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

("...yes I noticed though I continued anyway as I need a place to edit posts on..." replied the goblin appreciating that unlike most other forums he could post freely, not that ever did, only that he might)

repost from elsewhere

"...ah but I could be your latest edition spambot still.." joked the goblin, then rubbing the stubble on his chin, for a momemt of self-doubt had set in hard, as if wondering how to tell the two apart then, whereupon the truth hit him, exclaiming "...so that's it, just subliminal messages implanted into the back of those brains when least expected too, santa's plan all along, simply world domination through turning unsuspecting forum posters into christmas zombies here, the carol music started, that subtle smell of orange and cinnamon whiffed in once more, and a jolly voice going "why fight it goblin ho ho ho, where a merry christmas awaits you now ho ho ho"...", somehow the goblin knew too, that he had to warn the others here, yet who would ever believe him, besides whom amongst them could he trust, any at rate santa had to be stopped


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repost from elsewhere

the goblin was easy, never expecting anything from anyone, well not by way of their writing, where the goblin too, was mostly addressing his own muse while writing like this, "...yes, I suppose there has been many a forum where things haven't worked out, but as long as I can see that the admin is both active and positive on the forum, I can usually lock onto his or her vibe of faith towards it and post on regardless..." ventured the goblin who was still learning how to livewrite, "...yes, I make mistakes like the rest of us, I'm only human after all MYAHAHAHA..." said the goblin figuratively speaking, continuing "...you see, there's no books about livewriting, where the majority of those bookwriting rules are quite useless here coming across to the average poster as somewhat stuffy, bookish, and bygone..." ventured the goblin aware that he had to replace that good for books mindset with one of good for posts today, saying "...it's like people's love of sailing ships, which are slow, windblown, and elegant, whereas today's forumland is more like tankers, which are ugly, fast, and functional...", so it was probably just this understanding by the goblin then, that hadn't exactly endeared him to those formal writer's on their writer's forums


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repost from elsewhere

the goblin had an aversion to using full stops while posting, much as he did for colons and semi colons, in that, what with modern day readers, newly coming unstuck from their televisions and accidentally drifting in here like this, the goblin doubted that they would really know what any of those punctuation marks actually meant, where somehow the image of "...scotty, damage report please...", "...captain, I don't know how long this vessel can much more of those funny dots and dashes coming from that goblin there...", "...ok bones, disengage then, set a direct course for facebook..." crossed the goblin's mind whenever some mad temptation to write normally arose


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("...can''t keep up with the hitcount, so thanks for reading my posts humans, where your taste in reading, and forum affiliation too, is most suspect indeed..." mused the goblin wondering who would actually read his posts then, adding "...tell you what then, I won't confess to writing this while you needed admit that you read this far, kind of lets us of the hook doesn't it...")

repost from elsewhere

how strangely it seems now, that the goblin and the mommies went so far back together then, "...ah, those women and that realm of women's interests forums, one which is always so strange to anyone uninitiated, as I was at the time I remember..." ventured the goblin, adding "...but they're avid readers and a force in their own right on their sites...", outside now, those relentless wheels of passing cars just crushed the fallen water of the wet road in that unmistakable sound of light monotonous rain, and inside too, the bistro resembled the goblin's props of a "last post" thread, or whatever would equivocate to that in his dailylife to a "last post" thread that is, till he just added "...creature of habit as I am too, though part of me always rebels against this course of least resistance that I always choose for myself in dailylife, for folks, I will never be that meat and two veg writer, that all this meat and two veg existence is about, that's just not me here...", and it almost seems now that the mommies had somehow taught the goblin to rebel like this, for certainly a debt to them remained


