the last person to post here wins

"...I never ask, but I suppose I knew..." replied the goblin, adding "...do you remember that line I've used often enough the angel is not there to be nice, she is there to help you shine in her reflection, well I still love that line all these years on, to post is to win here, that's this game then.."

("...and so it continues..." went the goblin)

repost from elsewhere

"...well I understand that it is a compromise then..." restarted the goblin now, continuing "...that is, that I get to own nothing here but I remain both ageless and faceless in doing so...", for the goblin had often pointed out that his posts were all dead by the time they were posted, that all this posting was just a journey to self to him, adding "...but really, must I waste what little talent I have upon writing some unread book in that ever declining bookworld now, while all along, under our very noses then, this vast sea of forumland just awaits and surrounds us, where all one has to do is go to the reader in ones posts now, oh yes, those writers might want that readership, where a livewriter might enjoy the readership too, admittedly it does flatter one, but no, in the end he's actually seeking rapport here, for it's rapport and not readership that actually feeds one ones thoughts...", and, apart from that, the goblin had also wondered, what there was to know about him that would change anything anyway, for nothing here one claims can be proved now, least of all ones identity that is, saying "...ah no, I'm not anonymous really, well not any more anonymous than anyone reading this is, so welcome to the masked ball of the internet then, where the truth is yet another mask it seems..."

Repost from Elsewhere:

Quote :

"Angels aren't fearsome, they aren't important any more. Those that believe in angels believe in the cute, chubby little cupids that we've grown to accept."

Chuckling, the spirit shook her head and relaxed in the large, over sized chair that she had claimed not but a moment before. Curling so that her form arched to the chair perfectly, she closed her eyes and draped an arm across her misted face. "Woe is ye who hath no fear! For fear is life's new beating. Of course there are many things to fear, life, death, angels, devils. It all depends on what you believe in. Do you, my dear misguided friend, believe in anything but your own existence? I'll tell you, love, I do not but these words and myself for that is the only truth I can hold in my very hands. But I do know there are fearsome creatures hiding behind the cutest of faces." A sound, near a yawn or exasperated sigh, escaped the spirits parted lips before she began anew.

"The girl, born beautiful and sure to make something of herself, is brought up into a world where she will either be cruel to others or cruel to because that is the way of the world. So she chooses to be cruel to others so people around her like her, thus making her a fearsome beast to another, innocent soul, behind those golden curls. But, you don't see her cruelty...hmm I wonder why. Perhaps you are as she? Oh the male who will use others to climb his way up, then squish them and kick them down the later, forcing their frail bodies and hopes to break. Is he some cruel, fearsome beast to another?" A swirl of mist and she disappears, reappearing near the curtained window as she peaks outside, toward the darkening sky.

"Perhaps we are all just play things for these 'angels' then...toys to be written in their lab books as experiment 009879A or some fictional character they don't even care about any longer. Perhaps, if tis what you believe, they hath given up on our kind and moved on to some more perfect race. A race who will never forsake and abuse what they are given. A race who will be pet to the fierce beauty of the Angel, yet never forget the danger that beauty hides."

("...you have lost you writing touch..." mentioned the goblin now)

repost from elsewhere, supporting a livewriter against a heckler then

Quote :

it is..sadly..I rarely read his posts and didnt see it..

"...nah, it's because she actually likes you now, I just wish more women would ignore me too like that, instead they just don't notice me at all, not fair is it..." mentioned the goblin

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As a budding freelance writer, lately I have been busy searching for lots of tips and information on the career that entices me. On my travels I have read about so many fabulous writers, how they came about, their style of writing, what drives them, etc, etc. However, it seems that every writer I come across has the same gene......they have been writing since they were little.... For some reason this seems to dis-empower me. It's so wonderful reading about their journeys, but....then I realise...I don't have one! I'm so new to this industry. I haven't been writing for years and years. I have been keeping a journal for years - but I don't think that counts lol. Just something that was cruising my brain cells.......

"...well the question is "what would you write where you had no motivation to do so now"..." mentioned the goblin, knowing that sounded like a trick question then, and yet he was dead serious in asking it, continuing "...well if you can answer that question honestly to yourself, then you will know how you stand as to whether you really are a writer by nature or just one of those people who use writing as their means to some end in life...", the goblin's own answer was clearly in his anonymity here, no external reason then, which lead him to ask a second question, daring "...do you store your posts ever, I mean as some proof of progress now, funny how we use the wrong things as our benchmarks, where bits of your journal for example, reposted here might be a better proof of actual readership, rather than unknown conjectures concluded by comparing yourself with others, and besides, even if you were the worse writer in the world, it's not their journey to self here, it's yours, so don't you want to know yourself by what you write regardless of what anyone thinks of it..."

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...and I'm considering offering my book as a free download.

