff here, where also, and something that few men will openly admit I imagine, it is the incompatibility with themselves that stops them remaining in a relationship with some stunning beauty for long if at all, simply in the end one's partner has to be someone one feels comfortable around, and although one likes beauty in one's partner stunning beauty uneases one in reality, even if both men and women alike, dream of it..."


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repost from else, the subject of partner's height

"...with me those relationships seem so long ago that it is hard to tell, or I am almost embarrassed to think of the currency of accepted cool at that time and now seeing how much of a right pratt I looked by it..." continuing "...no doubt the "me then" would look at the "me now" and yell "suicide please, I want out", while the "me now" always discreetly sweeps those memories under the oh well, I suppose we were all young once carpet...", the goblin thought for a moment "...no, come to think of it, I didn't really have a height problem in my past relationships, no it was more a just any girlfriend please problem, in that, since it was clear what most boys wanted at that age, therefore the underlying question remained what were her plans for me in return, so depending on the girlfriend at the time, if I remember rightly now, it was something like "evangelical goblin", followed by "trotsky goblin", then "national front goblin", "footballing goblin", and "emo writertype goblin", even "climbing mount everest goblin", "peace and love goblin" and whatever..." ventured then goblin looking back now, simply the goblin had been a kind of surrogate barbie doll to each one of them in turn, adding "...but there you have it then, all part of that well that's what boyfriends are for charm indeed, where today I am just normal by comparison, evident isn't it


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repost from elsewhere

"...I feel I am in a warm country when I am on this forum..." mentioned the goblin, outside the chilling wind only added a feeling of cold to the reality of an unheated bistro, where the goblin's trick is not to ask for a second coffee here, but to move somewhere else each time, so each coffee was in effect the rent for a couple of hours internet in a bistro, simply the goblin could well pass for a bum perhaps, all he had to do was cut out a cardboard sign marked any spare change please, just a penny towards my disparately needed Internet access and total escape, "...o wasted life..." went the chorus of people looking on now


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Somewhere in the woods by a pond on a sunless night, a man sat with his back to the darkness. All that was there is what there was, and all that there was is what was there. He was somewhere between what was real and what was imagined, as all of us are. He was recalling when he was abandoned in a city at a time in his life when he really didn't know exactly what that meant. Having been instructed by the religious folk to wait for someone to arrive who would help him find his way home, he sat there on a bench with his suitcase watching their car as it sped away and turned the corner to finally disappear from his sight and his life.

His time with them was short, but being sixteen, it felt like a long, long time. They told him he couldn't remain because, according to them, his pride was such that it would not succumb to even the prospect of burning alive in Hell forever and ever. If only they had not needed him to wear the black, straight-leg baggy pants and the long-sleeved white shirt, and the haircut that would have left him altered beyond recognition. But God was quite clear on the matter; the clothes must change and the hair must go. Was it not enough that he worked at the outdoor fruit-market in the middle of the city of Springfield and paid tithe to their church? No, they were after more than his money. They wanted his soul, or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

On this night he understood that their faith in God actually hinged on such things as whether or not a prideful teenager could be influenced by the Holy Ghost to give up those things most valuable to him. And even if their Holy Ghost failed in the attempt, then it was their faith in the deceiving powers of Satan that was validated and strengthened. It didn't matter to them which principality held sway on any given day. The way they saw it, proof of one was proof of the other. He wondered if they were aware that they had set up such a win/win situation for themselves concerning the confirmation of their beliefs. Suddenly he was sad; for himself, yes, but this time, for them, too. In the past, this particular recollection had always caused him to feel sickened by the thought of them. But now he understood that that feeling was simply sadness in a righteous disguise, which is what all judgments are.

He sat now and tried to recall what set of circumstances had brought him to such a place--such a situation. He wondered how fruitful such a recollection would be for himself. He didn't know . . .

