:-D Ah, yes, sorry, I meant one risks arrest going naked unless it's very very light, and you have friends with you.
"That's more like it," says the little mouse. "out with all the excess luggage, all the fools gold, and trinkets. Who needs those when one can be in bliss without?" She laughs out loud imagining how humans would suffer from sudden injuries when a small community would decide to let go and not answer to the call of society anymore. To be freed from all and simply do as one pleases without being judged or punished for freeing ones inner most self instead of hiding it under that layer put upon them by themselves, just to be able to fit into that box readied for them upon birth.
("...the ban came this morning..." laughed the goblin thinking they all something in common now) repost from elsewhere, new, storing here, suspecting my time there won't be long now, a writer's forum that starting to apply conformity "...nah, I'm not saying you need to grow up at all, where such conformity within one I flatly reject as something quite external here, a ruse to make one conform 100% to their dailylife whatever perhaps, but even so, the discrepancy shown in one's continued posting points to the fact that they're wrong and that you're individuality triumphs, indeed I could hardly be recommending being old like me to you now, instead I was merely pointing out that "dailylife" is all about you at at their values conforming whereas being on-line is more about you at your own values, and that, within that context then, that in one's continued posting one's writing nature will appear out of that posting, hence I called it a journey to self in posts before...", or merely the goblin had been pointing out the difference between the peter pan of one's on-line alter-ego here from the wendy of one's aging dailylife there, adding "...first off, if you write like everyone else, then just like everyone else is all that it'll ever be, just their 3% again, in that this forumland is like some vast infinite where you and I are utterly minuscule and momentary upon its surface, I mean it's here and now now, and it would be ever such a pity to not learn who you are by what you post writing as you see fit in the short time remaining, oh yes, for in dailylife you must conform as we all must do, yet on forumland you just go through forum after forum after form until you came across the ones that will accept you letting you evolve your writing nature, just wendy or peter pan then..." xxxx
"... and freed from their constraints we once again soar across forum land to only find one another on a different stage/forum. Only to try again on another writers forum." The little mouse laughs. "Surely somewhere in the vast expanse of forum land there must be writers with minds wide open?" She sits back and looks at the words appearing on her screen. "Here it seems nice and then there is that other place, and another, and ..." The little mouse grins, "it was only a matter of time goblin, one day they too will realise their way is not the only way and al writers are in fact live and no longer will be held back by rules and regulations. But that would make for a perfect world." she says laughing and then sips her coffee. "... and as we know all to well there is no such thing as perfection, only life and what was once ridiculed might end up being most wanted."
repost from elsewhere, new, and still in a mess too "...stand and deliver, your money or your life now goblin, yes, those were the days then weren't they, such excitement too, can't see why it had to end like this..." went the highwayman's ghost with a smile chatting to the goblin in the back of his mind now, and how indeed those times seem changed today, whereupon the goblin smiled back, admitting "...yes you're right, but that's not very end-user friendly though it's a bit boring now that they decriminalize daylight robbery but at least you don't go hung for it anymore either so there's that then, and the victim gets to think that they have some choice about it..." replied the goblin continuing "...no today you merely have to politely ask your victim if they would like to hold either treasury bonds at 1.4% returns upon three years maturity, or german euro bonds at 0% returns at three years again, or conversely whether they would like to calmly watch the pending bank-runs of their bank deposits instead, I mean it's little wonder then why the bond market