the last person to post here wins

Quote :

Creation of fantasy is a direct roadway to god and higher thought

the goblin didn't write to create fantasy, no he only saw posting as a "journey to self" here, and yet, many odd fanciful creatures were inside him it seemed, he just brought them to the fore each time and posted them away again, and whether they were ghost of his past, or represental characters, they were in fact very real to him now, as anyone who lived a shared life would understand straight off these words written here, explaining "...if one writes in third person, one starts dealing with characters, and, just any good actors becomes his part in total, a good writer becomes those characters too, before moments afterwards becoming the storyteller for the blind man, simply he steps back and forth between these two states as a go-between might, a shared life then between being it and reciting it..."

Quote :

JATS is reinstalling his computer after it crashed it seems, will be here later.

"...my problem is that since the computer never crashes now, and because I have all I need under linux too, I honestly don't learn as fast with linux as I did with windows where things repeatedly went wrong..." mentioned the goblin, who would rather rest in his innocence than gain further understanding through mishaps, adding "...funny but just being able to transfer one file over from the old machine to the new one and then having everything exactly the same, comes across like agent smith in matrix..."

"And of course do not forget the thief" he laughs and takes that train of thought with him, as he goes off to chop some wood that he has acquired along the way "... a stealer of pictures, of ideals, and ideas, reasons and rhyme, for it has been done since the dawn of time, original, you, me, no, no, we are all just copies, for Is imitation the sincerest form of flattery, are we not all the sum of mentors gone, perhaps some remain, and to ignore lessons given free, without payment, or any gain, just sheer stupidity, a gathering of self inflicted pain, and from the bit of you that remains, comes originality then"

Yes, I managed to find my way here, after much searching! Now I just need to find the topic of 'random stuff' and then I will feel right at home.

I think Dartmoor looks lovely, Flea. It reminds me of some of the countryside along the Eastern side of N.S.W. The kind the kids and I used to see during our train trips to Q.L.D. It's the sort of place I'd like to by a piece of land in, and retire on. And it probably rains there a lot, but the one good thing about lots of rain is, the grass is always greener.

Our inland country regions look like this.

"...honestly I don't think two places could be more different, it must be the wettest place in europe, bar the sea...." observed the goblin

actually the goblin wondered if anything humans did from the scale of the cosmos made the slightest bit of difference at all, saying "...religion always bolsters mans self importance, where science demotes him...", in the end the goblin just felt the truth just depended on which end of the telescope one looks at it from, saying "...perhaps I'm an all important insignificance then..."

fleamailman wrote:

"...honestly I don't think two places could be more different, it must be the wettest place in europe, bar the sea...." observed the goblin

Oh wow, Dartmoor is beautiful! I can imagine, living in a place like that, would give you a lot of writing inspiration. But all that constant rain could get on a persons nerves! I'd need to see the sunshine at least once in a while.

Dartmoor reminds me of the scenery, from Lord of the rings.

"OH look at all that lovely wood" exclaims the chameleon with eyes bulging wide, after just returning from the Post Office with a pallet tucked under his arm, never satisfied "I'm bored, thoroughly bored, other than for throwing it on my fire, I can't even muster the energy to enthuse about trees, which is unusual for me, I have an hour to kill before an appointment to seek some work, except I don't particularly want this job, just the money, but, needs must, it seems, so bored is perhaps not the word, and Mars will probably tell me that my moon is aligned with Jupiter or something, hence my apathy, and lethargy" he sips more tea searching for an appropriate analogy "... by this afternoon it will probably have passed, like the dark snow filled clouds that are filling the sky today, and once I have completed my tasks a glow of satisfaction will lift my spirits and the warmth of the fire will soothe my soul, that is burning for something, I can feel it, or maybe I am just hungry and cold, or could it be that I have been reading the infamous Ken's survival tips thread this morning leaving me filled with utter despair that should the worse happen I am totally unprepared, I don't know, maybe I can just feel the storm brewing" and so JATS goes off to make porridge and put his thermals on, before setting out into the snow that is now falling.

Oh no, not you as well, jats! My father had an obsession with wood, and he ended up being killed by a falling tree!! How ironic....No I am kidding of course. He died of a massive heart attack, but he was sitting on a wooden chair at the time.

And I was going to say, your mars is in uranus, but then I remembered, I've never been to England before, so that can't possibly be....The cold weather slows everyone down. You need to use up so much more energy, just to stay warm, that you burn yourself out physically. When spring comes, you will spring into action!

Here is something to cheer you up. This will satisfy your craving for wood, and also boost the post count. Here's 1000 posts!