 

("...nice post, it's been a while since you've posted here but I always enjoy your company..." went the goblin not feeling too bright this morning, while outside another day's work beckoned in the darkness still, whereupon the goblin just readies himself suspecting that this winter was going to be a cold one, sighing "...I think things can't continue as they are, my life is good but every time I look at the fact concerning world affairs or the economy, the whole thing seems so unstable that I wonder why it has collapsed already...")

repost from elsewhere, an american "last post" thread

"...basically I am very pro american, for simply one has imagine what type of world we would face if america hadn't stood up to those tyrants, and yet the underlying fear is that it too, could turn tyrannical in its own fear of terrorism, like the last days of the Roman republic, where there too, "sheer power" ushered in the caesars..." mentioned the goblin adding ...in fact, william shakespeare never wrote these following lines at all, but whoever wrote them, probably was thinking of the play "julius caesar" at the time, perhaps we too, should be thinking of it then..." said the goblin as he put up the quote now, not meaning to offend here

anonymous quote:
Beware the leader who bangs the drums of war in order to whip the citizenry into a patriotic fervor, for patriotism is indeed a double-edged sword. It both emboldens the blood, just as it narrows the mind. And when the drums of war have reached a fever pitch and the blood boils with hate and the mind has closed, the leader will have no need in seizing the rights of the citizenry. Rather, the citizenry, infused with fear and blinded by patriotism, will offer up all of their rights unto the leader and gladly so. How do I know? For this is what I have done. And I am Caesar.


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Storch appreciated the prolific nature of the goblin's labor of love here, while at the same time wondering if the right to judge the intentions of another was his. If not, then the goblin would have to forgive him.

Storch understood the concept of not feeling very bright. Winters can be so bleak when taken in all at once rather than one day at a time. Was it a blessing or a curse, he wondered, to be able to hold the whole of something in the mind to see and know it as it is in its fullness? He came to decide that it was indeed an affliction; an affliction whose symptoms included an unyeilding desire to carry the whole of winter on his shoulders in Atlas fashion rather than in a piecemeal presentation like most of the rest of the masses. Such an affliction would cause his winters to loom large as a prison to the recipient of a life-sentence issued from the bench of a faceless judge who didn't see fit to mention the crime or the damning evidence, leaving the recipient of the prisoner-term to conclude that the crime was one of finding oneself in a body comprised of detector instruments, and having the audacity to open both eyes at once. Storch found it less than humorous that such sight/vision would cause the winter to appear endless, and the summer to appear over and done with before it even started. In the middle of June, it dawned on him to go shopping around for a good quality rake and show shovel. It was time.

Suddenly, Storch realized that he had gotten off track. The religious folk! How had he come to be delivered into their hands in such a strange land? First he needed to nourish himself. Yes, he resented that as well, as there sometimes seemed no justification for such a thing.

 

("...well he haven't lost your touch there..." voiced the goblin upon reading storch's post, adding "...at least I hope that tomorrow with be better than today's continuous rain was, where it seems that I feel the extremes more, that is, summer heat saps my energy, winter dampens my spirit, though perhaps I should be grateful that we are in a position to complain, where many who would be one's age by now were not lucky enough to be here still...")

repost from elsewhere

today the smug goblin's crafty plan seemed finally to have worked, where having bought his children "netbooks" he has turned them into mirror images of himself, no, he has even gone one stage further, since he is at home today while they are in his usual bistro surfing, thus by default his home is both tidy and quiet, somehow MYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA could be heard from far and wide now


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repost from elsewhere, a goth's "last post" thread