is at 300 year high today, paying nothing for it though, I mean one does get the money back minus government decided inflation, so think of it not so much as stand and deliver as a wholesome introduction to present day financial practices I suppose, just legalized crime then where the robber, in collusion with the inflationary practices of the government, simply guards your money for you lending it back to the government...", "...nah, still think stand and deliver is more straight forward and honest goblin, even if put that way it does seem somewhat crude and minuscule by comparison then..." voiced the highwayman quickly hanging his pistols for a job in the financial sector now xxxx
..nicked that pic Flea, reminded me of this one... Jats sips the dregs of the tea and starts a tall tale then "...a while back in my quiet shabby little market town I was visiting the little library here with the boys, way before I got fast broadband and started to be a 'criminal' by downloading illegal things, and as we argued over which film to choose suddenly two guys came fighting through the automatic doors, one guy seeming desperate to reign punches and kicks on the other much bigger older chap while the old ladies and mums all stood looking with mouths agape, so, I told the boys to 'stay' and strolled over to see what all the fuss was about, seeing as no one else was then, and as I parted them and asked 'what's going on?' the smaller chap explained, through a blood soaked nose, that while riding his bike along the pavement just outside the older chap, who he had never met before, had inexplicably put his arm out pole-axing him sending him flying off his bike. When I asked if this was true, the older chap displayed no contrition, or remorse, as if it was par for the course which infuriated the little chap even more, and my instant King Solomon verdict of the situation was therefore in agreement with the little chap, and so I stepped back, letting the little chap resume his blows to exact his little revenge. As I turned, hearing a blow or two land, one of the library assistants clutching the phone tightly told me that the police where on the way, very loudly for a library I thought, and so I then turned back parting the two men again, seeing that the little chap seemed more satisfied now, having got his revenge and quietly advised him that the police had been called and he best get out of here, to which, after a couple of obscenities thrown in for good measure at the older chap now bleeding satisfactory in return, he did, whereas the big fella, to my amazement, casually walked into the library to meet his wife, who had been sitting at a pc in the corner all this time and appeared quite nonplussed at the whole occurrence..." Jats pauses for a second cuppa now "...it was only as I stood at the counter afterwards, finally getting the film, when a woman looked up at me all doe eyed saying I had been very brave, and that the boys had been set to follow me into the fray at one point until she had held them back, it was only then, as I thanked her for that and patted the boys on their heads ruffling their hair a little, that I thought how I had given no thought to it at all, it just seemed the natural thing to do, regardless of possible consequences, as we walked home then, the boys buzzing with excitement of Dad being a hero, for just a day or two..."
"Loved it jats" said Dejavu, reminded of his own father who had almost been a hero for holding onto his shopping that a naked man had tried to steal from him. Almost, because he'd received a punch in the process. So, it was a mixed bag in Dejavus mind, the outcome, not the shopping, though that had probably gone to shit also. His dad had resisted having his shopping taken, but had turned the other cheek to a man baring all four. Dejavu remembered something about him saying, incredibly, that he didn't want to catch a disease from the would-be thief. But what would he have done if the bag snatcher had gone again for his prize? What would he, Dejavu do?
"Ah, but where are the heroes when a little mouse loses her balance and falls into the canal? All but drowning in shallow water because the mud sucks her down, while the dog paces on the bank wagging its tail as if asking "What game is this? And can I play too?"" She smiles again and shivers remembering her long, wet and cold walk home. "At least after a good laugh I got a hot cup of tea offered."
