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

repost from elsewhere

“...just that the television is yet another theft of time goblin, whereas cigarettes aren't goblin...” somehow the witchdoctor always smiled when explaining something, continuing “...you see,, imagine you're spending one minute a day on something from the age of 20 up until one is 60, that's all one's working years then, well now, do you know how much time that equates to here goblin...” the witchdoctor broke into a soft laugh then continued “...well that's ten days goblin, now imagine too, those people who watch television for three hours per day, where most people are watching television from the age of five, if not earlier, and where in fact it's a lot more than three hours at a time, so how much time goblin would you equate that to now...”, the goblin just listened in, strangely he always liked the witchdoctor's logical ways, so the witchdoctor continued on, saying “...well now, doesn't that become at least four and a half years regardless of whether one lives on after the age sixty or not, simply, one has lost that time to one's television then, or to commuting to work, or to whichever other habit one applies this rule to...”, “...so how could that possibly be worse than those cigarettes that take years off one's life, causing a horrible death, and at such a cost too...”, “...agreed there goblin, but we're not talking about one's health or wealth at this point, merely we're talking about losing time at source now, in that those cigarettes shorten one's life in the end but the television, and those other habits too, steal your time the moment you actually partake in them, I mean imagine if you were run over by a bus at the age of fifty, well then what actual difference would have your smoking made to you, yet time stolen at source is already lost and lost forever too, that's the point goblin..."


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repost from elsewhere

"...no one can control their own thoughts, and the madness is in thinking that one somehow can, so no, the crime is only in the action, where your thoughts are your only freedom and yours alone, simply the "journey to self" rides on the back of a base animal here, part demon part angel but it's still you all the same..." mentioned the goblin, repeating "...oh no, in society one cannot have freedom, but within oneself one can hold to secrecy if one is strong enough to do so..."

 

repost from elsewhere,

without the actual line to go on, the goblin just imagined that it was the mere fact that he had stated that he didn't feel himself to belong to any one forum, which had merited that previous hostile reply now, but no, much as the goblin did appreciate each forum/venue in its turn, as a place where members could came together, those venues were not set in stone, any more than their members were, where the goblin confessed to being around since the BBS days where none of those boards remained today, so the goblin had come to understand that forums like the personas upon them were all transient, that they differed perhaps, but that they, like everything else, just appeared and disappeared under time's tide, so the goblin tried to excuse himself by saying "...imagine that you placed all your posts here thinking that it was the only forum upon forumland and that it would never fold and then through some mishap the forums folds, or bans you, or the server goes bust, or that someone trims off your posts, or that the site migrates away, all would be lost then, everything gone...", the goblin stopped, took a swig of coffee and then looked at his original line again no, the forum just happens to be, and instead one must look to one's persona and the integrity of one's posts foremost, and with that in mind the goblin just restarted, concluding "...so no, I am happy to be here now, promise, and to share our posting too, but perhaps I am too old to think at mere forum level now, for there's just me and this forumland here, while of course I appreciate that which I come across and those who I meet too, but it's a journey all the same, where a journey by definition means progressing onwards even when we are standing still it seems..."


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...one more then, for old time's sake, before I wonder off again... a repost from a writers site...

Jats holds the chameleon by the leash who's wanting to post all those posts they have missed, unleashing a furious cacophony here once more, but Jats knows no one is listening, too many writers here busy not writing then "...ah is that so, sorry to hear that, though I would have thought it would be a reminder of human frailty, a spur to write on, quickly furiously, but that's the problem with normal writing isn't it, too many distractions from dailylife where with livewriting one can just click a button and continue even when comatose, but those and other benefits don't come at the start they have to be earned day by day, post by post, year by year..." Jats chuckles quietly as the missus starts to fall asleep curled up at his feet, worn out from editing and blogging, and from Jats reminding her that she hasn't written anything, again "...and there are many others too, not that you will realise, tucked away in these little isolated pockets where everyone tows the line, but out there on the bigger stages you can reach thousands and shoot to the top of those 'best book' and 'most popular author' blah de blah top ten, top 100 whatever lists overnight, and all for free too, not like those cheating authors who pay marketing companies to tweet, and re-tweet ad infinitum, or of course you can just spend your whole day on Facetwit yourself or even join little groups of self promotion where guess what, you won't be writing, so you have no choice, and hand over your money with a baa baa baa perpetuating it..." smiles Jats almost done now but here it comes "...but I'll ask you one more time Steven Pirie, and as ever take what you will from it, so, how's that book selling then, uh, um, mmm..." Jats wonders, putting the kettle on now