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repost from a writer's forum elsewhere, where the goblin is using a bistro setting to explain an internet situation

back again, the bistro had been a battle between a man, who wanted to smoke, and the owner's wife, "...you see, to date there are no "no smoking" rules in geneva, it's just up to bistro owner here..." mentioned the goblin, who had clapped and then had gone yay yay yay with his arms in support of her, before returning to his own thoughts in the now near empty morning bistro, where reading through the reply notifications, the goblin had just followed the one that had lead him here now, "...ah yes, that french film "le fabuleux destin d'amélie poulain", it's funny how an unguessable adventure will pull the onlooker onwards right on towards its conclusion, it's as if the onlooker somehow knows that the plot however strange must lead somewhere to something then, or why else would the storyteller be telling it now...", the sky outside was some off white bright gray that just needed a bit longer to clear up the goblin felt, that is before the goblin also noticed that the man had by now walked out, probably to the bistro next door then, so the goblin simply repeated to himself something "...in the end the bistro owner's wife can only do what she feels is right for her bistro, for she can't please everyone now, and that's so with my writing too..."

[noparse]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2-1u8xvk54[/noparse]


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repost from elsewhere, the "what triggers your writing" thread

the goblin found it to be a balance then, between that which was within, and that which was expected from him, saying "...yes, at times I need the pull of the audience here, whereas at other times, I need to be alone where the audience is forgotten...", where even now the goblin was looking out through the bistro's wide windows across the brilliant white snow beyond, as if the dark of the interior of the bistro almost underlined the contrast in the goblin's mind at this point, so he just continued, saying "...I feel like a "go between" here, connecting my inner self with this outer world, I appease both, I share one with the other here collecting ideas from each in turn not knowing from which side the idea will come from, nor for that matter, for which side I am really writing for either...", in fact, the goblin needed an awful long time and many rewrites to create anything, as he just seemed to nurture any seeds of ideas that had drifted into his mind from either side of this shared existence now, until that moment where that idea finally just evolved itself into a post, at which point goblin would just set it free on forumland forgetting about it, save for a copy which he kept should he ever wish to redo it later, "...so I'm not really a trigger type person, more it's a general nurturing process that is aided by such props as ones coffee, threads, and an altogether satisfactory but unadventurous dailylife..." confessed the goblin about his lot in this slow passing day


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repost from elsewhere

the goblin noted that the first sign of madness was probably “talking to oneself aloud” that is where normal people just talk things over in their minds silently, “...ah but for real madness...” the goblin continued “...one really needs a thread like this one...”


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repost from elsewhere

by now, the goblin knew he could physically stop livewriting at any moment, saying "...yes, stopping is the easy bit though for how long is a another matter...", somehow knowing that within his mind his madness would still relentlessly continue regardless, where stopping wouldn't stop the slot from saying "feed me", nor stop any of those ghosts of his past asking for their acquittal once more, nor even stop those wild tormenting new thoughts from begging their being shared out here, he continued"...where bedtime too would still continue to be this mind churning everything over like some tumble dryer..." so the goblin could understand someone's not joining in, just as he would understand for their having given up too, but not in himself though, no, for by now it was all too addictive, just an involuntary release mechanism at work here, saying "...so maybe you are wise not to post here humans, because the more you post across forumland, the more intense this madness becomes by it..."


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Perhaps madness is not a bad thing in that it is just one of the stops between unaware and aware. The more aware you become of the way of things, and of the reasons for those things being the way they are, the more the madness sets in. The key is to realize that madness is as proper a response as coughing or vomiting. Whenever the self becomes aware enough of the staleness of the contents of the mind, there is the resultant agitation, upheaval, and the eventual expulsion of waste.

Am I talking about literal, bodily emissions such as puking or involuntary, violent episodes of diarrhea? No! I would never be so crass or vulgar as to bring such images to mind. But if I were to be that crass or vulgar, I would continue by saying that I'll bet that expelling one's false beliefs would translate into the metaphorical dry-heaves, since there was really nothing there in the first place.