"...rest now for we can always continue this in the morning, or at least the idea of "posting something out of oneself" will remain then, where in fact, these forums, with their threads and members all move on eventually..." mentioned the goblin from his years of posting now, adding "...no, what matters isn't the forum, nor the thread, nor even the other members now, where unless we meet we'll all remain unknown personas between, no what actually matters is getting one's own posts right to oneself while there still time to, which sounds so selfish I know but isn't this life a bit too short to surrender all one's thought process to those ever pressing concerns of that dailylife, besides who wants to live a life where all one knows of oneself is what one owns, or how one looks, or where one's epitaph might read the old fart, while he lived, was the greatest walmart goer ever...", no, upon reflection, the goblin actually wondered what, beyond his own thoughts and feelings then, he really had of himself, hence his journey to self in posts would continue in earnest still


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repost from elsewhere

"...no, I think a fully thinking likable ageless persona is the goal here..." replied the the goblin who knew full well what an old folks home was like, both from having one down the street from where he lived, and from visiting his vegetated mother who, though well cared for, had no stimulation whatsoever, no real interaction with others that is, and certainly nothing like these forums/venues where one can exchange views upon everything, "...oh yes, there was always a radio in the corner of the room together with a television in the sitting room to help against out the background silence, and where busy nurses voicing out the same old lines and instructions too, as they spoon feed her, washed her, changed her nappies, dressed her, and generally looked after her in a way that she could no longer do for herself now...", where his mother was one in a group of twenty there, and where visiting time was about all the stimulation they ever got, "...so look around this forum again, note that there is no need for you to pump up people's blood here or anywhere, for each one of us are well aware of a truth of it, that if one doesn't carefully create some workable persona before reaching old age, then this dailylife would have every right let one mentally drown in merlin's cave for one's complacency...", so to the goblin at least this livewriting idea was not about fighting others in rapport, others who were personas anyway, no instead the real battle was all about keeping one's internal ahead of one's external where society puts one out to grass and kills us in kindness


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I was at the mall this past weekend, sitting and drinking coffee at a table in the food-court. I was watching people walk by. I saw a young couple, probably 17 or 18 years old, walking hand in hand. I remembered when that was me and my girlfriend. Here I was in the same mall, thinking intensely about the fact that that was forty years ago. I was pretty paranoid back then; always afraid that everyone could see how insecure and frightened I was. I trusted no one, and was not even aware that there was another way to be--something the opposite of mistrust. So, there I was sipping my coffee, walking my mind through the forty years that followed as best I could recall. Cold desperation, loneliness, hunger, some kind of need I couldn't put my finger on. I didn't love anything. I didn't want to hold anything or anyone; not even her. To do so was a liability. Someone could take it/them away from me. Or, that which was held could maybe simply go away of their own accord. Best not to make oneself vulnerable. A principle to live by. A principle to die by!

Forty years. Four decades. I don't want what was there, and yet I want it back. The glorious past. The good old days--days that were never really good. Oh well, just a memory; no more real than that. Nevertheless, the overwhelming feeling that something valuable was lost, never to return, stands beside the overwhelming feeling that nothing was really worth having, each moment being gone as soon as it was birthed, its purpose being nothing more than to give birth to the next moment, and then die suddenly. I am a moment!?

I can't even say that I was ever chasing after joy. How can you chase something you don't believe in? I hate to say that life is simply death in a clever disguise, but it had always seemed obvious to me that the whole process of life is the dying process, like as soon as you start living, you start dying--glass half empty, I know. But living is dying if living is temporary. And that's ok. I can accept that. Hell, I have no choice. Perhaps there is some humor in it all, and therein lies the joy I suppose.

 

("...I wanted something to read here, so I'm glad you wrote that post storch..." went the goblin who tries to forget his past at this point, explaining "...it was an experience at the time, but my past was another me then, where today their ghosts pop out from the shadows in those unguarded moments but no conjecture on my part will change them now...")

repost from elsewhere

the goblin showed, saying "...basically for me this thread is an open stage for anyone to post something that they've written out in front of a readership, one that is coupled with a nag of what material to you have done and which ones of that raw material are you actually going to complete, and although it really shouldn't matter to someone who remains anonymous, it is somewhat appalling to see oneself as either devoid of any postable material, or noting just how much raw material one has lying around as yet unfinished to oneself...", in fact, at times the goblin wondered if he wasn't feeding that plant in that the little shop of horrors film, "...feed me simon..." joked the slot again, and the slot like the plant was always hungry


