Write Live

"Can't you say anything straight? You...you condiment!" Dejavu didn't mind brussel sprouts, having grown up thinking their lesser preferableness a discomfort one would eventually come to enjoy for the sake of the great health they supposedly afforded. "thedope, if you ever really need my apology, you have it at once." Dejavu would dearly have liked to start a brussel sprout war with his livewriting compatriots at this juncture, settling for posting a picture, surprised he had never known until now how they looked before arriving on his plate. The sprouts that is.

 

thedope chuckled, "the apology would not be for me but to turn criticisms constructive construction in you."

While thedope was sensitive to a bitter chemical in brussles sprout that made them yucky to him he often dealt in brussels sprouts because they are a favorite snack of vincent the rabbit.

 

"Better one Brussel Sprout than nothing at all," the little mouse said thinking of how so many hungry mouth would crave the yuckiness of natural chemicals if they could get their hands on it instead of again that rice with nothing else much. "Yes, how is the earth going to be able to feed all those hungry mouths when fields are planted with crop to produce bio fuel and more and more humans want their ready meals from Ronald or the colonel or the King?" Looking out into the garden she's glad to be able to grow her own.

 

"I have heard of people surviving for periods on bird droppings," mentioned thedope, "and while doable bird droppings are unlikely to become a popular snack, or any kind of welcome substitute for rice. For humans that is, whereas up to twenty percent of a dogs diet consists of some sort of feces, kitty roca and the like." It occurred to thedope that he might have appeared ungrateful that Brusselians had a hankering for cultivating their bitter buds but really brussels sprouts are a cultivar or genetically modified organism grown to satisfy a peculiar taste. thedope had learned recently that the bitterness of brussels sprouts is much reduced after being exposed to a hard frost. Anyway
thedope had no principle that required him to eat shit he didn't like for the sake of potential caloric scarcity not being a dog or a Belgian.

 

"but food, like any other drug, has humans addicted on it." The little mouse smiles as she unwraps another chocolate filled with delicious Belgian fillings. "Not all from that place has a bitterness one cannot taste past," says the little mouse. "And aren't humans also a genetically modified organism? Changed from nothing more than upright monkeys to talking beasts who feel themselves superior over nature?"

 

repost from elsewhere, new, someone tempted by a friend's mother, asked if...

"...good on you, best to keep it as a temptation between you and her then, as it's always hard to live with it afterwards where she has to protect you and you her too, in short it never goes back to what it was before, where I think you've seen that movie before..."

[noparse]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xiYRurC-TUE[/noparse]


xxxx

 

"Ah, temptation and the need for things to stay the same." The little mouse laughs as she realises that that my dear Goblin are two things which are not only incompatible but also unremunerative. "Temptation acted upon delivers a short burst of joy and reward, but when the dust settles one realises things have changed and not always for the better." Looking to her right she smiles and amends, "... but then again sometimes they do and sometimes things are meant to change for change means growth, an expansion of the mind." Then she laughs as she remembers one of her favourite authors once said, "Yield to temptation. It may not pass your way again."

 

"I know what you mean xxxxxx, but us writers have the same attitude most of the times when encountering a live writer. Does one not reads live writing is illegible and deemed not casual enough? While it might be the little mouse's casual way of unwinding through this 'stream of her consciousness' to write her life live and real, in the here and now, inviting for just that discussion. Besides does not life itself consists of narration and dialogue and do humans not assume a persona in their life each and every time one mingles in a different circle? At least the live writers I know of use the same persona each and every time on each and every forum they land on. No disguises, just the one persona by which one is always recognisable, the Goblin, the Chameleon, or this little mouse." And yes, she smiles because she loves to do so, not to, never to annoy. "To smile is to free ones self from the negative, to lift up the spirit, to invite to laugh with her and see the fun of it instead of feel annoyed or ...," she says and nibbles on some of that delish baklava from the nice guy at the crafts fair. "So please do keep your opinions coming and I shall counter them with mine and we will have a good time discussing different forms of writing or whatever idea we shall discuss. For all have a right to their opinion and all should have the right to spark the discussion in a way they see fit. Or would you correct me on my way of speaking when stood next to me in the pub enjoying a cider, or a beer?"

 

Life includes narration and dialogue about it's constituents which were are and could be apparent before the telling of it. Sometimes things better appreciated left unsaid," suggested thedope, "or in the vernacular of the homespun, if you can't say something nice....

 

"... then it's often better not to say anything at all," the little mouse finishes the sentence in a fashion which fits her fine. Smiling she licks her lips at the sight of hot chocolate cake with a soft filling.