 

("...allow me to do a shameless plug for one the best livewriting threads out there on forumland, Jats's thread on exulibus forum then..." smiled the goblin remembering when there were only two livewriters out there where today we are so many more and welcomed even, and in future all this might just be commonplace, just normal like poetry, or prose, but nothing will ever change the bumpy crazy start where lesser creatures would have caved into their conformity straight off, we didn't cave in and we have both our posts and our bans to prove it...", then the goblin smiled at some stupid thought, saying "...who knows, perhaps they'll remember us posthumously, where one just needs to die first I guess, think I'll give a miss though, dying is not my style really...")

http://www.exulibus.net/showthread.php?262-Random-Stuff/page26

 

...ah no flea, you will live forever now, where I will die a hundred times if I have to... a repost then, one of my first fittingly...

"...and that is as it should be, when you are young, having little thought of tomorrow, of what's next, just the now, living for today, and yes things might have been far more secure, stable, if as a consequence of staying in my own town with the school yard friends that I visit now and again who are stuck in their same routine, yet when I do, I know that I have seen things with these eyes that they would never believe, done things that they could not comprehend..." Jats smiles as a few memories come instantly to mind "...for some of us have to burn brighter even though it quickens the end, brings it closer, so, a different contentment for me then, for when it's time to die, for perhaps I am more ready as a consequence, having no if only's left to try, but, still, not just yet awhile..." explains Jats about to fall asleep on the sofa now

 

Brighter is quicker. Perhaps the difference between the quick and the dead. thedope didn't demonstrate that he was found or fond of the prognosis of end times and hoped he didn't blunder stumbling in on someones approaching slumber. Seems he couldn't help but think but then was strangled in a goblinized vain that one couldn't control ones own thoughts and thought precisely, except the thinker!

 

repost from elsewhere

"...I don't know how many forums have called what us livewriters do as spam too, and I've been banned through that accusation a number of times now..." mentioned the goblin in passing now, adding "...truth is, though I would never admit it to their faces, is that they are unnerved by actual writing is seems, that is, that while it remains the typical snippets and tags, one is quite welcome but as soon as one posts a little more meaningfully, and with pictures too, up comes that accusation of spamming again, perhaps rooted in a fear of losing members, or jealousy, or ust whatever then...", in fact, it was usually on the larger forums where most of this friction occurs, where it can also be seen as a challenge to authority, or going against the accepted way of doing things, adding "...anyway, for me there's little choice in the end, for I want both an illustrator's eye for pictures and a writer's gift with words, something that won't come by way of doing their simple snippets and tags..."


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repost from elsewhere

naah, the goblin wouldn't go that far in that he only saw his posting as a journey to self, and yet many odd fictional creatures seemed inside him when he wrote, where he simply brought them to the fore by it before leaving their written trace in their wake, so whether they were those ghosts of his past, or some representational characters even, it didn't really matter now, just they were very real to him, as anyone who lived a shared life would understand these words here, explaining "...well, if one writes in third person one starts dealing with characters, where, just as any good actor becomes his part in its total, then a involved writer experiences each of those characters in turn a few moments before he then switches into the someone who writes everything down, so he steps back and forth between these two states of the vision itself and its portrayal just as some go-between might, thus a shared life it becomes by it, one of one's being whatever at one moment then reciting it in the next moment...", yet how by it the thread just seemed an open stage to recite whatever one had written of what one had been


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repost from elsewhere

“...elusive isn't it, one both sees the vision for oneself and relates it to others in mere written footprints, where doesn't that ability only mark one out as a livewriter and makes that which goes on through one's mind a shared life or sorts...” mentioned the goblin knowing that some people could visualize well while still others could recite well, but only those who did both had signed that muse's pact so to speak, smiling “...me, I'm just a persona here I'm not even that which I wrote yesterday, for forumland doesn't remember anything before now, so a livewriter is very much his namesake then, "live" that is, always just a few posts in front of his own oblivion, a survivor upon forumland perhaps, ever pacing his journey to self here, but never quite stopping lest the show would go on without him...”