 

("...the trouble is that what is inside of oneself is both there and not there, being the difference between pretense and fiction then..." ventured the goblin, certainly liking storch's way of putting it, explaining "...so, pretense is when one is still aware of oneself, yet fiction is when one is no longer aware, fiction is real and where at some time later one is returned to one's reality, unlike pretense then, in other words, a writer is this go-between then, someone who subjective experiences at one point something that he objectively records later, a go-between who shares the two states of subjective experience and objective record...", in fact, the goblin had often mentioned the shared life clause in the muse's pact in his posts, moreover, once one starts writing as a practice, it's like signing on the dotted line)

repost from elsewhere

the goblin himself always remained anonymous, "...anyway, if one's friends or admirers are imaginative, they won't need those dailylife's fetters here, whereas if to them this unavoidable age, or one's temporary looks, or one's skin color, or that fickle wealth status, or one's deformities and imperfections even, in fact, anything other than what I write means something to them enough to make a difference in their friendship toward me, then their feigned friendship just shows its shallowness..." mentioned the goblin who wanted people to see the real goblin here, because the rest meant nothing where none of it could be proved anyway


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repost from elsewhere

by now, the goblin knew subjectively that writing wasn't what most people imagined it to be, whereas most writers too, find out too late that it isn't what they had bargain for either, explaining "...isn't there always a risk of self deception here, that once one has built up some shared life with a muse, that is once one had succeeded in whatever goal one envisages, that one can then simply dump her, unshare one's life, and somehow go back to some superficial surface living like before, but that's not the way it goes, ah no, for this sharing, perhaps like keeping a dream diary, or like those people who see ghosts then, is something where the practice reinforces its sharedness...", where perhaps the goblin was just one of those fools who hadn't bothered to read the small print of that muse's pact again, the part that read warning, last sanity check: you can't get her back into her bottle once you let her out, are you quite sure you want to sign the pact with a muse now


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fail

but of course a smart Goblin would make no reference to which Christmas

 

("...ah but didn't someone point out the hit counter had stopped a while back, not that I mentioned which christmas either as you pointed out, but alas I do agree that the reading ability of members here is not that which I had expected, though that's not my fault, while I guess too, that I should be thanking those amongst them that have read these posts..." replied the goblin, happy and not quite as yet despairing of humanity)

repost from elsewhere, just sharing

"...I didn't buy enough, nor often enough, to merit my seat during lunchtime that day..." said the goblin who confessed to looking like a bum too at the time, "...you see, when you are young you can wear anything and they will just think that it's the fashion, whereas at my age, if you wear casual clothes too often, they will suspect that you have a low social status heaven forbid, where switzerland is quite unforgiving towards people's looks then, another reason for my persona here perhaps, albeit that you will never hear those words addressed in some condemnation towards one directly from their lips now, oh no...", the goblin then thought of something, continuing "...only that, if I were to now go back in my suit in their slack morning time, purchasing the same coffee and cake, they would say nothing and act like it never happened towards me, nor that something like that could ever have happened for that matter, in their ever so welcoming bistro..." smiled the goblin, thinking the line went welcome to Switzerland then, um... all those who are rich


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repost from elsewhere

"...too true, as one isn't really that person in the mirror either, except that one's dailylife dictates one's mask down to its finest detail, where people see you as how you physically are, but not on forumland though, no, instead one is whatever one portrays here..." mused the goblin who suddenly remembered his grandmother crying now, her unhappiness at having had a dream the previous night where she could still see only to wake up blind once more, so the goblin just confided "...I suppose forumland is much like her dream then, where I wake up each morning a little further from my youthful prime, and where too I should be unhappy like her because that is just growing old for you isn't it, but I'm actually happy here, why, because I accept the loss of the outside while I forging my persona within...", simply the goblin intended that his persona would counterbalance his old age, concluding "...ok, the persona is just a mask then, but how one is seen in one's dailylife is another mask again, where the only difference between these two masks is that the one you make of yourself whereas the other is made of you, yet they're just masks all the same..."


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repost from "happy new year" thread here

"...nah MYAHAHAHAHA I'm not going to wish you happy new year humans, I'm going to wish you a whooping great hangover for new year's day instead..." went the goblin, explaining "...or I'm wishing you some reckless youthful recollection of when you once had a whooping great hangover for new year's day, and weren't they worth it at the time, even if you don't actually remember what you did nor how you got there..."