[ footnote: mars's persona is that of an australian, something which takes years of practice to perfect]

repost from elsewhere, the "welcome the newbie" thread

"...well now..." laughed the goblin "...a newbie from the BBS age if you like, a past that you would have heard of I imagine, though long gone now, unmissed perhaps, but of it, we have these forums today...", in fact, the goblin was one of the "band", a small group whose hallmark were that their posts were in fact, their writings then, "...odd isn't it, I mean for every one person who starts to read a book hundreds more just turn up on the internet and, in effect, become author/readers in their own right..." mused the goblin careful that the post was never too long, somehow remembering that one of the first rules in live writing was "keep the post short", adding "...I'll touch on your forum only lightly now, promise, chat with me is you wish, but let's start with a question "why do live writers invariably attach a picture to their posts"..."

"Sir! Sir!" the chameleon holds up his hand and then uses his other to push his arm up further, higher, pointing to the ceiling, then waving it a bit "Sir, me, me I know the answer to this" not that I do I am just pretending to know it all, as he will always ask the boy in the corner squirming, the sadist that he is, then drone on and on telling us the answer, and then I can feign a sulk and exclaim "I knew that", meanwhile I will go back through the thread and stare at the pretty pictures, then aimlessly look through the window idly daydreaming.

Repost from elsewhere:

the spirit sat in the old dust collecting rocker near the dust cloaked book shelf and watched the others. She did not speak at first, only thinking as she saw the others buzzel around. Her words were not needed at the moment, or perhaps ever, though she would give them in due time. Time all ways called her forth, even when others did not wish it. The word answer, the topic of schooling, all of it pulled her in to thinking many a thing of back during her 'livily-hood' when it was she doing those things. when it was she who had her hand raised to answer only for that answer to be snatched away. "a topic that shall never leave education is the series of labels one gives another. Such things as those follow all one's life. if not in the forward of their minds then in the back, haunting them with thoughts during their gravest time. 'Your a prep' 'Your so goth' 'Look at the jock' 'Nerd' 'Geek' 'Freak'. All those things, and more, create labels. Such things are used in everyday also though. Not just in schools. Its a cruel thing, such words and mean spirits that follow them. For no matter how kind it could sound, tongues are dipped in poison to stick the label upon you."

(the goblin loved the post, somehow knowing that spirit's benchmark was high here)

oh no, the goblin loved fantasy, saying "...those amazing stories are not to be forgotten, for they enriched my children, and fuel my imagination still, "the american dream" was still wonderful was it not, even if it was just that then, only a dream that is...", so the goblin saluted america once more, and waved and cheered as the political spectacle passed before his eyes like so many wondrous balloons in macy's thanksgiving parade, "a dream is still better then no dream then" was all he could muster in reply, for reality is bleak without one

repost from elsewhere

The spirit sulked as the topic to her over. America. Yes she knew america and her sweet promises, her new founding, her still seemingly young life, though no longer freshly plucked upon the world. Also, the spirit knew her secrets and her taunts. The lies she swore as truths. "America...in all her glory, is no more than a sham to me." spoke the spirit, quite emotionlessly. "She is but a hypocrit in her life span, looking down on others for things she herself once did." but whilst thinking of these things she too thought of the world in a whole and then each country as a whole. "No place in this being called 'world' or 'earth' is truly right in any way. all are 'hypocritical' to a point. But I! Oh yes I of course, opinionize that the world is a damned place. All is a sham for if truth existed there would be no reason for false hopes or dreams. the reality would, perhaps, finally be better then the dreams. This, we shall never know."

"...yes, I'm enjoying everyone post more now, yet somehow what pleases me most. is just the vindication of the basic idea here..." mentioned the goblin now, continuing "...so perhaps, like some new chess opening that first seems unthinkable, in this case "that one can be an author in ones own right, and in ones own way too, just with posts", remains conjecture, yes, until the time comes when other players, start trying it out for themselves, and the result is what one has seen here, and no, there is no fixed rules, that is, one doesn't have to have a uniform username between sites, nor post a picture each time, one doesn't have to use third person either, or be anonymous, or even air/edit/backup here, though clearly there are both advantages, and disadvantages, to each in turn, where simply it is up to the author to experiment enough till he or she arrives at their own balance from those options then..." continuing "...just that for me now the idea of "live writer" is a valid one here, and that we pioneers of it .."

Quote :

actually I'm a human

"...ah now, well there does seem to be an awful lot of them about these days..." replied the goblin, adding "...I'm a live writer myself, someone who writes for the internet I mean...", in fact, the goblin was one of the "band", a small group whose hallmark were that their posts were, in effect, their writings then, "...odd isn't it, I mean for every one person who starts to read a book hundreds more just turn up on this internet and, as their own author/readers so to speak..." mused the goblin careful about the length of the post here, somehow he just remembered that one of the first rules in live writing was "keep it sweet, want them wanting more",

fleamailman wrote:

[ footnote: mars's persona is that of an australian, something which takes years of practice to perfect]

Some do it better than others!

