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

repost from elsewhere

the goblin showed up, forgave everybody everything, because he had opened up an edit thread on a writer's site a few days back, and rather then their being imaginative, it was all, "you shouldn't do this", or "what are your credentials now", or "your writing in third person with pictures is upsetting", "...I mean, why do people always look at the surfboard each time when they're on the greatest wave of one's only life heading towards that final crash now, surely it's make the most of it, post in full in my view..." blurted the goblin thinking that those self-called writers there were all legends in their own behinds, but the goblin would stick it out till thrown out for that was ever his way


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repost from "what are you thinking" thread elsewhere

the goblin was thinking, and simply repeated "...often, it isn't when things go right that one learns, it's when they go wrong that one does...", words which seemed to take the goblin back to a phrase that he had written before ah no, life's angels are not there to be nice they're there to help one see one's spirit by it and yes, the goblin had fought them often and was awake because of it now


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repost from elsewhere

the goblin knew that he had only himself to push here , repeating "...if I stop trying, the dailylife and that moneygod win in my place, it's as clear as that then...", but the goblin hated to admit another truth too, that although the goblin based his posts on what in my life is worth posting at times it felt as if nothing in his life was actually worth posting and he had to top it up with his imagination, not a bad thing in itself since his imagination grew by it, only that it was damming in it's conclusion about the goblin's own unimportant existence now


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repost from elsewhere

the goblin was thinking back this morning to the last time he saw his mother alive in the home, in merlin's cave as he called it, she was happy to see him, the goblin could see that, as she was sat up in the bed and tried to talk, not that she could really, just that her head bobbed back and forward with each popped word like little bullets from a steady machine gun, as dad fed bits of a cut pear to her mouth and, at times, she had enough strength to take one for herself from the small while plate placed in on her lap in the dull interior of her bedroom, cell room, or whatever they call those rooms then, yes the day was ever gray as the goblin remembers where this ceremony like ritual never changed much, the pear, a freshly squeezed beaker of orange juice with a plastic straw, and the two of us there visiting her in a gradual goodbye, "...just, it just was, and we were there to see it out as always..." said the goblin once more, adding "...the feeling even now is one of depth, sobriety, and silence towards it, as I kissed her forehead giving my promise to return..." recalled the goblin, who remembered walking away up the long corridor with dad and saying to him "...you know dad, it could be so much worse, just think how lucky we are then, for we are you know..." and with that dad would push those coded buttons on the ever locked door releasing us to the awaiting taxi, only to shut everything ever so tightly away behind us again, so the taxi would then pull away from merlin's cave like so many time before


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repost from elsewhere,

"...thanks admin..." said the goblin aware that it was very early days on this forum still, "...ah but over time most people do evolve their posting styles and content, no not that that is actually expected of them, nor would they believe me if I stated it openly now, but clearly anyone who keeps track of their posts is changed by it eventually..." mentioned the goblin again, adding "...so think back upon this point in six months time, seeing if you too have progressed in some way, where all this is just an unavoidable result from the practice of polishing one's posts I suppose, it's simply the change from subjectively tagging posts for fun with others here to objectively keeping track of one's posts for oneself now, and how does one keep track of one's posts you may ask, well, how about by air/edit/backup across forums, so welcome to my world of livewriting humans, for you see you've been wearing those ruby slippers all along only that you needed me to remind you of how to keep clicking them together again and again and again..."


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repost from elsewhere

the goblin had liked watching tom & jerry on television in his childhood, only that now whenever he hears his son playing chopin, ravel or debussy on the piano that is, up pops the those same cartoon images battling one another is perfect unison to those notes once more "...yes, something like chopin piano concerto No. 1 in e minor, alias "tom gives jerry as a gift to the girl cat, bad idea", chopin's piano concerto No. 2 in f minor, alias "tom's rival takes on tom for the love of the girl cat, jerry stops the duckling from committing suicide by suggesting it join some emo/goth forum, etc.,..." concluded the goblin whose coffee was gradually sinking the goblin's mind ever deeper into its consciousness, and a bit beyond even, in a slowly flowing daydream of imagination here where nothing seemed credible to him any more, no, everything just seemed incredible instead, saying "...truth is that shakespeare was right, in that I feel my dailylife to be such tom & jerry full of sound and fury but actually signifying nothing..."