 

"...for me the opposite then..." replied the goblin who had lived on the surface preoccupied by self-advancement and propagation, adding "...I came late into writing but soon found out that I enjoyed having the audience on tap as in live here, over just writing by myself for myself then, where between writing letters home to my parents and doing recitals at the writer's club, I turned the monologue of set writing into the dialogue of correspondence...", in effect, it was a set piece played to a live audience, one had the author on tap always so it was live while it lasted


xxxxx

 

repost from elsewhere, new,

"...feminism should be up to the individual..." replied the goblin suspecting that the given norm was a trick to have one buy into something like a good christian woman or an american lady or other such agendas, when all along one had to set up one's own values or else one was just trying to be accepted by faking it, adding "...either way, if one's not perfectly happy with the way one is without a man, then one is not ready for a relationship, moreover, if one can't be oneself with one's partner then one's partner is holding one back from being who one really is...", in fact, the goblin didn't want his wife to be a barbie doll, marriage was ever a compromise, but he was old enough to understand that when she is happy is when the marriage is working out, anything less would be straining the relationship and detrimental in the long run

 

The little mouse sits and pulls her feet up to warm them under her shawl thinking why the humans here not write along with her anymore. "Ah, but that would make things near perfect if they kept coming back for more." For her this thread is an opportunity. A means to an end, a journey and she has hopes and dreams and wishes and would like to ... "Best not go there, for dreams of perfection cannot make it so."

... a repost once more.

"Going around in circles and never getting anywhere ..." She shakes her head as she realises there is no place to go and find perfection for humans. They cannot escape their fate, nor run away from their humanity. "What if ..." the little mouse ponders on this thought. "What if there was a way out for humans who really want. What if it only required the will and perseverance? What if humans could see what is in front of them and know it is good without being perfect." Looking at how things could be she sighs and whispers, "But that would be one step closer to that perfect world and has Kundera not said, 'There is no perfection, only life.'"

 

("...I'll read anything you write, selfish I know but I need your input to feed me thoughts..." promised the goblin now, adding "...posters come and go but your journey to self is ever your alone, its rewards is the you that result from practice...")

 

Dejavu wondered at the little mouse. "Dreams of perfection can at least help make perfection so!" He smiled. He was not able to say there was no perfection, feeling sure we could come to allow our most perfect to extend itself towards us, and vice versa, definitely/indefinitely. That the feeling known as bliss, joy, ecstasy, love etc, could go on being known, that among feelings there was no necessary end to knowing it, that it, of feelings, was true as self-sustaining before knowing it! That the self didn't have to evolve, but wanted to through sensation! All this he had said before in so many words and it would be said again in as many ways, with or without quotation marks, that he would be moved to. "We can't go back, that's for sure, no resort, in no more than thought, but it's still never too late for the future even if we find we can't, as we are naturally inclined to, become it!" Dejavu, being a man of the world, knew of a horrible place where this was no consolation, but fortunately for us all, that horrible place was not physically realizable. Despair had no true home. He glanced briefly at his italics before letting the slot swallow these sentences, and laughed. Heartily.

 

thedope was reminded by this line regardless of anyone in particular speaking it, that he himself was constrained and as well liberated from many concerns in a sense by the inherent self organizing principle of life, that we do not create ourselves but create like ourselves, being inherently creative.
As far as perfection is concerned there is no empirical nor a metaphysical model for perfection, only the hope of relief from some complaint which will in fact attend to you as long as you feel a complaint is justified or a worthy remedy for a complaint. Having and being are the same truth. We create the states or cultivate the spirit we invest ourselves in. To have a future different from the past we make a different choice in the present which is the only time of our effects. As far as the indefinite/infinite time to apprehend, a timer set, is set in time and the time for this that and the other does end. "Dammit I missed my appointment because I wasn't aware that we changed over to daylight savings!," mused thedope. "Regardless we first dream of peace and then awaken to it."

 

"I don't know that, what is your idea of creation to you that you think we don't?!" he asked. "There's no model for perfection, but we don't only want perfection from the feeling of being without it!" he laughed, exulting in the sound of it.

 

we do not create ourselves

We manage our experience which being extant is assured.
"Creation is extension. Extension of the ever ready, ever, not pre or post, present," replied thedope, "your birthday has never ended nor has it ever existed eventfully separated from the redundancy of time, it only appears so because your locale fell into shadow from the sun for a period of likely not much more than eighteen hours, your life being of cosmic yet indefinite, (all these things but none in particular,) proportion."

 

Dejavu laughed out loud. "All things, but none?! That's your idea of creation?! What a confusion!"

 

("...where's luckyme..." asked the goblin guessing that her readers would be asking the same thing now)

repost from elsewhere

"...all the externals can be taken away from you, but I imagine too, that your goal in this dailylife is to support those you love where when they die your next goal becomes to transfer them to some cherished place deep within your heart and living on for them still, so perhaps death is just this transferring process then, a process of transferring loved ones inwards and carrying on living in their name like before..." mused the goblin who lived with his ghosts, adding "...just those ghosts appear in unguarded moments, and the older one gets the more they seem to return too, do I make sense, perhaps not, though you will understand later and remember this post when in your old age, for the old carefully carry their dead, oh yes, that's what it's like..."


xxxx