Maybe it's the fact that our country isn't as old as others, that we don't seem to have much of a tradition to stick to. It's almost like the rules and political correctnesses of the rest of the world, don't apply to us. We are like the children of the world. A lot more innocent and yet to do much to upset anyone. We haven't made our mark on the map yet, and I hope we never do. I like the fact that some overseas people think that Australia is a town in Austria!

I think our greatest exports have been our actors. Now tell me, who could have played the role of the joker better than Heath Ledger? Not even Jack Nicholsons joker captured the spirit and the mood of the joker as well as Heath did. It was that childlike, mischeveous Aussie larrakin, in Heath, that made his joker, the ultimate joker. Jack's was controlled and intense. A controlled and intense person would still have some fear, if he was in danger of dying, or being caught. While Heath's version was unafraid and reckless. Like a child who has no idea he is going to die, if he runs off the edge of that cliff!

Yes Heath, you deserve a round of applause. Give yourself one!

("...back to my editing..." went the goblin, after enjoying mars bar's post)

repost from elsewhere

"...give us a kiss lov...", last but not least the goblin, who thanked everyone for their words, and who had replied to the parrot "...not until you clean your teeth then..." as it munched on those now somewhat "finger flavored" crisps the goblin had offered the parrot in his error, but the parrot just repeated again "...give us a kiss lov...", so perhaps visiting the supermarket's pet-shop this afternoon had been one of life's little lessons thought the goblin who could now see clearly why computers were in binary, and why most school teachers typed with two fingers "...parrot, they've come across you before I guess, haven't they..." the goblin said as the parrot turned its small head a little sideways in that "fancy another round of knuckles goblin" look they always have when they're hungry, the goblin couldn't resist, somehow his fingers were worth the fun of feeding this parrot "... o how you're like feeding this slot here then my dear parrot..." he ventured

Repost from Elsewhere:

Quote :

T.T do you like, know nothing of modern time? NO ONE TALKS LIKE THAT ANY MORE

"Well...to prove you wrong would be quite easy. I am here, in your modern time, and I speak like this, thus would that not mean someone in 'modern time' still speaks as such?" the spirit frowned now, wishing the world wasn't so hostile and that others could learn to love what is different but then in the same moment she smiled, knowing that the fun of a few bats are all that keep her coming to this particular area of the realm of internet. "Now, to explain further, let me guess that you have not explored the whole realm of internet. Now had you done so I would not be alone. But since you hath not, I am alone in your eyes. So yes, I am strange, but I am proud of that strangity. it you can not be proud of your strangnesses, I am sorry for you most of all."

("...I like that reply, subtle but still clear, feel free to involve "band" menbers, and don't forget to save before posting, as often there is nothing that feels quite so good as having an admin, or mod for that matter, read your post elsewhere, and thus learning for a fact that forumland as opposed to individual sites, has the last laugh)

repost from elsewhere

"...well if you wanted me to think by your posts, full marks there then..." replied the goblin going back to reread it once more, returning and then continuing "...perhaps for the fact, that none of my credentials can be proven here, simply gives me a great freedom to dump them, where someone else might hold dearly to them, personal choice I suppose...", in fact, goblin was thinking of just how honest he had been of late, concerning various aspects of his life, for example, his being anonymous, had meant that he could come to terms with his mother's recent death openly across forumland, his not grieving at it that is, even to the point where, when his father asked him "what hymns then", and not knowing any hymns, let alone catholic ones now, the goblin had simply suggested "good king wenceslas" for the cremation service, where even dad laughed at that point, in fact, mum had been an atheist, indebted to nuns for her beloved convent school days, who had then helped the nuns in one way or another throughout her life, the goblin explained "...oh yes, mum had been an atheist, but as such she was probably a good practicing catholic atheist then..." but no, the point the goblin wished to make here was that the goblin was drawn to xxxxx's posts, not by any of his credentials, simply by the writing finesse and content conveyed within whichever post xxxxx did

repost from elsewhere, again

Quote :

Have you thought about writing a book fleamailman? Or a screenplay? You sound, like you should definitely be a writer. And even though you may not want to do it for fame or fortune, you could do it so everyone out there could read your writing. Talented people need to be unleashed on the world, otherwise we will be stuck with people like Madonna writing books, and that's never a good thing!