"...well I'm not so sure..." mentioned the goblin, wondering about that human nature again, explaining "...you see on this internet people don't really appreciate, nor trust for that matter, anything that looks and feels free now, so because of that I suggest that you first add the price tag to set value and to align any doubts, and then just let them pirate it as usual..."

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"...your book you can publish by yourself at any time, so that is the least of your problems I feel..." mentioned the goblin now, adding "...however, the way you write is individual to you is it not, where if what you write is good enough, then the reader will simply grow used to it, in exactly the same way he does when reading something like shakespeare or lord chesterfeild's letters...", in fact, the goblin advised writing on forumland first, testing the waters so to speak, and then when ready tackling that book, explaining "...if it's your own book which you then self publish, does it matter that parts of that book were first seen on forumland, where conversely if one experiments with untried techniques inside your book, which you haven't first tried on forumland, then the reader might not read beyond the first chapter...", simply, what the goblin was saying was try your idea out on forumland first, that's all

repost from elsewhere

"...and all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put the paperbook world back together again goblin..." smiled the muse in her usual off the cuff manner not that she cared, ah no she was bipolar, she always bounced back one way or another getting all that attention she craved for then, she just continued "...this transition is just another great moment for originality goblin, for later things just settle down and that benchmark goes up doesn't it, and besides, they only really remember two types now, the first, and the best, where the best is always open to discussion, whereas the first, well isn't that up to you now..."

Repost from Elsewhere:

At sunrise, where the light is coarse and scratches against the darkness like the claws of a hungry lion having found a fallen babe in the savanna, life is quiet and dangerous. No heart can beat alone and silently to hide from the others who hunt not only other dangerous races but one another. Nay, in this life there is so much that hides from existence by being around those who would seem meek. We feast our days with blood and feast the night in a drunken hope that we will not be the meek tomorrow. "'Ave you ever questioned the colour red?" Whispered the spirit from her corner after having watched the fight between two dismal fools. "I hath grown to believe red is only painted by the long since spilt blood of our ancestors." Silence, pure and strong like the hidden wind caressing the aftermath of a tornado. "Where graves are marked red flowers bloom, yet some would say that they can bloom anywhere. Tell me then, my sweetest darlings, how you can not prove that death has consumed the world no matter where it be? Below our very feet there were those who lived and died here...and not simply humans who spill their guts for our existence. Or are humans the only types that matter to you? Pitty, pitty." She whispered once more as she reached over and plucked a red flower from the ashened world below and picked the petals one by one, humming all the while in the same tune a child using the petals to forecast love would use.

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"Can't we all play nice?" Jaikin said with a grin as he rolled onto his back and kept his claws sunk into the belly flesh of a mouse stained gold. He threw it up in the air, let it squeak in pain, and caught it again. This torment continued for a good chunk of time before the spirit appeared and grabbed the mouse's tail and held it above his head.

"Hasn't anyone taught you not to play with your food?" She asked with a shake of her head. Jaikin rolled once more onto his four little paws and sprung at the dangling mouse, at which time the spirit took it's tail and rose it up another notch, just out of those claw's reach. "Food is just a game of cat and mouse. One hunts the other for all of time until it finds a tastier source...and since the cake is gone I'll play with that...mouse!" He jumped again and caught it in his fanged mouth before skipping off, triumphant. The spirit shook her head. "Pitty you are so gorged on untimely things. No wonder you've gotten lazy and fat." She said as she rose and took the broom to sweep him out. "Oh oh now that's not nice!"

"There is no kindness left in your game you know...so I fear your stuck with the broom to accompany you!" She said as he went out the door. Shutting it, she returned to her chair and ignored his feeble scratching. "Come come now, I'm not so bad, perhaps a spot of blood one belittle your ghostly form today, eh?" A cackling laugh came as Jaikin slipped away, his lesson unlearned.

("...you haven't lost your touch, it is like nothing else..." mused the goblin honestly)

(("Why thank you my friend, I feared I might have." the spirit whispered with a smile. "Your posts interest me as they always have, I must thank you for them constantly. They brighten my day when the clouds steal it away."))

Repost from Elsewhere:

Quote :

Why are you so annoying? Can't you express yourself like a normal person! STFU with all this shit no one can understand!

"Such anger! Oh how it wilts the bosoms bright beats and douses the dreams of the meek. I'd run away and hide from the blast--if I had not already fought too many fools to count." the spirit said, her anger tested and balancing on a pin between explosion and neutralizing the lot. Jaikin came and brush against the pin, his tail swiveling and pinching at it, teasing it to fall one way or another. The spirit, in no mood to play, swatted at his nose with the hem of her dress, forcing the beast to jump and hiss. "Rubbish, the lot of you." Spinning on her pin alone, the spirit ignored the broodmare cat's words as he slipped away and jumped up on her chair, curling in the corner. She jumped as the pin fell to the side, not to destruction nor peace but teetering as the world always did.