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repost from elsewhere

the goblin realized that if he didn't go to sleep, then no doubt sleep would just come to him instead, but that that urge to be that last poster on this "last post" thread here was ever constant, ever the norm then, yet it wasn't the taking of very last spot on the "last post" thread with meant anything, instead it was the actual understanding that it indeed might be one's very last post on that thread, and that if so, then "how one win with what" should matter, the goblin knew what he wanted but know what to write then, saying "...how lame it would be just to write "I win" in place of winning this post with style then is my point I suppose..." and with that the goblin pressed the post button with a lone finger, as if with his hands still clutching for it, yes it was never enough he felt to win without writing something truly worthy of his pen, for that it seemed was the constant that pushed him ever on, smiling "...me by my pen then, and thus by my pen me too, for that's all I ever am here, just me by my pen each moment..."

 

repost from elsewhere

the goblin wished well, saying "...it's not where you are, but only how you see your posting that counts, selfish I know but you will outlive every forum that is out there, just as I have outlived those BBS sites of old some twenty years back, so please don't let others weaken your resolve now, and yes they will try, at times ganging up against you even, other times attacking you personally trying to sow some doubt within you, but in the end it all returns you to your posts once more doesn't it, so being liked, disliked, welcomed, ostracized, or whatever, means absolutely nothing and changes nothing too, where all it is, is just you quite alone here with this vast expanse of forumland in front of you now, where the strong race against time in posts across its surface, and where the weak just sink into some subplot somewhere, care to race on with me now..."


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repost from elsewhere

"...go for it, try and give up then, where by now I doubt you can give up writing entirely though you might stop for a while, but it's far too part of you isn't it, so much so that it's just habitual even, where writers are not to be envied for they're piteous addicts in their way..." replied the goblin, adding "...and besides, when you're not writing it all out of you, it's building up within you still isn't, and how very uncomfortable that is too..." ventured the goblin now, adding "...oh yes, perhaps anyone can write if there are those external motivations on offer, but look what happens when those external motivations are then removed, they stop, but you and I are livewriters, for the muse doesn't go back into that bottle, where livewriters are like just stuck with her and where others can actually stop writing perhaps, yes they might write well even, but they're not actual writers by their nature there..."

 

repost from elsewhere

"...well now, there does seem to be an awful lot of those humans on forums these days..." replied the goblin suspecting that the mommies from women's interest forums, together with their kin the trolls that is, not to member those pauper poets too, writertypes and their like then, had all been humans once, but that that was just internet evolution for you, where they started off as something else perhaps, but now look at them, adding "...where I'm a livewriter myself, just someone who writes online for online I mean...", in fact, the goblin was one of the "band", a small group of livewriters whose hallmark were that their posts were in effect their writings then, "...odd isn't it, I mean for every one person who starts to read a book there must be hundreds more just turn up on forumland here and who then become their own author/readers in their own right..." mused the goblin careful about post length here, somehow he just remembered that one of the first rules to this was just keep it sweet and keep them wanting

 

repost from elsewhere,

"...then I will share with you the little I know about ghosts..." replied the goblin "...though I will let you ask me what you wish to...", meanwhile somehow the bonfire in the garden must have still been burning, for that feint pungent smell, together with the slight twitching of the eyes in irritation, caused by it of course, continued even now, as the goblin looked alternatively down at the wooden table's surface and up at the screen in a slow pensive manner as the night progressed its way once more, "...the room of my childhood this, later the room of my guard duty through my mother's demise, and how I strained my ears to hear the rattling of the child-gate downstairs, knowing that it didn't stop she her really, only that it bought me enough time to halt her there, where I could then lead her to back to her bed, though that's dementia for you, just the balance goes so these stairs are out...", the goblin strained his ears now, and, bar from the steady hum of the computer, the night's silence was its norm of course, but even so, it didn't stop that feeling of "any minute now" within him at this point, so perhaps her ghost, in this room at least, if one could call it one as such, was not some apparition at all, but merely this sensation of constant guard-duty then, or perhaps just an imagined rattling of the child-gate below form moment to moment, that "any minute now" again and again and again


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repost from elsewhere

the goblin agreed, and liked to share ideas here, saying "...me, I try not to think of any ownership while I remain anonymous and where the anonymous would own nothing by there anonymity, but more simply I tend to see ideas as inanimate objects or abstract externals left lying around for anyone to stumble across, "no, there's nothing new under the sun" as they say but then again "anything can be new to you then, it's your present journey here, not theirs, and just because someone else might have found something along the way doesn't mean anything to me until I have written about it for myself, in my own words too, thus making it my own view, so it's like getting a second opinion about something, save that that second opinion as in this case is one's own here..."


