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

...they all do, it's a curse...one from the riots last year then, where an Australian woman blamed me for those too...

Jats smiles warmly thinking on something he came across last night while emptying out the ash pan from the log burner where all those sticks that were good for poking once, fit neatly in a bag now, a harmless pile of dust "...all across America now, and other parts of the world too, the occupiers enjoy their peaceful non violent protest, except in Oakland it seems where in the 'interests of public safety' the occupiers were dispersed with tear gas and riot shields, dragged from the streets in a show of superiority, even some guy in a wheelchair, and as shocking as this is, it won't be the last, for no matter what label ourdearmedia gives the protesters you have no right to protest now it seems, whatever kind of citizen you are, and so when that is gone, what option is there left than to riot in return then..." the chameleon knowing that the London mob where just ahead of the game, tired of turning the other cheek, nods and agrees "...and so when the economic safety net of its proximity to the East bursts In Australia, and the underlying poverty creeps upwards making the Australians follow suit, ask yourself this, are you any different in the eyes of your government, I doubt it, perhaps then you will concede that there has to be a better way than this, and stand up to make a difference, or as the batons start swinging upon your countrymen in turn will you still think it's all my fault then too for supporting that too...anonymously of course...of course you will..." as the chameleon morphs into a vivid myriad of exes in a nano second again, his little party piece it seems, for some female humans here

 

'Bloody Australians', said Dejavu, 'And a woman too! Who do they think they are?' He rolled his eyes. 'Convicts from first to last.' If Dejavu had not merely been born of woman, and if he hadn't considered himself something of an Aborigine since weren't we all of afreakin origin after all, he would have been a hideous hypocrite. As it was, he only passed as a tolerably ugly one. 'Curse the day we ever thought our undesirables could be ex-communicated'. If Dejavu hadn't been an Australian, he'd probably have been who knows what. Some mutt of a pure-bred mongrel at any rate.

 

Smiling the little mouse reads the latest posts in the goblin's thread. "Nicely written and worth keeping, but for sure women and men are made for each other even if the humans seem to rather fight than love." she smiles and sips her first coffee. "Wouldn't that be a return to the old days when more than a few humans made love instead of war?" Sat on the sofa she realises she is indeed very lucky. "Yes, always chose love over war." and she watches a human sleep unconcerned of the future and what it may bring. "Yes, best not worry over what may or may not and 'Carpe Diem' for tomorrow it might be over."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EqP3wT5lpa4"]Instant Karma - John lennon - YouTube

 

repost form elsewhere, the heavy metal site's "last post" thread

“...well, it just happened in an instant, and he was just there right in front all of them, it was like wow, he was absolutely electric, as this god like voice just took over from the music with a microphone that seemed to the capture both speakers and those onlooking fans alike, its unbridled words crashing into ones conscience like a wave of perfection, at perfect pitch, he sang “...I'm dreaming of a white christmas...” as a primeval surge went up from the gig joint at that point, continuing “...just like the ones I used to know...”, I tell you this guy could do no wrong now, the fans were simply his as if transcended at this point, fed on an ambrosia that only a real artist like this could offer “...where the treetops glisten and children listen to hear sleigh bells in the snow...”, magic!, you'll be hearing a lot more of this guy for sure, just remember the name "bing crosby" and that you heard it first here folks


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This reposting of livewriters had gotten to Dejavu. Like an itch. He was thinking, just one, one reposting couldn't hurt. In the universally human horror of being left behind, the livewriter for all its resourcefulness seemed to have come to imagine it could come from and remain elsewhere so as to avoid being left here. They were clever enough for self deception in their journey to self, but were they beautiful enough to inspire themselves as livewriters? Only, it appeared, if they could come to see the posthumous as beneath them. The writer not given to dissipation should, theoretically, be able to disapparate all spooks in their very approach, no? More to the point, that is, not to belie it, there is no true ghost or machine to speak of, let alone write about. Not to be fed ones own thoughts, but to be joined in them. That was the spirit of livewriting wasn't it?! Of all self conscious life? Dejavu wondered if he'd ever write out his will, he wondered if there was any real way ones will written could be carried out to the letter. His itch was increasing. He honoured the goblin in beginning it here in his thread, and this was it, it had already spread to a resolution to scratch. Now was he to scratch that scratch? Dejavu prepared himself to repost this post within the two other livewriting threads in this forum, those of jats and Lucky. He resisted, but the tickling was too strongly upon him. Dejavu wanted to live to see livewritings orgasm. He would never die for it! :-D