("...good posts..." went the goblin reading all) repost from elsewhere, another writer''s forum when it didn't work out "...well that's better..." replied the goblin, fearing that no one was here still, explaining "...each livewriter has an edit thread where he or she airs/edits/backups their works across forumland, but you're probably going to say that you don't know what livewriting is either, understandable since the concept is somewhat new too...", at which point the goblin had a quick sip of his coffee only to realize that the whole subject was larger than one post would ever allow, so instead he just explained part of it as plainly as he could, continuing "...writers write, readers read, but livewriters are more like cheats who feed off the replies feeding back to the thread again, simply they become known by their posts, their hitcount being their readership beyond conjecture, with little choice seeing that that book world was in such evident decline and where those blogs seemed an eternal wait too, so no, instead of writing for elsewhere leaching readers away from here, compromising for whatever reason then, they've made forumland their own where one is just one's posts now, so an edit thread is somewhere to edit one's posts again, where livewriters edit their posts by reposting, which is about all that actually separates them from everyone else who keeps practising that post and discard never suspecting that their posts could be polished into something more them to their pens than what one sees around us now, care to edit posts with me now, I'm on your side if you would care to be on your side too..." 149
...here you go flea, glad to help out too with a repost of "jats" advice, though it was Lucky falling in the canal that led me to it really, via the picture, yes I wish I had seen that, would have laughed my fucking arse off... Jats munches a cold potato left over from dinner while skimming through the website found, then the obligatory blog and authors website where all was going well until 'god' and 'jesus' appeared and the fact that she wants a little pug dog gave Jats all the information he needed that the book would be utter crap too, and so immediately clicked away shaking his head chuckling "...why do 'writers' do that, fall into this modern trap, even the mystery/thriller writers do it for gawds sake where with each blog entry and cutesy formulaic photograph another potential reader is turned away, judgements made that if that's the best you can come up with then your novel will be utter drivel too...intrigue me, pull me in, a bit of fucking mystery and use a proper pseudonym if you're going to have one, change your whole sex even, yes take a tip from those writers gone where I would rather them be a complete Frankenstein than just another novelist churned out from the creative writing assembly line..." Jats interrupts himself with a coughing fit completed by spitting a gob of mucus into his empty mug lying next to the laptop that will sit there until he can be arsed to fling it into the washing up bowl on the next trip to the kitchen to mingle with the rest of the leftovers and excrement, which is all part of the creative process Jats excuses himself "...that's what we are left with now isn't it, twee trite novels linked to twee trite facetwit pages, a social media gurgitation of utter crap, yes where's the gritty realism gone for fucks sake in this la la land of everythings wonderful and lovely now, when it's clearly not..." wonders Jats who still stands by the advice he gives to the boys that if a film or a book shows at least one piss or shit in it then you know it will usually be alright
"Ah, Jats," Says the little mouse. "but even utter crap can be a joy and lovely indeed. Especially when that ugliness revolting appearance is just what makes it attractive."
"I would've saved you lucky!" said Dejavu nobly, "But you may have had to borrow me some hot shower, and a towel, and felt obliged too to then divide your teapot into the bargain, not that I would have insisted." Dejavu reflected sadly, standing there a drip in his imagination as knight errant, that heroism was as much a commodity as anything else that has been dragged through the muck of our regulation rainchecks, performed with that punctiliousness that ensures a thing may be recognized without our having to actively engage ourselves in the matter. But it was to no avail in prevailing upon his mind, since he could see beyond our idealistickiness and the overground grit also. "I saw recently that someone wrote an "official" sequel to peter pan! I wonder if he and wendy...oh, I don't want to know!" he said before taking off. :-D
Laughing the little mouse reads how a noble knight in shining armour states his demands before he rescues the lady. "How now," she says. "These days everything seems to come with a price tag, or at last at some kind of price. Whether it be a bargain, or dear payment is due." She smiles and sips her Sloe Gin. "Good thing there are still humans who know when a laugh is well received and tea can wash all mud away." Suddenly her own idealistickiness awakens. "A sequel? Wendy and Peter? Surely that will never happen, not with the one who will never grow up." Laughing the little mouse rises to stand on the edge of the sofa, spreading her arms and prepares to fly up, up and away!
"...never..." grumbles Jats sneaking to the slot during the adverts in the football highlights and slipping in a repost "...ah yes they grow up so fast..." agrees Jats joining in with the lamenting exhausted from another weekend where the only time he really saw his lot was when parking his ass down next to them and joining in with their fantasy world, improving his kill to death rate ratio in the process and earning back some respect before getting back to the cooking, cleaning and washing then "...and I cherish these times, this age where before too long they will think they know everything of the world, all the mystery gone and everything is boring, naff, lame, dreck, or whatever word is in vogue, for pretty soon, one by one, they will face their biggest challenge, the ultimate team death match that will slowly try to pull them apart with more stealth and cunning than they have come across, that bond of brotherhood forged by the years easily melting away if forgetting those lessons learned to work together on the battlefield then..."
