the last person to post here wins

"...welcome, welcome..." repeated the goblin, adding "...feel free to pass whenever, and post whatever you like..."

opening the writing box filled with all the letters mostly from his mother, the goblin knew that she had never written anything of depth since she hadn't taken much time in writing them, that they were simply her way of saying "thinking of you" or used a way to air out any particular problem she was facing at the moment, that is, with some anecdotal snapshots of village life mixed in, so the goblin didn't care to reread them at this point but, like a book one wants to keep on the bookshelf, he had kept each one albeit in a somewhat discarded fashion in this writing box till now, today though, knowing that there would be no more of them, he had readied a folder expressly to which he had scribbled down the title "Mum's and auntie's letters" while the writing box itself would probably go empty now, if not used for something else then, "...well anyway, who writes letters these days..." the goblin asked to himself


73

the goblin was thinking that most people were more interested in the dual between Iran and America, "...ah but the circus had come to town..." mentioned the goblin who had walked down the shop fronts of Geneva where these riots had taken place, and where only the shops and banks catering for the rich had bullet holes to show for it, and yet, in the hight of all this, the goblin remembered the manager of Starbucks calmly pulling out the remaining bits of glass from the window frame, while behind him the costumers continued queuing up for their coffees, and now, two days later, little remains to tell anyone that any of this had happened, for gone were the contenders now, neither those armor clad policemen with their CS gas and rubber bullets, nor those masked rioters with paint guns, stone throwing types, so Geneva had just returned to what it was before again "...duals happen and then the circus moves on but that's just geneva for you..." mentioned the goblin in passing too


74

repost from elsewhere, just sharing

the goblin sits in the bistro again, readying his brain for "take off" that is, "...ah, just a little more imagination and I will be out of here in my own world...", though meanwhile he just looks at the group of middle aged men chatting and drinking away next to him, dismissing them as somewhat old school, "...ah now, "there, but for the grace of this Internet, goes me then"..." he whispers observing them still, while the white wine remains ever their preferred medium of escape it seemed, adding "...their choice I know, and perhaps it's the same escape we seek too, our escape from here that is, though tomorrow they'll just be back here again, while I'll be editing this portrayal of them I guess, of their drowning in their drinks only to be flung back on some shore of sobriety afterwards in some senseless repetition, at the same altar, the same ritual, with same results...", not that this shore of sobriety was forgiving for that matter, for what did it offer one instead now "...and what does this life owes anyone anyway..."asked the goblin once more as he slipped onto the Internet again


76

(the goblin liked the half elf, and certainly appreciated her being here, saying "...I've been quite prolific myself, but always the hardest part is finding the right picture, and it looks so easy until one tries it for oneself where one soon learns that the perfect match is not easy at all...")

the goblin let others win here in their own way, and what they posted was what in fact what they won of themselves concluded the goblin, saying "...I suppose sites too are there to make members feel good about themselves, something I'm all for then...", so the goblin then humbly thanked America for its people, its democracy, its liberty, and its new president, etc., but actually the goblin liked America more for its peanut butter, putting his hand on his chest and boldly saying "...God bless America and all your chunky peanut butter..."


38

repost from elsewhere

Quote :

The Zombie Queen decreed that death of all males, that they should be flayed alive and then chopped into small pieces and then burnt.....

the goblin noticed that Zombie Queen had probably had a bad day the graveyard, saying "...just let your boyfriend whisper in your ear how very wicked you really are, and you will feel much better my queen...", the goblin seemed to remember that women like to be appreciated for their finer qualities

repost from elsewhere

Quote :

soo. i'm bored, what's up?

"...not much, usual stuff I suppose, that is, if there is not the end of the world itself soon, I guess we will have to put up with world economic downturn with climate change, together with this global credit crunch, a demographic upside pyramid in developed countries, political paralysis in the US, and more european counties defaulting...." noted the goblin, adding "...which all makes a wonderful backdrop to my sunday morning's distraction of my going to the bistro for a spongcake and coffee, quite breezy outside though..."

repost from elsewhere, an american "last post" thread

the goblin just felt that eight years of miss management, had just given way to outright debt, political paralysis and infighting, saying "...somehow is just seems like the previous president, who wasn't running the show, is followed by this present president who can't get the show off the ground, where that show, unfortunately now, is fast snowballing out of control by all indications...", somehow those words "a house divided against itself cannot stand" rose to the fore of the goblin's mind now

Quote :

One must, however, understand the importance of proper punctuation of grammar, as the sole presence of a vocabularic mind or thesaurus will bring a writer nowhere. One may be a potential writer, but that one cannot become a fine writer if their writing lacks the charm of storytelling. It is difficult for a reader to comprehend when the words are welded together as a dictation or rant, with no apparent end to the madness. There strikes a fine line between continuous run-on speech and separation of thought.