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=olA3AaodsnA"]REMARC ice cream n syrup [hard mix] - YouTube

 

("...you're as one of us then..." replied the goblin, adding "...where not once will I say that you have to do this, nor in a certain way neither, yet each livewriter to date has, in asking themselves why someone else does something that way, seemed to have adapted traits that have then become in common between us, yet you only have to read the post to know which livewriter for such is the strength of the persona here...", in fact, the goblin didn't even need a username now, much in the same way that a painter didn't need to sign his pictures)

 

Dejavu was about to go into why flea, while not having to provide a signature at least needed a username for registration purposes blah posting bley, but was too much taken up in looking at his livewriting friends, who didn't stand in his way, who actually liked him for it. The goblin, the little mouse, the chameleon... it was surreal to a human whose friends in the dailylife all went by the most ordinary of appellations, like 'this guy' or 'him over there', though so real to his ideas of what the internet should be, for if we couldn't be all things in here there was really no hope to be ourselves in the waking world...


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZvyNOg4jSRg"]Labyrinth - Magic Dance - David Bowie - YouTube

 

("...it's because we have a persona and our own writing traits that one can rejoin any forum under any username and within one or two lines the reader instinctively knows that's it the same livewriter again, yet the normal poster feels lost without their username..." replied the goblin wondering if dejavu had thought about his mask yet, adding "...it's an association to that which one feels most comfortable with where some might play it for real as I do while others might prefer to wear it more as something to be remembered by since readers are more likely to remember clearly their friend's dog for example rather than that's pet's name, the username in this case...", in fact, the goblin tried not to sock but was not adversed to rejoining a forum that had banned him for whatever reason merited his doing so)

 

Yes, if a reason is a reason then it's a reason Dejavu conceded, reasoning this reasoning was enough of a reason for his mask, Dejavu. Yes our traits will always betray us to ourselves, the brutes. They're the merriest matchmakers when they're not the torrid little telltales they threaten to be in not getting their own way against whatever reason we assume for dismissing them as inconsequential. Yes, we play for keeps, or to say it straight as you do, for real, which is really for more than keeps in the keeping, the playing, the realization.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrNZm9Y9grc"]Kemet Crew - For Real (Remarc rmx) Kemet records - YouTube

 

...well, now that you have found us, or we have found you then, what you going to do with this opportunity. Me, I'm going to start a revolution if I can, but first I'm nipping over the border for a bit of raiding, a repost then...

"...ah but these trinkets don't seem to be worth as much as they thought..." comments Jats waking to take in the news of a general strike being called in little England, amongst other stories of general unrest as many hover dangerously above the bread line which stares up at them alarmingly and clearer now with that big smokescreen the Olympics over now as our afletes go back to scrabbling around for funding for Rio ironically, and so, after a slight delay, the recession starts to bite in the bum now "...a day off for me then, a few chores, a late lunch and then more forms piled up on the coffee table to wade through that have been put off for far too long, as usual..." dashing outside as the predicted showers lash down at the window of the little cottage by the canal Jats manages to grab the almost dry washing off the line before returning to the waiting slot with a nice warm cup of tea in hand "... when I get round to it, eventually, at the very last minute..." continues Jats and then spending five minutes hunting a fly down to it's death "...haven't you noticed, all this stuff being sold on the likes of eBay, even being given away eventually as the slow realization of 'something's only worth what someone will pay for it' dawns on the population where those with money already capitalize nicely on the situation of course, buying up anything that is always worth anything in the long run, gold, property, land, while extorting the last penny out of the poor with the money lenders charging thousand percent's now, which was illegal five years ago, yet there is a cash for gold shop on every high street suddenly with other pawnbrokers doing a roaring business again, where those and other 'I'm Alright Jacks' will make a killing, naturally, but their percentage is shrinking even with the spike in suicide rates and so, when these millions, become more millions close to starvation will the thought of a National Strike instead seem reasonable, to march on the capitol en masse, these worker drones all coming together, where it's either that, or every man for himself then...why even the Scots and the Welsh now are backing away with arms raised, whistling towards devolution..." and so browsing for 'cheap cottages in Wales', and not for the first time then, Jats chuckles knowing it was a mistake to click on radio Cymru this morning

 

Funding, gloomed Dejavu, who didn't even know how to fake a devotion to the moneygod. The things his friends had in mind were of course beautiful. Lucky her ball, jats his revolution, and flea the world, if not that cup of coffee, but internetted as they were, and with even the limitless credit he found in their posts, he found his own opportunity was only to go on writing... for now...

