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

"hail Mr. Goblin"; the Trickster saluted... wondering what to expect from such a seemingly delightful place...

 

("...hi ficus, glad you showed up, Jats you know, the others will show up shortly I imagine..." replied the goblin adding "...they've been sleeping of late but that's their choice as nothing is forced here...")

repost from elsewhere, the "what are you doing" thread

the goblin was remonstrating with his reality before passing on to more important things like creating that encompassing long term persona for himself, saying simply "...ok, you might think it as something fake, but why should my dailylife always hold sway here, when you and I know that in the end it's just the same boat for all of us, just another battered wreck breaking up upon those rocks of old age again, well that's your dailylife isn't it...", so the goblin rendered unto dailylife for the reality it was after all, while trying in his way to discover what his virtual reality was actually about now, continuing "...besides, you can't prove anything about your dailylife to anyone here anyway, and yet, if you know that, then why fetter one's imagination by it, no, what should matter to you is what I mentioned before, that creation of an encompassing long term persona of yourself here, for surely the point of life is not dailylife, it's who you really are to yourself..."


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"Ah, the meaning of life!" Dejavu then pondered the life force, but not for so long that he'd get a stiff back. Were we after all, or rather at all, to ourselves what we thought we were? Could we be? Did we want more than that? Was loving knowing in excelsis so to speak? So to love? He posted some sounds recalled from his childhood.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mML-4o_stqo"]Les Sirenes from Ulysses 31 - Shuki Levy - YouTube

 

("...not sure..." replied the goblin who seemed to have an answer to that meaning of life question but the question seemed to outgrow the answer each time)

repost from elsewhere

"...the average american, perhaps like most people on this earth for that matter, prefers to follow the symbolism rather than the actual substance of politics, that is, real everyday politics unfolds too slowly, and without enough fanfare, for them to take note, let alone contemplate here..." mentioned the goblin, adding "...for example, does ourdearmedia mention that one in ten in the US is on food stamps now, or tells you that more americans go to prison than university today, or of the failing to meet the budget, or that the recession isn't over by a long chalk, etc., no it doesn't tell you, yet it's not the media's fault, it's just that everyday politics is either far too boring, or too constant, to be enticing media news, so no, what we get in it's place is fanfare politics, an exotic war on terrorism, state visits, foreign affairs, sports and the like, in short, we get those very distractions that we ourselves want to make "politics" all the more palatable to our own tastes, while that which is crucially important in this political/economic situation passes beneath it, too slowly to register on their radar here but happening anyway..."


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repost from elsewhere

the goblin really had no answers beyond the truth that he was here because he felt the others members were smart, though more importantly for him, they all seemed to have talent, so for him it wasn't an ordinary thread/stage on an ordinary forum/venue, no, it was venue feeding upon itself advancing, "...ah but this thread will end some day, yes they all end you know, so what, one might then ask, is the whole point then of one's effort here if it end..." the goblin stopped a second as if remembering that with his own life too where the same parallel could be drawn, and then he continued, saying "...well, if this thread gets me to think about my posts vis a vis your replies showing us who we are by what we post, then isn't that's reason enough to continue regardless of where and when it ends...", in fact, the goblin felt that most people neither knew nor cared about who they were on the inside for all that dailylife that clearly owned them on the outside, saying "...just owned by the moneygod then, until that moment when something within one wakes up, whereupon one sees one's dailylife for only a part one's total, and that is when one starts one's journey to self for real..."


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The trickster read the above post with much attention, and received in return, both a questioning stimulus and satisfaction; plus the image he found particularly attractive.

 

"I think that's because not all threads... end... " said Dejavu, more eliptically than cryptically.

 

thedope was pleased to hear the figs were well apportioned and, " I think,
was the exact center of both the elliptic and cryptic," he thought.

 

"The meaning of life," the little mouse repeats. "Whose life?" She wonders. "For ones life means more to ones self than it does to another and ones opinion of meaningful might differ from the next ones." The little mouse curls up under the duvet and ponders on the question at hand. "Should there be a universal truth to that, an answers to fit all? Isn't humanity better served with the freedom to live life meaningless and full?" She stares and sees into her self. "Must there be a meaning to it all?"

 

"I don't know whether a thing extant is a thing necessary," said thedope fielding the rodents question, "but we believe to see and see to believe which is a law of perception. What do we believe in order see that we might see and thus believe?, there is good for me and I must have it!"

 

"No little mouse," laughed Dejavu.
"Why we've always loved to give it our own I suppose."

 

"...good to see we're still all at it..." went the goblin who had been following the weather pattern of late wondering if one really was witnessing a mini ice age, and that perhaps the news coverage wasn't coming clean now, though not that the role the media ever did anything bar play catch up with the events it seemed, saying "...for when the internet rivals the media, which today of course it doesn't now, then they will take over this internet too, and the truth will once more be buried in mere trivia and sheer distraction, whereas global debt, climate deterioration, and loss of civil liberties will continue unabated and half heartedly unreported on, yes if one doesn't become a journalist for oneself, where perhaps one's journal are these posts between us, then we will become their dumbed down reader but you post on in spite of the trend not to, and that which you post is your way of saying "here is my account then, note how I witness in my way"..."