"Lest the light break where the moores whisper with spirits calling forth the love strings of soul and heart, break your mind to shattered peaces and perhaps then you shall know what all have apparently hidden from you. Oh woe is you who hides behind net-speak and can not stop but to yell at things you do not understand, like, or -of the lot- wish to exist at all. Have you ever seen a sun set with a green tinge? No? Go to the ocean where the seaweed is thickest and sit at the basen, there where it is hidden to others shall be a green streak where the aurora left it behind." The spirit ran her fingers against the words carved into the wall as she stared at nothing yet everything. "Normal things enrage me you see, and they make me so like you. I want to throw a fit like a child and scream and fuss to show you so many things that could prove your reality wrong...but I must always remember...reality changes for everyone, meaning but one true fact. All reality is fiction to those who do not live in the steps you follow. Thus, believe and hate as you read but remember, you are the one who reads these words, I am the one who rights them. If you dislike them move along."

("...somehow you balance out the cheap in me, just I read your post and am reminded of depth again..." mentioned the goblin)

repost from elsewhere

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Hnh, I feel I've been stepped over and brushed off. I'm not sure what this is supposed to be saying, but to the first part, yes, those topics were there and no amount of convoluted philosophizing negates that, if that's what you're implying, and what does your ex have to do with your trolling hobby?

the goblin thanked the dragoness for her post again, liking her for it, appreciating her then, explaining "...where trolls would raid, livewriters prefer to land, the difference is in their goal here, for I have no wish to disrupt your forum, far from it, I am merely meeting everyone here...", in fact, landing seemed part of livewriting then, that is, since it gave one an idea of ones ability on the one hand, while also giving something of oneself to the forum on the other, an exchange then, where the goblin's mind was thinking back to those forums mentioned before, repeating "...perhaps those forums, where things didn't work out, were like my ex girlfriends, as something wished well, not forgotten, but not commented on either..."

repost from elsewhere, writer's forum, the goblin opinion not going down to well

Quote :

I see your post as expressing your own unique view, flea. Helpful is questionable bearing in mind what the purpose of this site is. Primarily it's for workshop and critique and if those elements weren't here then no site would exist for you to post on.

"...no, I think getting people to actually write, period whether that be fiction/nonfiction/poems/prose/posts or whatever, is the primal motivation on this forum, where nowhere is it mentioned that the sole purpose of this forum is solely to would be writers to write novels here, especially where the fragmentation of writing techniques due to this internet is upon us..." replied the goblin, seeing clearly now that if he followed that old model then he, like most of his writing contemporaries here, would soon be facing the law of diminishing returns again, espeically when more and more people were replacing their reading time with online time, so if anything, rather than trying to gag the goblin for stating some rather obvious fact, if you could come up with counter argument against the one that books are fast being sidelined here, someone reader this, would benefit, and then the goblin thought he had better clear up the other inept poorly hidden barb of "own unique view", which tried to infer that those views that were plural, merely because the were plural, made them more correct, saying "...any view is ones opinion, where all views should be uniquely ones own reached through reason, where no opinion regardless of however many people believed in it, actually made it the truth, so I should be thanking you for your compliment then, btw as someone entrusted with the buttons, you hold it within your power to warn me again, to delete my post once more, and to ban me, where all I have is a mind that thinks for itself, a voice that speaks outs, and a pen that writes honestly, I simply accept my fate form you now..."

repost from elsewhere, on someone's bereavement

"...no one has any more life than anyone else..." went the goblin knowing how tempting it is to think that death would follow some neat order here, and yet time and again it picks it own for it's own reasons, so the goblin thanked those who remained for keeping him company now, whereas for those who had passed on he merely saluted knowing that he too, like everyone else, would join them soon enough, saying "...the process of death is simply turning those whom we love around us into those we love within us..."

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"...ah now, those lines soon told me that you're a writer then...", went the goblin quite sincerely here, adding "...truth is that most literature is actually narrated and yet, apart from that narrow perimeter of those roleplaying threads, most posters repeatedly write in some all too dunce standard monotone, which is ok for most posters perhaps, but a big pity when it comes to writers who should be able to do the most fluid posts on forumland, no not offering extracts of their books elsewhere but actually writing in whatever they do, where each post could be an taste of themselves or their book then...”, in fact as crazy as it may sound now, the goblin was on the writer's side here, he actually wanted them to be known by their posts too, for he could then fed on what they wrote, “...ah now, nothing like anonymous recognition is there goblin..." went the slot's voice, adding "...livewriters are known by their posts alone, where forumland is their domain now, but their anguish is obvious too, for why's it always those elsewheres that are considered writing, so feed me goblin, forget them then..."

("...I thought this forum was closed..." mentioned the goblin now, adding "...but a google search seems to prove me wrong, so the only question is if anyone is still here or if I'm posting alone now...")