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repost from elsewhere

the goblin most probably couldn't even "think his way out of a paper bag" this morning, though whether that was the frost coated view that greeted his occasional glance outside, or more likely that the fact this slow moving into winter physically reminded him too much of decline, either way then, those spells, cast by a punchy coffee and deep music upon the surface area of the bistro had lost their usual potency with the goblin grounded, saying "...a wave withdraws to crash upon itself each time, just like my posting now, so this too, will retract to the point where it all crashes out of me in a post again, and then, when it does, it'll seem as effortless as something even witnessed by me..." continuing "...to be honest I watched the google stream of the film zeitgeist through the night, hence this retracting feeling within me at this point, a lot of it reminded me of those two extremes within american society these days, that of "blind belief" against "blind disbelief", but they're both wrong I feel, america is not an angel here, nor a demon either, she is just human in my view, like the rest of us then...", well, except for the goblin that is for he was only a persona

[noparse]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Z9WVZddH9w[/noparse]


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A long time ago, I was friends with a couple. I lived with them, along with others, in a sort of commune-type set-up. We smoked a lot of pot, played a lot of chess and cards, and stole a lot of things. For example, when the group vehicle needed a battery, owing to its defective alternator, battery after battery was acquired thanks to the fact that berry-pickers and hunters left their cars unguarded in the woods. I played the role of look-out, climbing a tree to get a better view of the area to make sure the coast was clear. As we were driving away from the scene of the crime, we joked about our victim asking who ever went to look under the hood if there was something wrong with the battery, and the person answering, "Nope. In order for there to be something wrong with the battery, the battery would have to be there . . . and it's not!"

When we needed gas, we would approach a farm with the ignition turned off, and coast to a stop right in front of their house. Then we'd get out, open the hood, and pretend to be checking things out. Finally, we'd go to the rear of the car and push the rear end back and forth, pretending to be listening for gas sloshing around in the tank. Then we'd sit on the hood, looking really bummed-out. After a couple of minutes, my friend would open the trunk and pull out a gas-can. We'd start walking, and while still in view of the farm house, I'd stop and make like I was talking to my friend as I pointed to the house. He'd shrug his shoulders and we'd start up the driveway. Usually, the farmer would already be aware of the car in front of his house, and he'd be outside waiting for us. We'd explain to him that we had joined the army and were on our way to Detroit to ship out to Fort Knox for basic training. My friend, who had been discharged from the army just a year before knew exactly what to say to be convincing. We would claim that we had no money, and that we were going to abandon the car once we got to detroit. Most of them would give us five gallons; some would give us less, and some would give us more. But in the end, we had a full tank.

To any aspiring hustlers out there who are thinking of doing this, make sure you do what you have to do to disconnect the gas-gauge before going out on such a mission. Luckily, the gas-gauge on our car was already broke. And when you lift the hood pretending to be checking things out, pull the coil wire from the distributor-cap in case the mark needs to see for themselves that your car won't start when you hit the ignition. You plug the coil-wire back onto the distributor-cap while pretending to pour a little gas in the carburetor, which you can't do these days because of fuel-injectors. No one ever asked us to prove that the car wouldn't start before giving us some gas, but you never know when you'll run into some untrusting son-of-a-bitch. The world is full of all types, and you have to be on your guard against ones who are always looking to find the worst in others.

