the last person to post here wins

("...yes, Hrukjan is goth for crow, and I follow and love it, somewhat reminded of the jabberwocky..." replied the gobiln)

the spirit smiles, a bit nervously for she is not sure if it flows correctly, not knowing all the grammar of such a beautiful language.

Repost from else where:

Quote :

I just watched the movie, The Crow, and i don't get it. how'd he come back x.x

"Have you ever heard of the occult?" asked the spirit as she took her place here again. "If you have then you know of the crow, but I am guessing you have not. the crow is, as the raven is, a symbol of life and death. It is said, as the movie you seemingly just watch states, that a crow takes souls to the land of the dead but, on deaths of great sadness the soul can not rest and with enough cause, the dead can come back to haunt those whom saddened them. And in the end, it is the crow whom gives them power. Thus he came back through the power of lore, of the crow, the raven, the being whom plays in the yard of death past twilight and whom feasts upon death in said land of dead. feasters of souls, their power brought him back."

("...powerful post that one..." said the goblin)


"...oh yes, "to post is to publish and to bump is to bomb"..." joked the goblin as the thread continued, he added "...ah but I am not a book, this is live writing while I live that is, and afterwards it won't be my concern anymore..."


13

repost from elsewhere
someone who had asked the goblin to post on other threads too

the goblin thanked the poster for the invite, "...I am someone who looks at many hundreds threads but only post to very few..." said the goblin honestly adding "...in fact, maybe I make one or two posts a day if I am lucky but each post is well thought out...", at which point the goblin didn't know how to put it otherwise saying "...suppose you felt that life is short, how else would one go about your posting I wonder..."


13

at which the goblin thanked the members for their input, true, the the goblin too was not quite sure at this point as to what it was all about, "...mind you, if you keep at it, there's a fair chance that ones inability to understand might actually increase enough to evolve it into a real mystery..." ventured the goblin again adding "...and what better than a mystery here then...", the goblin loved mysteries, in fact, sometimes the goblin remembers that he had actually married one, "...but that, as they say, is another story..." voiced the goblin without regret, because the goblin loved the story too, well not knowing her ending that is


13

repost from elsewhere, the subject of girlfriends

"...not at all xxxxx, be my guest, you can post here whenever you like, it's open to all..." explained the goblin adding "...ah and that post about my girlfriend and those feelings were a long time ago now, I was just recollecting the spell that she held over me....", in fact the goblin's girlfriend had been like an immense sun to his tiny planet, no contest infact, simply the nearer he got to her, the quicker went the orbit he made around her kind of burning up in the process

repost from elsewhere

Geneva is a small place, and walking across from the bridge on a dull warm day, became the last time the goblin met the Dane was while waiting for the homeward bus, the ensuing conversation between them had turned around to the moment where the Dane just confided "...actually I don't want to go home goblin tonight, my life is shit and I am in a real mess so I am going to a friend's...", the goblin replied "...look there's that AA place almost opposite from where you live, they would listen and sort it out for you, well at least get advice there then and no one would know, would they...", but what was happening to the Dane, somehow the goblin both knew and felt, wasn't the alcoholism, no, the Dane was stalling his own life into that sudden tailspin, the Dane was "ending it", and now while looking at the Dane's face the goblin could see, or had recollections of, those others that the goblin had known, ever hiding behind their uniform reassuring expression as their "exit plan" was taking over inside them, just the voice in the goblin's mind went "...no, it's always the ones that never mention it..." as the goblin watched the Dane cross the road before him as if walking out of this life


13

repost from elsewhere

Valentine's day, love plays little part in the goblin's life these days, more perhaps that the line between "love" and "duty" had blurred to the point where he could say, yes he loved someone, or something, but that is not anything like the love he once knew, where being in love was an all engulfing fire from within, "...I love my family, and would die for them, I love work knowing that I will work till they no longer need me, I love the virtual reality and the growth of that internet self it offers me here, yes but all this, and everything else, is me being in control as an adult then, or at least as someone of my age should be..." the goblin paused "...oh no, uncontrolled love was me a long time ago now..."


14

repost from elsewhere

the goblin always thanked the posters for their score keeping assumptions but for the goblin the score was always going to be "this one present last post itself with everything else past", but then the goblin added "...ah but at any moment it could be yours if you post again..." ventured the goblin winning this time but knowing that he would lose to the next poster "...the fact that one lives against ones death gives this life its depth, the fact that one posts against ones silence gives this Internet its depth too, both are futile though..."


14

this needs an airing here then...