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if it's like a fiction story based on forum posts.... they should be verbatim and not re-written... otherwise you're basically just writing it originally anyway

 

("...nah, this is just me editing my posts here, why not join me in editing yours too..." replied the goblin, explaining "...for what you see is the external where admittedly this sense of audience together with its feeling of deadline do motivate me, however, in the end I remain anonymous, where what really should matter are three things, a writer's way with words, an illustrator's eye, and a credible persona, why, because one day one will be old, where fame and fortune will not serve one in one's old age, yet the ability to post well is something worth practicing for isn't it...")

repost from elsewhere

the goblin knew that as long as his appearance was acceptable, then that was an end to it, "...somehow real relationships seem too expensive emotionally , whereas casual relationships seem too cheap..." voiced that goblin about that compromise needed when one had to adjust oneself to someone else's habits and considerations here, adding "...in the end one becomes alone as much by one's own choice as by one's circumstance then..."


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repost from elsewhere, fall out with writertypes on their forum

at which point the goblin showed up, saying "...well that's the trouble isn't it, I mean in dailylife one spends one's day as some dumb subservient human within it, and then the moment one lands on forumland knowing that one can be absolutely anything one's likes, choosing to be that very persona that seems most fitting to one's true nature, and guess what happens mortals...", the goblin paused, then reached over for his coffee once more, before blurted out the rest, saying "...yes, that right, they just expect you to be that same old dumb dailylife human again, well I've got news for them now, I'm going to be a goblin cause that's as I am inside..", the view from the mcdonald offered a cascade of falling snow, in fact the goblin stuck inside wondered what their fuss was all about anyway, why they minded so much that he wrote in third person, after all it was supposed to be a writer's forum, where didn't everyone know that the best way to get good at writing in third person, which happened to be what most fiction was written in anyway, was by doing just that then, writing away in third person imaginatively, adding "...forum readership grows apace now, and their ebooks and blogs don't interest me one bit, no livewriting is far more me now...", and still the snow trapped him within the premises, merely the goblin bided his time till it was time to leave again, he didn't conform


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repost from elsewhere,

"...well no, in fact only the dead ever win this outright I feel, so let's hope we're still winning instead..." replied, the goblin who felt that everyone alive was winning still, saying "...no the question was never "who wins" for no one is here, so it's the other question of "wins with what" isn't it...", where today the goblin's morning seemed as restless and agitated within him as it seemed serene and inviting around him, after all, the sky was so deeply blue with those white mountains in the distance obliviously sleeping on too, so the goblin just blurted out "...life is like winning the moment from within, each moment, where one only has to talk to those lupusbots on their forum to see how living on is actually still winning now...", as the goblin reached over for the last of his long cold coffee, continuing "...so this still living is just winning, but what if one wanted even more from one's posting knowing that the moment one opens up a slot an infinite choice of possibilities temps one to create something of oneself...", simply, the goblin's agitation within was in trying to hew the text and picture to the original idea, to which the goblin finally laughed at himself to the words "...guess all this is like being on stage then, where it all looks so easy from where the audience sits doesn't it, but to the actor here now it's all or nothing..."


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repost from a writer's site elsewhere, their "welcome new members" thread

the goblin showed, regally welcomed the new member to this site, and then had the bad habit of losing himself looking across the bistro floor at a child propped in a babychair who in turn, and in big eyed baby sort of way, was looking back at the goblin, "...her trick..." the goblin started, somehow guessing that it had to be a little girl here, since a little girl interacted with people more than a little boy who would being trying to escape from the babychair by now, but the goblin just continued "...is to drop the toy on the floor for someone to pick up, to which someone naturally picks it up, placing it in her little hand with some "aren't you cute" uttering and a smile...", to which moments later, and after she has licked the toy clean again, she looks around to see if her next target, in this case the typing goblin here, is game, and just extends her arm in that slow deliberate way letting the toy slip from her fingers, only to notice that the goblin is smiling looking on, of course he'll pick it up for her in a moment he knows but not before typing this post, saying "....you see in writing, if you do what is expected, as and when it is expected of you too, you will not be noticed for meeting that expectation..." and with that the goblin welcomed the new member once more


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