Anyway, that friend and partner in crime died four years ago. This morning I got a call from his son telling me that his mother (my friend's wife), who has been on hospice for the last year due to diabetes, a previous heart-attack that left her with sixty percent of her heart, a stroke, emphezema which has left her with five percent of her lung capacity will not live to see tomorrow. I had visited her twice in the last month. It was like watching someone suffocating slowly. She was rolling herself some cigarettes when I walked into the room. Eventually, she asked me to roll some for her, saying that she was just too tired to do it. I tried, but was a miserable failure at it. So she took the tray and started rolling some. When she was done rolling up about ten cigarettes, she wandered into the bathroom to use her oxygen machine for ten minutes.

On my next visit, I went with my sister. We stopped at the local store and I bought her a pack of cigarettes. Oddly I don't feel any guilt for that. She expressed her thanks, and then proceeded to chain-smoke them. That was a couple weeks ago. Now I'm on my way over to see her one last time. The future is not what it's cracked up to be . . . I suspect.

 

("...that is what I wanted to read, moreover, it was balanced beautifully too..." went the goblin thanking storch and thinking upon it still, adding "...don't lose this your post, keep it as a witness to your feelings at this point...")

 

repost from elsewhere, the "honest dating" thread

and with that the goblin's facade slipped and the real goblin then emerged from behind it, saying "...can't remember which one is the mask then...", and yet, joking apart, the goblin could relate to people quite openly hidden like this, no, it wasn't "dates" he was seeking anyway, no, he just wanted to know how other people were experiencing their lives, their thoughts, feelings, and reflections, saying "...how strange it seems to me that casual relationships seem cheap where real relationships seem costly..", so the Internet just offered the goblin two types it seemed, those that he actually grew to admire and like for their depth of their character, and those others elsewhere whose atributes were little more than triggers to his nagging libido, adding "...well, as to my honestly, I very much doubt that I could be this honest if, for example, you knew me as your bank manager, or your doctor or your local policeman then..."


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repost from elsewhere, just sharing again

something within the goblin always feared all that they call organized religion for the fact that it was organized, and thus trying to organize one too, saying "...how often do I feel that religion is an excuse not to find out for oneself then, and that one's connection to within, to that which has always been there too, is just ignored because of this compliant towing of the given external line each time, and no, I won't believe in, nor go somewhere closer, nor pay something towards, anything outside of me now, when you and I know it to be just there within one and without those preconditions too..."


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repost from elsewhere

"...perhaps then..." said the goblin "...it had something to do with the fact that all those drugs which normally work for the rest of us, such as alcohol, cigarettes, Internet, television, shopping and football, were no longer having their desired effect on those people who had grown disfunctional here, hence their turning to self medication to fill the void left by it...", somehow the goblin felt that most people were borderline in fact, and that they would probably become as equally disfuctional as the others if their addictions were withdrawn from them, saying "...well, what with sedatives to relax us, stimulants to excite us, and distractions to give us temporary escape, somehow we actually manage to get through each dreary day doing societies bidding..."


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repost from elsewhere

"...easy..." replied the goblin continuing "..."being normal", is simply "being not abnormal enough for others to notice", whereas "acting normal" was a dead giveaway that something was amiss indeed...", so the goblin was normal enough for the internet he imagined, save when he was wondering if dr who would be the narrator for the BBC's "when humans walked on earth" series, somehow the phrase dust to dust ashes to ashes and now petrol to petrol was just rolling off dr who's narrating lips now, as the goblin's mind delved upon the subject of global warming, climate change, and possible mass extinction here that is, "...what a strange yet fitting end it would be then, if the ice age did occur in our time..." uttered the goblin at it, in fact, all he actually knew was that he wanted to know more, and besides his bistro morning needed some excuse for yet another internet foray where any excuse would do


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"...my my my flea..." smiles Jats, checking in "...you're perseverance is getting it's reward I see for I only have to have read several of torch's posts here to find it has been worth it already then, great stuff torch, a lovely pace you have there that lured me in beautifully and proof to any writer type that there's nothing complicated about livewriting at all, see, and I hear crump is here too. I might stick around for a bit then, it could be a big un, though I can't make any promises as usual guv'nor..."