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repost from elsewhere

the visit to the university hospital of geneva goes well as the lady explains about MRSA/PIE, which are bugs with multi resistance to antibodies apparently, while the goblin interprets calmly, following through the vague history of each type, its prevalence and virility within the hospital then, which basically boils down to the hospital's very own track and treat program trying to catch up with the bug's own trick or treat program, so the lady drones on dealing with these resistant bugs, airborne bugs, dormant bugs, and slowly, too slowly in fact, does it dawn on the goblin that he is in the middle of all this, saying nothing but thinking "help, someone save me from the hospital please"


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repost from elsewhere

the goblin felt much better, his friends were still here, his ghosts too, "...little bits of things to write about and a full day to write them in..." he contemplated, in fact, the goblin still had much of his whole life's posting to write here, so he felt the score was about to change again, continuing "...it's always "what you are writing" that's winning here, not "what you have written"..." as an adventure started unfolding in his mind again


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repost from elsewhere

"...ah but that is where we differ slightly, but where our hearts seem the same human then, for I have no wish to be their type of writer either, not that published writer nor that best seller type writer, for I am, and will always remain too, ever anonymous here, with only those goals of creating my persona and of following that journey to self by it..." ventured the goblin trying to keep his mind off the falling rain outside and that ever dull depressive continuation of his dailylife at this point, "...besides..." he continued "...books are all dead and published, or at least their authors have all set them in some sort of publishing cement, but not on forumland now, no here this author is me talking back to you, before you, as an author too, reply back, where simply you and I are author/reader between, for this is livewriting where the only win is to take the last post in style because it is the one that isn't dead yet, ah no, only those who don't post of themselves lose this game..." and then the slot wondered if the goblin could hurry up, because the captain could return any minute to find out that her tyranny of her household chores had not been enacted by her perpetrator of them, the goblin's fingers quickly scurried across the keyboard once more, somehow his morning procrastination was in deep peril now, as yet again dailylife called for the goblin's surrender to it


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re-post from "morning/evening" thread elsewhere

"...good morning..." said the goblin aware that, if nothing in itself was actually life threatening, then the next thing down the list automatically became the most important thing in one's life, meaning that to this family, moreover the captain he married then, definitely the most important thing was that the goblin goes to the shop and gets a little plastic band to stop that leaking wash basin, or else that basin will continue leaking thus slowly filling the bucket below with water, now, the goblin, who is aware that this is all unimportant on the grand scale of the cosmos and the movement of the stars within it, intends a compromise here, in that the goblin will actually buy the little rubber band while expressly refuting its importance, along with all humanity's self importance that is, here on this thread to the disinterested members of this forum, something on par with madame bovary who, faced with how to rearrange the flowers for her husband's all so important dinner party, actually chooses white funeral carnations aware that neither her husband nor his dinner guests would follow the subtle meaning of the message, where perhaps too, if nothing humans ever do is important in itself on the grand scale of the stars, one is free in one's own insignificance, well until the captain says otherwise again


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repost from elsewhere "Introduce yourself" thread on writer's site

actually, the goblin wasn't so much hiding his identity here, no just he didn't believe that his dailylife self was him while here now, that's all, explaining "...actors, who do not believe in their parts, while acting that is, are unlikely to have their audience believe in their parts either, and where again, if the story engulfs its reader it is probably because the story teller too, is possessed by his own story then..." the goblin tried to bridge it, continuing "...if you write, you've been there for yourself, in your story that is, so don't try to tell me that it was by some cold calculating thought process here that you wrote whatever you wrote, ah no, you waited for it to come didn't you, that deep gripping sensation I mean, in which you type on as if following it, building on it, and above all being it in its total, oblivious to all else perhaps, especially time that is..." ventured the goblin, returned to the bistro again, from where he had started writing this, saying "...gosh, it that the time already, funny old shared life this is then...", whereupon dailylife then intruded on the goblin's thoughts with a quick reality check, but as long as the goblin paid dailylife its dues, his mind was entirely free to wander off as it willed


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("...4000hits then, thank you for reading me..." remarked the goblin liking this forum immensely)

repost from elsewhere

the goblin just thanked everyone for their odd acceptance of him, saying "...I guess I repost often enough, strangely it's only then, at that point, that I notice those typos or some ambiguity, subtle or otherwise, which had been there under my nose all along...", the goblin was just confessing, that he often didn't see, what he saw, for what he thought he was seeing, continuing "...now another way to look mad in the bistro it to read aloud, albeit in a low voice, which not only helps one smooth out the text each time but also it gains one a large berth between oneself and the others...", by "others" the goblin meant those bistro goers again, who were ever seated a few tables away, and who had rightly guessed by now that the goblin is either composing something, therefore mad, or that he's just mad anyway, most probably because they considered themselves to be sane by default, or at least sane by some visual comparison perhaps...", something that the goblin was loathed to admit to himself here, where he wouldn't comply anyway, no, just how he hated their silly conformities, so maybe for the goblin too, this berth between them and him was something of a blessing now