("...something for you jats..." mentioned the goblin keeping him company now ) repost from elsewhere, the "What happens in the event of our non-compliance?" thread "...the end of empire is marked by a disillusionment to the value of money in its debasement downwards by the powers that be..." repeated the goblin, adding "...that currency wars lead to trade wars that in turn take us to real wars is not new as an idea in itself, yet who doesn't see that a currency war is but a distortion of the accepted value of money to the advantage of the distorter here, resulting in the present day unmentioned yet obvious race to the bottom...", in fact it wasn't hard for the goblin to see the pitfall to the current devaluation, in that, if one's savings would devalue then why would anyone save that which depreciates in value over time, moreover, if the assets one held would be confiscated by the powers that be in times of crisis, when and where that crisis was self made by the powers that be, then what asset is worth keeping, especially where the value of that asset is overvalued and taxed to begin with, much like most properties are for example, yes the goblin could see the way the wind was blowing, saying "...yes there is an everyday complacency until there is panic, and complete denial until there is shock, where nothing ever happens overnight until the day one wakes to find that the money has no more value and that one's assets have been either nationalized or repossessed by the banksters, so welcome to another end of empire then, just like each one before isn't it, for printing more money is printing less value, so the disillusionment is simply that then where we look the other way for a long as possible it seems..." xxxx
Intrepidity slipped a cognajacent to thedope upon reading this thread thinking at some point he might be discovered wearing the wrong outfit. Already as this re-post contests, he claimed not to be a writer at all and even though he panned from time to time he was never dead. Perhaps, he mused, at least we have a living in common. Even if thedope would fancy himself or be fancied a writer he would have been exposed most intimately a plagiarizer of his thoughts.
"No-one ever plagiarizes their thoughts, that's just words" said Dejavu contemptuously. He'd seen the same words out of thedope so often he appeared to Dejavu to almost be his own repost. He couldn't help but mischievously imagine that amidst all the reposts thedope might manufacture some new maxims. "You can be more than one thing you know in being yourself" he said carelessly, thinking back to his childhood with his brothers, their working out various roles between them, their instinctive understanding of eachothers capacities for any given thing in their pursuit of... activity. Dejavu had never really stopped this pursuit. It had only become more and more refined in his growing up, notwithstanding his rough passages, or was that withstanding them? There were moments for Dejavu with words where he genuinely felt he could make more understood without them. He'd never met a grown-up adult, and it was this dearth which seemed to account for why so many of them lived so well not with lies per se, but stunted truths. He knew though that this seeming would come apart at its own seams, that it was really a question of degrees in their settling for certain pleasures over the overall drive to their very own. Dejavu was uncertain if this drive and pleasure could be revealed en masse to be one and the same, and also whether or not more confusion would there be caused than cleared up. It was not as simple after all as declaring the journey the destination or virtue its own reward or bringing about universal order with a cheggen. "Thank fuck for random stuff" he sang, "not any old bit of fluff, but chanced upon, by us no less, and we're not gone, nor yet the rest..." the rest of the song could wait in not having to, he thought, leaving it there languishing to be rescued most heroically by the vicissitudes of fate as it were, or probably just some random ass poet or other.
Maximized for your distinct comfort, "True then familiarity breads contemptuous molds," thought thedope, "the vainly apprehending do so on the backs of the worthless, inferior, or undeserving of respect."
"Fie to all yer feint arted flagellatins" said Dejavu, seeing clearly how breaking bread with thedope would bust his blutotude right in the bred bastard where it belounged. "If I hears a nether sermonsk out of ya, ol skips yearn the clipper tills ye bilge getsk out of hands." He corkskrewed his tanker ready to sink thedopes tug when he heard the plaintive cries of an infink. "Arr, it's been rudder under me knows all this time wild steering off me pappy, ah ga ga ga ga ga gah."