 

Repost from elsewhere:

 

("...ah yes, you're very talented..." noted the goblin who had seen many of ficus's paintings by now, adding "...so here becomes one's gallery, one's journal too, perhaps then we all become journalists by this, a journalist no not a mere news reporters, one's journal as a journey then...")

repost from elsewhere, written in the mountains, modified for the "what are you thinking" thread

the goblin is thinking of this daylight moon one often sees at altitude with those strange padded clouds that seem some ever deceptive backdrop in the deathlike cold silence around one, broken only perhaps by a frantic mountain crow who, in passing over those ice covered peaks, never shares the goblin's wish to return to the warmth and security of the valley below, and yes the goblin knew well it's warning as it seemed to voice "...goblin, one's at death's door here, they don't return who enters now, where just your being here quickens your end too, and how the body pays its price for your courting death like this, so return now goblin as you don't belong with us yet...", at which point the goblin's mind raced back to the point where the head mistress had warned the class against the use of drugs, with her exact words in search of your inner man you ruin the outer one, but only now after all these year then could the goblin really reply with any clarity to her and that crow above, saying "...well, it seems that those things which do not somehow ruin the body hardly merit one's reason for living either, where mere "living" in itself was never the point of our being here now, and besides, this transient dailylife was never mine to keep anyway, so now I will descend to that safety of society below, and yes, these mountains are the gates of death with its infinite beyond, but just I wanted to flirt to with death a little longer while she bides her time for me..."


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repost from elsewhere

"...pick up the sword goblin, give me one good reason why I just don't kill you straight off then..." she wasn't joking too the goblin knew and as "queen of the amazons" she must have killed many men, and other women for that matter, and now she so resembled a tigress at this point, beautiful yet deadly, and as any true woman she either loved or hated, "...I know that you can kill me easily o great queen but all that you've heard about the eldorado ladies restroom, with that large stage sized mirror rimmed with those theater lights, where below it are endless bottles of hand lotions, creams, perfumes, crayons, lipsticks, all rested neatly above a marble wash basin to matching pink walls, where again a bookshelf filled to the brim with books by "mills and boon" and babara cartland, together with an uncountable number of catalogs of shoes, clothes, and fashion brands to browse and purchase await, yes o great queen, it's all true, but that's only part of it, there's a free telephone, a television, and the computer to do msn chat on, a "sound around" stereo system to listen to other women like britney spears, madonna and bananarama, even a kitchen alcove to stew jam and bake cakes in, oh and a catflap to let ones favorite pet come and go as it pleases, and so so much more o great queen if you would just care to join me that is...", which was, more or less, the way the goblin wooed his wife he remembers now, knowing that one had to truly appreciate a woman's priorities before one could actually approach one here


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"Good to see you ficus!" said Dejavu, "Though you look distinctly put off by that headgear!" he added, stifling a chuckle. He'd enjoyed reading of fleas courtships, and thought of what it would take for he himself to relate here, in the anonymity of forumland the tales of his own loves, or reveal his face for that matter, even temporarily, though the goblin had already done that to an extent through coincidence a few pages back. "Maybe something on magic mushrooms instead." he laughed, dwelling, inconveniently, on how it was still illegal in his own land for him to eat them though they were good for him.

 

"A tale of forbidden fruit!, how sexy," thought thedope, "as he found himself eager that Dejavu might take on more than airs and tell us of the things he faced."

 

Repost from elsewhere:

"Those first two minutes.... there's the secret of life." Reflected the Magician; "Everyone knows how to perform, more or less, when it is their turn to do what they do. But to perform while it is the turn of others, and one is but waiting; now that is truly being alive."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uCj658xbwj0"]Carmen Overture, Maria Callas: Habanera (Hamburg, 1962) - YouTube


Note: the embeded link doesn't work; use the following.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uCj658xbwj0

 

repost from elsewhere, just sharing

the goblin thanked admin but somehow felt that blogs didn't encourage anyone to converse like these threads did, saying "...see how the overall writing level here on this forum is going up, probably because the writers, and those sane people too, are not segregated apart in blogs...", simply that the username, not the blog, becomes synonymous with the poster here, "...my hunch is that your freestyle threads like these are going to become your number one pull here soon, but not actually because it's a game, no more as some expressive outlet for one's posts, truth is that no one is pushing anyone else to write here, least of all me now, and yet, isn't it funny how, like those first innocent drags upon a cigarette that nothing at all at first, one suddenly notices that one's day seems somehow incomplete without first posting something in it, one's tally/benchmark perhaps, in fact, that's when one had actually caught this posting habit for sure, while probably still thinking that one can stop at any time but only after posting on..."


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repost from elsewhere, the "what are you doing" thread

the goblin was doing "nothing" in style, when he should have been doing "whatever" instead, saying "...for who owns this existence, if one can't do "nothing" within it...", and yet that fear of not meeting his own obligations always lurked ever in the shadows of his mind somewhere, at which point a gypsy was passing a small paper cup in an unwashed hand around the bistro tables to the usual "...si vous plait monsieur, si vous plait..." with a voice without much expectation while the goblin just typed on before finally signalling a clear "no" with those upraised flayed fingers of his two hands as if pushing everything away from him, "...gypsy, you are what I am not, in a freedom that I fear to follow, just I hate you for reminding me now..." sighed the goblin, as the clock just set the goblin's pace once more for his next "whatever" in a life that all seemed so "arbeit macht frei" for that constant command which it held one under


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