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repost from elsewhere, a dating site's "last post" thread

"...true, and as an idea it is sound enough, and yet knowing me I would still have to go in search of new forums for two reasons..." replied the goblin, thinking about those two now, continuing "...editing and airing, editing where in their reposting they are edited...", and then the goblin knew he had to mention the other reason too, while actually his mind was wondering how people in the west country here dry their clothes in all this rain, whereupon the sound of the television next door cut into his thoughts going "and now, introducing the all new ecologically friendly way of drying one's clothes anywhere near dartmoor, first wash and spin dry your garments as usual, then hang them out to dry for however long one cares for, then, while still damp that is, wear those clothes on one's person till finally dried out, then return them to the laundry basket and repeat process, oh, and don't even think about continental coffee goblin" then returning to subject, saying"...no, the other reason is airing one's posts like one's leaving one's calling card, so that I can meet the personas here, no not their real life counterparts now, just their personas will do...", perhaps then, if there really is an author in all of us as they say, the goblin was just trying to meet those authors around him by doing these rounds here so to speak..."


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repost from elsewhere, the goblin reading another livewriter's posts

"...well if you ever wanted me to think deeply by your posts, full marks to you by your post there then..." replied the goblin going back to reread it once more, returning to topic and then continuing "...where perhaps the fact that none of my credentials can be proven here gives me a great freedom to simply dump them even if someone else might want to become known by what they write, me I just don't, it's personal choice I suppose...", in fact, goblin was thinking of just how honest he had been of late, concerning various aspects of his personal life, for example, his anonymity had meant that he could come to terms with his mother's demise to dementia openly across forumland here, his not grieving at it, even to the point where, when his father asked him "what hymns then", and not knowing many hymns, let alone catholic ones, the goblin had merely suggested good king wenceslas for the cremation service, where even dad had to laugh at the thought, where in fact it was all humbug anyway, mum had been a devout atheist, albeit one indebted to the nuns for her beloved convent-school days, so much so that she then helped them one way or another throughout her life, the goblin explained "...oh yes, mum had, to all intents and purposes, been brought up as a good and true practicing catholic atheist...", but no, the point the goblin was making here was that the goblin was drawn to xxxxx's posts not by any of those writing credentials there, but instead simply by what he read directly in her posts, so one could be very different in outlook from someone else, even in one's beliefs too, and still help that person, smiling "...well isn't that just that humanity that you humans aspire to, guess mum was like that then, she reached over her differences to them, as I too do now I guess..."


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repost from elsewhere, a chat with a spirit persona

the goblin agreed with spirit about her posts then, saying "...same fate then, just posts are ever at the mercy of this forumland here, yet people say that some of mine are on facebook even, though I didn't put them there, so yes, posts do seem to have a life of their own after all, where my part was merely giving birth to some of them I suppose, and where perhaps too the benchmark of anything is in its survival through time...", and yet none of that mattered, for how could it matter where the goblin's elation here, his frustration too, was in his playing both scribe and illustrator to his muse each time, and that resulting intense aware persona that the goblin had become by it, no the posts were a byproduct then, saying "...it's as if the color of my blood is some deep read red through the practice of writing, in fact I wonder what I wouldn't write for her now, naah I don't write to be read by someone else now, no I write to feel ever so alive within me still..."


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repost from elsewhere, someone whose parents filing for divorce here

"...ah but I'm a child of divorce then, as is one of my children too..." mentioned the goblin, adding "...so let the courts decide things here, yes but never close that door because just because you are told to do so, instead you must find your own way here, just leave the door ajar, without expectation though, I know that it's both difficult and soul searching, but I also know from my own experience that the "you" that results from all this will be a deeper more appreciating person than someone who hadn't wrestled the angel here, and no, life's angels are not there to be nice, they're there to help one find oneself through them...", and besides that today the goblin had came back from his mother's funeral where amongst its sadness he still appreciated that one of the greatest blessing was simply understanding that she had fought till her end, dying in her turn as she had to though, yes, all in the right order too, the goblin then explained "...you see, it's so sad when someone dies unexpectedly out of turn, the pain just ripples across the whole family hurting everyone, not just parents, but brothers and sisters, family and friends too, and for the rest of their lives too, so keep that door ajar however much it hurts, life's angels are to be fought, pain is pain but it opens the eyes to suffering..."


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