It is of improper style for an author to shove verbs that supposedly describes the verbal actions of the speaker in midst of their soliloquy. It is unnecessary to announce the speaker has recently "added" or "mentioned" or "noted", a sin especially amplified by the repition of such unique words in such paragraphical proximity.

The aforementioned is a common mistakes budding novella-type writers will make, often if they had not read a book that displays the correct usage of words. It hurts the eye of an experienced writer.

"...yes I used to write like that too, back in the old writer's club days, and yet one quickly saw how no one would read those posts, however perfectly written they were, when tucked away in some blog, so instead of my pretending to know things and then harping on to others about some mantra of "follow the useless outdated bookstyle please", which didn't seem to work on this internet, I actually practiced various writing styles for myself, settling for this one, which has the added bonus of hiding my real age here, plus the fact that now my posts are actually read, if only because I am not mistaken for some old fart, even if I am one that is, or for a hated hair-splitting grammer nazi, frankly I am only interested in "live writing", the novella-type as you call it, as the other is be marginalized as we speak...", replied the goblin here, adding "...say what you will though, the hit count is your readership is it not, so if you can link me a hit count like mine for your stuff, I will eat my words and write in any that you would wish me to, something fair don't you think...", and with that the goblin in his defense quickly linked just one of the fifty odd "last post" threads he was on, one post getting 214 hits, saying "...good luck, this is win/win for me, as either I'll be right, or I have something of you worth reading...", but the goblin just imagined that he would get banned for this post now but at least he had defended himself so it was OK, his conscience was clear he felt

http://countrysideforum.smfforfree2.com/index.php?topic=539.new;topicseen#new

"...forgive me posting back so soon, but perhaps some points should be looked at first..." said the goblin, not discouragingly, just continuing "...the publishing world is in crisis at the moment, simply, the market share is decreasing daily, in that, for every a new reader of a book let's say, hundreds more are flocking to the internet now, which is good because, any publisher who wants to survive will have to move onto the internet too, which is my first point here, simply, that they are going to come, maybe not this forum perhaps, but to these forums, they have no choice...", the goblin stopped for a second, thought hard, then continued once more, "...this year some famous authors have already dropped their publishers for selling directly through amazon, understandable, since amazon sold more kendell ebook readers than physical books last year, the authors will make works directly for those ebook readers then, which is my second point here...", but then the goblin saw this as a bridge so to speak, in that, yes the publishers and author were moving on-line for their part, but the other side of the coin needed explaining now, concluding "...at first glance, how are publishers going to find talent here, do you think that they will go into the each and every section here actually wading though tons upon tons of stuff to choose between them, no, they are going to look at various indicators here, of which a "uniform persona" is one of them that I previously explained, where also a high hitcount becomes another, and where too, a constant output is another again, simply ask yourself if you like do you fit that bill, and where not how one can adjust to it...", which surprisingly all meant nothing to the goblin himself, simply because, he wished to remain anonymous and was quite happy with his readership, saying "...o how I hate long posts, sorry about this one then..."

advice to a member somewhere who got banned, something which the goblin is not unused to