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It's wonderful, instead of being taken at face value. An idea is created to answer for what appears, and while it's easier to speak simply. One hides behind a poetic nature in attempts to reveal the meme, why not simply ask for the purposed intent?

enjoying the post, the goblin turned to xxxxx's question, explaining "...well the trick is to store one's posts each time, that's all I guess, so one turns this transient nature of forumland into something more meaningful and reflective of oneself, where perhaps too, if one does store one's posts somewhere, an outline of who one is can be glimpsed through those posts then...", in fact, the goblin had noted the way many an author had used narration and illustration to bring their works alive, and had simply felt that the same thing could be done in posts too, adding "...you see, one's persona is not fettered by dailylife's considerations here, simply innerman is allowed to grow from posting on like this, while one's outterman still has to deal with whatever its aging fate holds in store for him, but they are both facets of oneself where neither owns one entirely..."


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("...and so it happened too late then, the livewriters broke onto the writer's scene via a forum called writersbeat, where the goblin had put up a credit to silentxmidnight hoping that someone who know her might reach her now, saying "...and we are many we were but three once, if this message gets to you and if you wish to take your place amongst us, know that we are many now, and that it misses you...")

repost from "happy new year" thread here

"...nah MYAHAHAHAHA, I'm not wishing you happy new year humans, I'm going to wish you a whooping great hangover for new year's day instead..." went the goblin, explaining "...or just wishing you some reckless youthful recollection of when you once had a whooping great hangover for new year's day that is, and weren't they worth it at the time, even if you don't actually remember what you did nor how you got there now..."


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("...an update then..." went the goblin seeing that spirit has posted, adding "...Jats and I are still at it, but there are many more livewriters around today, so it's not so contraversal as before, where I will support here if you are here then...")


repost from elsewhere, today's then

odd then but, what with the death of his mother and the casting of her ashes to the sea a year or so back, any continuity of the goblin's past as something either leading into his present, or of being part of his present even, had all abruptly ended by it, so the slate was wiped clean now, debts repaid in their full, but memory lane, or at least the one that the goblin had journeyed down so often with his gradually vegetating mum, had finally become just that then, just the road behind him then


162

("Ah," she murmured with a nod of sorts. "That does take a bit of fun away from doing it alone...but there will always be joy in watching the masters of the art at work.")

Back into the frey with a repost then,

Quote :

You seem really depressive and you just joined. Are you okay? If you need help you should contact someone instead of pretending be some ghost. That's like, really bad foreshadowing or something right?

A silent chuckle echoed in the small room, today filled with wilting blades of acid green grass and grimy muck that was once mud before the lingering moisture in the air was absorbed into the girth surrounding a couplet of crumbling tombstones. "Depressing, isn't it, to know what will become of you before it does. One day you, and the others who lurk as guests in silence behind you, will be apart of the muck you stand in. If not then you will be the dust has is accidentally swallowed by a vacuum and replaced with a cancer sitck's remains." Oh how the spirit had missed the easily assuming mind of the masses. And though she had yet to appear, it was clear she was there, lurking in amongst the graves of old friends, perhaps old family. It didn't matter now, nor was it remembered in the hallow void of death when one was not strong enough to hold on until it is all that remains. "But, if you are simply a worried sort, I will open up to your questions. I am not, what is your word? Depressive, no far from that I am lonesome. For all of you which post in the attempt to crack some interwoven code, each of you is but a shadow. No, no, I am quite alone without my sweet princes. Oh but that is the quest of the dead is it not? Oh we are quite alone in death. It is quite cold below the girth. One day you will understand my sweet, ignorant child of man."

"...nah, young goblins never die..." replied the goblin who had been too hungry to remain in everyone's absence, adding "...here is my journal then, simply it's something that grows under observation and sleeps when overlooked..."

("...there's not rush, haste will spoil it..." advised the goblin now that he had seen the reply, adding "...I'll link this place elsewhere then, and together will can revive it slowly....")

repost from elsewhere

Quote :

Why do you always write like that?

"...well, various reasons human..." replied the goblin wondering what all the fuss was about anyway, continuing "...perhaps to test the forum's tolerance, or how about anonymous recognition then, or as a watermark of my authenticity, or my smiling behind a writing style, or my joyously stepping out of that grammatical goosestep, or just my avoiding medusa's published gaze, well whatever then, I mean plausible reasons do abound don't they...", but they were all just like so many lies to the goblin himself who knew why he wrote like this, confessing "...well it's just how goblins write l suppose, besides how else would you have me be now..."

"Like a child's," the spirit couldn't help but notice. "I remember the tradition of journals of sorts...children around the world try to keep them, to keep thoughts private but remembered, and yet they always end up dusty covered scraps under a bed within a few weeks. But once found, they are revived, much like this place, and others of it's kind."