the last person to post here wins

.......RAWRR!!!!!!!!.........

("...bring them here, bring them here..." cried the goblin, repeating "...every time you repost, you polish your original a little, that's the secret then, first edition, second edition, etc., ...")

the goblin landed, "...somehow, my day seems to be "work-home-last post-sandman and repeat"..." he ventured..."

the goblin had come to an agreement with the owner of the bistro, in that as soon a the place filled with lunch people, the goblin would uproot to the bar and continue tappidytyping from there, the owner had once asked why the goblin typed so much "...well life is a race with death for revealing oneself through ones creations...", "..yer OK, but that isn't going to pay the bills then, is it..." the owner replied, so the goblin just found himself remembering that line he knew “Domine, quo vadis(I am going back to be crucified again since you are departing from it)" and typed on

The Young woman stared at the goblin,"Goblin, If you don't mind me asking... What do you dream of..? What do you wish for...? Why do you wish for it...? Why do you dream of it...?"

(the goblin would reply to that in the morning, as he needed to sleep on it for now for a recheck)

The young woman nodded, "Then I shall check once you have thought it over"

Dark_Spinning_Fairy wrote:

The Young woman stared at the goblin,"Goblin, If you don't mind me asking... What do you dream of..? What do you wish for...? Why do you wish for it...? Why do you dream of it...?"

"...ah now, in short, you're asking me the "whats", the "whys" and the "eventualities" then, of all this posting now..." mused the goblin, continuing "...and yet, I remain anonymous throughout don't I, so those usual concepts of "to create an enduring internet self here", or "to know oneself by what one posts", or even "to be known by what one posts too", might be true enough in themselves, yes, but they have little, if any, actual barring on my motivation as such, no, simply, it's this is a "journey to self" here, that has me walking its trail in these posts now, and that, I suppose, is all that it will ever be for me, just a "journey to self" then, a simply force of habit..."

the bistro owner's wife is enormous for her short size, and the goblin often looks at her, not so much with some indecent intention, but more as an object for some great hug, the personification of Gaea in his view, and in this adoration, her hug alone would make up for every other woman he knew, and whether, his hands would meet behind her back, didn't matter, no it did matter, and yes they wouldn't, wow at the thought he felt, which alas is all it could be, but those were the hugs of his childhood he remembers now


5

"today's word is..." the spirit stopped for a moment and thought about it. "Magic" she paused and thought it over a moment until finally she nodded. "yes yes magic will do fine"

("....OK, as you wish then, but remember what I said about ruining the writer now, the reader is like some dangerous animal, like the prowling lion, one must remain aware of him but never too close for comfort..." replied the goblin)

the goblin was thinking about how the sky darkens early this time of year, with a wind who, like Autumn's acrobat, simply sweeps up and gyrates that mosaic carpet beneath those trees that lines both side the street in ever changing kaleidescope of patterns, and where the air smells as it did once, of damp foliage, in the dark inviting warmth and intensity of it then, "...in fact, it's the time of year I love most then..." started the goblin continuing "...where, as a child, I kicked through these leaves that I so carefully walk over now, and where that drifting smell of burnt chestnuts from somewhere, or that real worry, of how Dr Who really could save our world from the invading daleks again, seemed so much more pressing than any sudden shooting of a president or some far away war that barely registered on my little young radar...", other thoughts now, like fireworks in the garden, with dad playing the grand magician's role to a raging bonfire, surfaced, "...oh yes, all that was Autumn in my childhood then, and this Autumn too, carries me back there once more, a spell perhaps, or some mere association then, but at any rate, a vision as "real" to my eyes as "gone" to my touch, well what of it..." mused the goblin who simply saluted it once more in its annual passing..."

"...it's a slow process but "facing the slot" somehow has me biting the hand of this "dailylife" that feeds me..." joked the goblin not really laughing since the goblin also knew he was at "dailylife's" mercy too, "...the magician's trick is to have me think that the object is where it should be, only to surprise me by its being elsewhere..." the goblin sought the right words saying "...I have often fallen for life's tricks then, these little distractions that turn out to be worthless, whereas once in a very rare while I can actually make out that magician behind it all..."

("...now I have to go back to my editing here, I have so much to do, and never enough time to..." mentioned the goblin)

the goblin lets the post write itself, he often feared that if he didn't, it wouldn't, so the simple fact of switching off the distractions, first those obvious ones, and then recognizing the others too, had become an objective in itself here, the bistro was better than his home in this way, yes there was noise, people, and clutter, but they were not his, they, like the rest of it, were happening around him, and not to him, then suddenly he voiced aloud to himself looking at the slot "...this life always finds "tokens of value" for one if one doesn't recognize "real value" for oneself...", so the heads in the bistro would turn towards him for a moment, before they too, dismissed this as yet another distraction for them

a snapshot from a dark moment past

another email to say that the goblin's mother swallows again and although the event in itself has passed, at least the family consensus on this normally unaddressed question was now there and squarely answered that "if she couldn't eat for herself, then no one would force tube feeding on her", "...and, if it is this answer for my mother, then it would be the same for the others in my family..." said the goblin knowing that the response of each family member here, was in itself, a living will of their wishes for themselves too, should they fall into the same situation, "...the suffering of others turns ourselves inwards, and the self grows by these moral dilemmas that they ask of one..." concluded the goblin before his work pulled him away, the "what if it were me" question had been faced, and answered, the rest was just fate now

The spirit slumped over and turned back into her mist. She lost her form and became a vortex of eerie light.