the goblin smiled once more looking out across the bright snow to the mountains beyond, "...and what is this then, that we are writing together here, if not a live book of sorts is it not, with each one of us intricately woven into its sprawling pages..." mentioned the goblin, adding "...the times, together with the advancement of technology, have once more returned writing to something like short episodes found perhaps in those journals of the Victorian age where Dickens and Doyle held the reader's imagination in the palm of their hands...", the goblin paused knowing that there was something else, he tried for it here "...look again, do you notice that the distance between persona, the piece and the response has gone, hasn't it...", the goblin's coffee tasted deep perhaps unpleasant even, it's sweet bitterness held him tightly to the point here and how clearly he saw it, continuing "...anyway more people interact here, on threads like these that is, than if any one of us were to go cap in hand to some publishers somewhere, for see how the medias are losing market share to this Internet at this point then, and where this snowballing trend is leading us to, well that is why I keep saying that I am not a "writer" now, a "live writer" perhaps, but what I really am is just one of you, since you are all personas like me..." mentioned the goblin who then laughed saying "...besides, none of this matters when one is anonymous, no, only the pact with the Muse matters..."

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

day whatever, the usual thing, those cleaning ladies ever calling across the tables of the bistro to one another somewhat reminiscent of creatures across some enormous forest canopy while the goblin himself, tucked neatly into the corner, tries to both type, keeping his mind focused on the question in front of him, and ignore them long enough to make a valid reply here, ah but who is he kidding then as the moment the goblin opens up the "reply slot" here, umpteen tangents offer their distractive seductive candidacy for his post instead, "...no I want to offer sound advice to the humans this time, be off with you..." he voices out loud though fortunately the cleaning ladies around him don't speak English and are all too used to the goblin's sudden outbursts like this, so he waits on the time now as the cursor blinks away the moments, simply the goblin is waiting for that feeling like a retracting wave that is followed by a sudden gush of vision like thought in which he will just jot it down rereading the last words where he often loses track, "...goblin, can I swallow this post down yet, I'm hungry and do remember that humans don't have much of an attention span these days, you'll be lucky if they even read this far that is..." reminded the slot to the goblin as the next bout of raw Portuguese is hurled wildly across the bistro canopy, the goblin ducks to avoid it, that is while hitting the "send" button that feeds the slot here, somehow his post was done he knew, ah but could anyone these days read this far he wondered

repost from elsewhere:

Quote :

I love to write...but i'm no good at it....

"Nonsense!" marked the spirit, slamming her hands down on a dusk covered desk, clouds of the same dust adding color to her figure whilst joining the mist. "There is no 'good' or 'bad' in writing! Not for yourself at least" now she sat, calming a bit and thinking things over. the spirit, too, thought she wasn't the best and though she loved to write, thought she would never do more than write for herself and these posts upon the realm of internet. and so, taking her own motivation, she answered simply; "Every word is a masterpiece. For three things. one, a masterpiece is something made something that wasn't before. Now some shall fight and say that all words were written or typed before, but that is not so for they were created at some mind in some time and because they are not written as others. how so? simple, they were written by you for a reason that no other may have. Second, You wrote it. when you write you write, or should, first write for yourself. make it into your masterpiece and then let the world take it and claw at it until it is for them but always keep the masterpiece close to you, let them claw at the fake. And lastly, it is a masterpiece because it exists. Anything created is is a masterpiece, as I've said before, and once it is from your mind to your paper, or computer in some modern cases, it then exists. And forever shall it exist as long as you wish it and as long as you allow it and even then it may choose to exists itself." the spirit quited now, not wanting to ramble to much longer. But she could not help but add one last point. "Grasp what you love and make it real, no matter what it takes, be it loved or hated make it true."

repost from elsewhere, just sharing

the goblin remembered too, those white chalk stones clearly but there were none where his childhood beach was, he had first seen them and only seen them on the car drive down to Cornwall, even now they still conjured up the relentless wind streaming in from the sea to the goblin who, refusing to turn his head away from the view, had born the brunt for as long as he could till, in the end, the teasing cold sea wind had eventually forced the goblin to look away, and in that sole instant, that the goblin had blinked that is, his laughing past had snatched the moment from his then present, "...next time I won't look away, ever..." he had promised himself ever since but the muse just laughed saying "...silly goblin, you can't out stare the sea, you should know that much, ah but goblin, if you look long enough it might just wink at you instead..." the goblin smiled at the thought, she just had a way with ideas he felt

"Sa bauseis
Sa un-sels
Wulfs pauta anadat wintrus.

Sa dauthus
Sa wansgen
Hrukjan wopjan andacc driusan" 

Whispered the spirit, more to herself than any other.  The poem meant much to her, suddenly she caught herself wondering if any other would understand the meaning to the poem. Then she realized, she didn't care.  other's opinions meant little, but still they meant something.  But that something was still just an opinion.