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repost from elsewhere

the goblin was thinking in dibs and drabs today but the music was fine young cannibals which made up for it as it flooded pictures of younger times when he wrote letters, actually with a pen and paper in the bistro "...oh yes, I was mad even then too, but they got it wrong now, for it's not he who lives by the sword dies by the sword as the say, no it's he who lives by the sword wants to die by that sword too..." ventured the goblin who couldn't envisage a life without his sword-like pen then, a life of just living on aimlessly, "...for what is life without one's passion within it..." asked the goblin to himself mostly


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repost from elsewhere, an american "last post" thread

"...job or no job, most people are insecure these days..." said the goblin adding "...plans are shelved, holidays cancelled, and relationships strained in this social and financial retrenchment it seems..." in fact the goblin wondered if most people weren't, in some way, going through the same type of shock and readjustment that those vietnam veterans faced on their return from the war where they couldn't re'adjust to this security, save that this time around, instead of those soldiers back then who found this security unsettling them, today it's this insecurity that unsettles everyone now..."


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repost from "what are you doing" thread, elsewhere

the goblin had been talking to dead relatives in those long sold houses of his youth and childhood, "...ok now, in this still morning darkness one can just dismiss it as last night's dream, whatever, but it lingers clearly in my mind at this point, who they were, the casual conversation, and a nagging suspicion that this communication might have been what I had been seeking, like something suppressed while awake only to pop up while asleep..." mused the goblin who left the verdict open here but still felt moved by it


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repost from elsewhere, comforting someone who had been banned

"...never mind being banned, if one feels that one is being wrongly pressurized into conforming that is, and as long as one makes sure one is not offending people unnecessarily by what one posts, seeing why one was banned then, and learning from it too, then surely it is win/win since neither side would be wasting their time from then onwards..." advised the goblin, adding "...simply one gears oneself up for one's next forum/venue while rethinking one's relationships with members on those venues that one is already on, simply it's as they say in defeat, one mustn't lose the lesson of it...", in fact, the goblin not wasn't sure if it was a quote or just something he felt to be true here


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repost from elsewhere

the goblin tries to write something every day, explaining "...yes, but writing something and matching something are two different things, where I don't feel that something is finished until it's matched with a picture too, so some days I might not actually write anything new but match something instead, progress then, whereas other days I might write something which I am unable to match, progress still...", not that any of this actually mattered, no not what he produced, nor what it meant, nor even how others would react mattered, no, all that mattered to him was his not giving up without trying, that's all, whereupon the goblin just repeated to himself "...when one is anonymous, one is and has only the here and now between us, with nothing to prove nor defend, and where there is no elsewhere, nor prior, nor afterwards, just a journey to self in post perhaps..."


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repost from elsewhere, that time of year

"...well this is the big night folks..." says the broadcaster over the radio in the bistro to a goblin who couldn't think what to type next, the guy continues "...that's right, the night you've been waiting for, for tonight folks, you'll get to hear who, amongst the many nominees in the various categories, will finally walk away with a fruitcake in this year's "box of frogs" awards..." and yet in listening in the goblin felt old and out of it, he simply couldn't remember who any of these stars, who had turned up at davos this year that is, were, nor even how it mattered now


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repost from elsewhere

on the table lies a letter reading dear mr. fleamailman, your bank deposits are perfectly safe with us now, promise, yours sinfully, bernie madoff, that is, while also hearing the british prime minister in the news today advising us all to remain optimistic here, just somehow the voice in the goblin's head just repeats over the microphone "....now everyone, if you can lean forward that is, please fold your arms around your knees, and wait for the call of "brace, brace, brace", thank you..."


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repost from elsewhere, the "what are you listening to" thread

"...ok humans, just wake me up when it's over please..." went the goblin

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3FHCGW7m4K8"]NOBAMA & FLIPFLOPNEY - What We Really Hear When They Talk [dogsofwarclan] - YouTube


xxxx