 

"Doesn't everything happen for a reason?" Wonders the little mouse while she read and rereads the latest posts. "Most humans do not even look for reasons but just complain instead of act and the few who do act mostly get demonised, or worse, ignored." The mouse thinks and shrugs, "Sometimes one does not need a reason, sometime one just has to do what one wants and find joy in the outcome." And she rises to get another coffee. "I wish all humans would see reason and stop complaining about things they can change if they would only act instead of talk. They have the power if they would only just be able to see ..."

 

"Everything only happens for a reason if we go on giving of our own..." lamented Dejavu, though not without a wink and a grin. ;-D

 

repost from elsewhere

for the goblin livewriting was like having one's cake and eating it, remarking "...one lives one's life yes, but one eats it with one's pen..."


54 693 12430

 

"... but then," says the little mouse as she grins. "one has to give to get." and she thinks about having ones cake and all that comes with it.

 

("...yay, writersforum just banned me too, making it three and of three then..." smiled the goblin who had got some posts out of it before the chop came, saying "...moreover, I didn't post picture nor bumped the thread, yet the given reason was we have had complaints about you where neither the nature of those complaints nor the name of the accusers are given, so the ban means nothing to me...")

repost from elsewhere

certainly, the goblin thanked the poster for pointing out the plight of the american economy of late, but either way, the goblin's mind, or whatever little remained of it that is, was musing on the idea that somehow those federal financial institutions could solve much of that accusation, that the market is out of touch, or insensitive, or even irrelevant to mr joe average, whatever, if they were to better entice the average american here to participate in the stock market more, by, for example, by creating some special issue treasury bonds that convert upon their maturity straight into food stamps, "...yes, these so called food stamp bonds could be traded freely on the open market, so that the one in ten Americans receiving food stamps at the moment would be able to keep track of their investment in the US economy so to speak..." ventured the goblin, somehow aware that without some sort of intervention soon, his much needed supply of american peanut butter could well be in serious jeopardy, perish the thought


55

 

" ... all good things come in threes." The little mouse once heard and she believes it to be true. Mischievously grinning she accepts her third glass of wine. Then she reads again. "Ah, yes complaints, humans do seem to love their complaints and how they enable them to divert attention from themselves to others, and to complain enables those who fear action, for when one complains one cannot be at blame. Flawed reasoning, but then again humans do love their reasons, flawed or not." Sat on the coach, warmed by the fire and her company the mouse contemplates reasons for humans to complain. "They seem to forget that they too are a part of the big machinery when they complain about whatever makes the headlines, whether it be economics or human behaviour. It takes only the right movement for change to come, but then again humans do love their complaints ..."

 

"The humans feel they can't have you flea, that your reply is held from them, that it will always in part be indirect, and so they extrapolate, however erroneously, that it is at their expense then," said Dejavu feeling something for the humans, being one, but feeling more for the goblin who was misunderstood by them. "They crave dialogue," he said, craving it a little himself, "the soliloquy leaves them cold, no matter how perfectly you appeal to them that it is by their presence you present it." Dejavu knew, being human, the distance, the removal, the divergence the repost represented to ones who came to engage and be engaged here, not elsewhere, knew too he wan't telling the goblin anything he didn't already know, that he was only sympathizing with him as best he humanly could. "They will always want a piece of the cake which when eaten remains, not knowing they could have the world with you if they'd allow themselves to. Soon, soon I'll add one more live-writing thread to this forum flea, a fourth, despite luckys superstition, and they will have us here, for they listen, and are as free as not to think they have to." Dejavu thought gleefully then of the complaints against the goblin, if only he could see them, of how he would destroy them, for Dejavu was not so confused in his creation as to misunderstand himself about what was wanted.

 

So bake cake. I've had a few tasty cakes bake me, dinged thedope hoping it was fun enough for the monkey god.

 

"I will make him bake it himself, thedemon!" uttered Dejavu, grasping his magic wishing staff as thedope returned, and then thought the better of it, thinking it might not be known what he was on about. His journey was to be like this, he was certain. Sky, mist, mountains, plains, woods, rivers, lakes and seas, but most memorably the people, among whom even the journalists were journeying. "How high can you go?" he taunted, pointing upwards.