"... that's how it all starts, that first taste, the start of many addiction..."  as he scccumbs once more, and gives up on his plans for the day and instead makes another fire to keep him warm as he posts away the day "...not that I have ever been a drinker as such, despite my crazy years of excess in all things, not one of the must have a drink types like the serious alcoholic we dragged out of bed once on a team building works outward bounds course, in our effort to score more points for our team, and so we dragged the sleeping members from their blissful rest, and made them walk across a 6 inch wide bridge of ropes and planks which precariously hovered a foot over a frozen pond in the middle of a cold February night. One by one they tripped across and added to our tally, until poor John, stinking of the whiskey from his secret hip flask, still half asleep, panicked and froze halfway across the bridge. We encouraged and cajoled, while the pyshcologists looked on with their notepads, ticking boxes on the performance of their lab rats, no joy, so I joined him on the bridge that creaked with our combined weight, and gently ushered him across, past his fear, and as the bridge broke sending me knee deep into the icy depths, it mattered not, for the points were in the bag, our team had won, and it was worth getting a little cold and wet, to wipe the smug smiles from the faces of the other team, better than being poor John too, safe but shattered on the bank, and who would never be dry"

o.o Drunk babies? what has this thread come to lol

I love Family Guy XD

early morning and the goblin has grown too old to sleep in on his day off, half awake then, he depends on his coffee to face the slot here, while outside, Geneva's ever silent and still gray dawn, expresses an invitingly deep dry cold that is only broken by the occasional croaking crow, "...it is as if the cemetery has extended it natural bounds..." felt the goblin at it


14

the goblin's life revolved around him, so he couldn't help being caught up in it he felt, "...ah, my goal in this life is to become the eye of the storm that this life so resembles here..." he explained, as if looking at the weathered elements of his declining existence now, "...ah, but if that same eye could also be one that sees too..." he smiled trying to get it right "...then this storm would be worth it for opening my eye..."


14

The chameleon returns from his midnight walk under the stars, once again frosty underfoot and apart from the crackling sound as he walked all was quiet as his little part of Cheshire slept "...a new day, and no matter what problems come your way, the word turns, and as sure as hell will go on without you when you are gone, those mini dramas and catastrophes all becoming insignificant in the grand scheme of things, yet once in a while you find someone that gets you, that understands, and as you lie under the stars together entwined, at peace with the world, you promise each other that it will be for ever, and all is fine... for a little while anyway"

repost from elsewhere, infighting on a writers site

the goblin was curious at this point, asking "...since this is a writer's site, what type of writing do you intend to do here, I'll help you if you serious, for example, I can introduce you many "live writers", illustrators, and dozens of exhibit sites too, ah but you, for your part, have to show talent here..." in fact, the goblin just felt that things were being sidetracked now, where everyone should really remain focused on three goals here, their being "a writer's way with words", "an illustrator's eye" and "an internet self", to which the goblin just welcomed the new member again, saying "...now if one of those three goals doesn't make sense, please ask before you dismiss what I am saying, or my writing style for that matter, out of hand again, oh, and good luck with your writing, for that after all, is why we're here is it not..."

Sitting in a dusty corner, upon an old stool whose cusion is worn and moth eaten, is the spirit. Her figure is nearly transparent, her ghastly body curled upon itself over a worn, crumbling piece of parchment. A quill runs over it in quick flicks of her wrists, seemingly moving on its own to the untrained eye. the stone ceiling drips sand, the bobbles decaying in age. she looks up, watching the sand.

"Drip, drip you souless wonders who steal my time, my practice. come to me in my peace and stone away ideas, thoughts of visions sake. kill such things and take from me their lustful dord." says the spirit to the sand, which in reply continues to rop, each bead hitting on in rythem. to the mad brain, they start to sound of laughter.

The spirit stood, placing the parchment down, and walks to the sand, her form spreading against the floor in a clouding mist. She hols out her hand, the skin flickering as sand builds on the fingers and then seeps through them.

"Cursed beads. You've stolen my ideal, and my quiet. The fenifit of silence, of new ideals, and of new home for a time. A new place to learn from. And, perhaps, some whre with others as I am to speak with to read with and to edit with as writers do. I must find such a place."

("...slowly the commotion settles, and from it great things appear..." replied the goblin now)

repost from elsewhere,

"...ah, there's always one in ones schooldays, isn't there..." continuing "...a quiet child who's thin, coughing and out of breath all the time in the school yard at playtime..." said the goblin remembering him now, repeating it then "...just one more kid from another class, I suppose, younger than me, but looking smaller though, and younger still, and quiet, reserved, nothing special except for that open-secret about him, no, you could be fat, ugly, or whatever and get teased for it, but this was different, no one said a word out of place, except that he was, out of place that is, out of time too it seemed, and then, after a while he didn't show up in the playground anymore, and the rumor was that he was in hospital again, till the morning, where gathered at assembly, we are told that he is no longer with us...", and the goblin would have forgotten it still, if a picture hadn't suddenly reminded him of it, "...and what dangerous things these pictures are, the illustrator's eye perhaps..." went the goblin in passing now

the goblin had an aversion to using "full stops" while posting, much as he did for "colons" and "semi colons", in that, what with modern day readers newly coming unstuck from the television and accidentally drifting in here like this, the goblin doubted that they would really know what those punctuation marks meant, so somehow the image of "...Scotty, damage report please...", "...captain, I don't know how long this vessel can take much more of those funny dots and dashes coming from the goblin there...", "...OK Bones, disengage then, set a direct course for "facebook"..." crossed the goblin's mind whenever any mad temptation to write normally arose