"I choose no word today" she hummed as her figure seemingly disappeared all together.

(the goblin just posted what he had written elsewhere today hoping it would please)

repost from elsewhere

Quote :

AND we dont talkz like thiiis, its annoying isnt it, i think so, do you???!!!

"...hells bells yes!..." mentioned the goblin in agreement now, adding "...in writing, one just has to develop a writing style that does justice to one posts, because, on this internet at least, nothing alienates readers more than long winded stuff written in some perfect "grammer nazi" style...", in fact, the goblin had often likened the readers to a pack of wolves here, where one neither turns one back on them, nor gets too close either, simply one shares the prey, and admires their beauty, even at times matching their howls, and yet, in the end, life's "journey to self" is ones alone, and those readers eat up the writer in their expectations of him, one is "alone with others" now, but that is not solitude here

"I am going to, pray it alright, post a picture. I do not wish to seem a copy, but today seems a day for photographs." the spirit whispered she rummaged through her stores of photos and found one that caught the eye.

"here is a poem that has appeared in my mind. I am not sure if it shall be any good.

'Flames of heaven rain down like sleet
Cloud of hell become smoke
Slithering tongues guide down ice palaces
Pale skin igniting in dead passion
the curtain rises
the show begins
one by one the actors turn
one by one the skeletons appear'"

The young woman got her diary and started to write of magical dreams and sad unawareness.

("...wonderfull post, the match is wonderful, and I am happy when you post a picture too..." replied the goblin, continuing "...that is since, at their base, most live writers, seem to have at least this much in common then, in that, they enjoy the elation of coming across the picture that just seems to underline exactly what they are saying..." and also, to a lesser extent, there was that knowledge that their illustrator's eye is somehow reinforced by this constant practice here, "...simply I can't do a text now without thinking about the picture at the end of it..." laughed the goblin "...and no ones pics are safe from me, though in the token all my pics are yours for the taking, feel free to do so now, so no, posting pictures is not copying me at all, it's a natural part of growing self expression on this internet, and nothing I can do can turn you into a "live writer" anyway, you just become one when you write in your posts now, and feel dull without doing so, and no doubt you will start editing and reposting across sites soon, and when you have done a hundred thread pages somewhere, you won't need me to say anything, I will just salute you for what you have become by yourself, but remember to be faithful to your username, and to your persona, your "admin persona" that is, it must be unmistakable across sites for you to become recognised...")

"and yet you have lost your photo in that post. its rather sad" said the spirit who had now taken to misting around the gemmed door again as if she were to try and leave.

("...whoops, sorry I forgot to use brackets, which means that I am actually here writing this at this moment..." replied the goblin, adding "...little codes and tricks develop and one goes along, perhaps you've notice a little number under the picture too)

the goblin supposed that, if life made sense, then it would be too simple, and that, if "the effect" was always as predicted by "the cause", then people would just look to their reward each time over the action, so the goblin himself, didn't believe in reward, knowing that this life was full of cases, where "cause and effect" didn't neatly follow one another, and the goblin thanked his life for it then, that "cause and effect" was mostly true, yes, though never quite 100% true, where "dailylife" was concerned, so the goblin just repeated his favorite line to himself again "..."the action is the reward in itself" or else it's cheap...", but the goblin had often been the cheap blind calculative type in his dealings with others, maybe he was older now

repost from elsewhere

Quote :

"Ah, goblin. The hours fly by and the minutes are just a vague blur." muses xxxxx. "It seems like just a second ago that I attempted to wrest the last poster crown from your head"

the goblin would give that crown to the poster whenever she wished knowing that it would roll back to him soon enough, "... it's like a box where I am systematically pulling things out trying to get to the bottom of it and still there is just more and more..." said the goblin adding "...the funny thing is that the box itself doesn't look that big..."

Whats a secret you all don't want to speak of?

I would tell you but I'm scared of Takeo, Angela, and everyone else knowing....

(the goblin was good with secrets because he always forget them)

the goblin simply understood that once the thread was closed by someone it became a book, “...ah but I don't want to be a book, I am still very much alive...” declared the goblin who had fallen into a book a few time but he always restarted elsewhere

[/quote]

repost from "what did you do today" thread elsewhere"

the goblin upon leaving home his morning had sailed singlehandedly across to the nearest bistro where upon landing fell to ground to do his shoelace first and then to boldly state "...I claim this coffeeshop in the name of cryptofthecreative forum to the detriment of you regulars who do not type here with laptops..." at which point the bistro owner's wife, enormous as ever, bounces out of the kitchen, wipes her wet hands on her thick thighs, flicks her hair back and looks at the goblin with those eyes again "...and what can I do for you senior goblin, a coffee I know but would you like more my sweet one..." the goblin feels his shoes with the bottom of his chin, retrieves his composure somehow, points to a cake and tries not to look at her as she slowly bends over for it saying "...ah you like these then..." she asks, at which point the goblin resembles something slowly turning on a spit as he pays and scurries to the corner table to get on-line again, "he who had sailed in, now surfs away" types the goblin, as the picture fades