"...never mind being banned, if one feels that one is being wrongly pressurized into conforming that is, and as long as one makes sure one is not offending people unnecessarily in what ones posts, seeing why one was banned, learning from it, then surely it is win/win since neither side would be wasting their time from then on..." advised the goblin adding "...simply one gears oneself up for ones next site while rethinking ones relationships with members on those sites one is already on, "in defeat, do not lose the lesson too" as they say..." said the goblin not sure if it was in fact a quote or something he had thought up himself

the goblin thanked everyone for their odd acceptance of him, saying "...I guess I repost often enough, strangely it's only then, at that point, that I notice those typos or some ambiguity, subtle or otherwise, which had been there under my nose all along...", the goblin was just confessing, that he often didn't see, what he saw, for what he thought he was seeing, continuing "...now another way to look mad in the bistro it to read aloud, albeit in a low voice, which not only helps one smooth out the text each time, it also gains one a large berth between oneself and the others...", by "others" the goblin meant those bistro goers again, who were ever seated a few tables away, and who had rightly guessed that the goblin is either composing something, therefore mad, or that he's just mad period, that is since they most probably considered themselves to be sane by default, or at least sane by some visual comparison here..." something that, at times, the goblin was loathed to agree upon, though even more loathed to comply with their silly conformities now, so for the goblin this berth was something of a blessing he just felt

I have not visited this thread in awhile, so I will just post here.

Yup.

("...I like this site..." said the goblin)

at this point the goblin's mother, who he had not seen since he had returned to Geneva almost a year ago now, was well enough, placed and tilted back in some armchair come wheelchair unable to sit up, nor much by herself that is, but in no clear discomfort that the goblin could make out, and the conversation was one way, the goblin would ask, his mother would smile and deflect, "...what are you thinking now then..." the goblin asked rubbing her right hand between his, "...I don't know...", and pointing to the windowsill flowers "...which is is you favorite color then...", "...I can't say, I don't remember...", still rubbing "...you're getting better...", "...am I, good...", then dad would bring the freshly squeezed orange juice and a neatly cut pear to her and she would first sip through the beaker spout before vaguely picking up a little segment of pear and slowly munch, and then, about half an hour later, the visit to the ward would be over and the goblin would be telling dad about how it could all be so much worse couldn't it, which they both knew was true, and that the goblin was "there when needed", was family, etc., while hiding what he really understood here, that, although the goblin's life was not on hold elsewhere, neither was it quite his alone then, somehow the goblin seemed to remember a boss who had befriended him once who had confided the following sentiment "actually I don't feel like I am above anyone, I just feel like so many people depend on me" and the goblin understood it now


10

the goblin, that practiced practitioner of poverty, has slowly learned through his life that poverty helps us cede the superfluous, in that any money the goblin earns goes straight on his family's needs or gets saved for the family's needs later, the goblin was almost amazed by the little he himself actually needed to be happy, everything the rich did seems either to be too much effort or too much responsibility for him


11

pjkio03 wrote:

*insert something interesting here*
The half-breed is out of things to say.

the goblin was feeling better, but he understood that life, as one gets older, shuns the elderly for being old, ugly or whatever, but the goblin knew too, that it was "all up to him now", in that, if he had to become someone old, treated like some iceberg in the eyes of others, then like that iceberg, only one fifth of him would remain visible as in his "dailylife" where that other four fifths of him would be submerged in this Internet, as something far more, than either that man in the mirror, or any other of those real-life fettering categorizations then, so he simply repeated "...you and I are what we create here, and my Internet self is going to be amazingly deep and real, promise, or I will die trying, no, let's make it both of those aims then, in that this my "journey to self", which is my "Journey to death" too..."


12

repost from elsewhere, the subject of fiction and fantasy

well now, the goblin loved fantasy, saying "...yes, those amazing stories are not to be forgotten, for they enriched my childhood, much as they still fuel my imagination today, oh and amongst them, how "the american dream" was something wonderful was it not, except that it was always just that then, only a dream that is, fantasy...", so the goblin saluted america once more, and waved and cheered as the its electoral spectacle passed before his eyes again, state by state, like so many wondrous floats at macy's thanksgiving parade, "...after all folks, a dream, even if it is only a dream here, is still better than no dream at at...", which was all the goblin could muster as he watched this election here

"Long winded, aren't you?" an impressed voice said from the corner. The icy mask seemed to echo the voice that would reach the goblin's ears. "I am not as fortunate, however."

The backbiter tipped once more as the man walked into the room. He sat down, snapping his fingers. Out of thin air, a glass containing a light gold liquid appeared in his hands. Sipping at it slightly, the mask revealed no emotion as it turned itself slowly to continue listening to the goblin speak.

§

(the goblin welcomed the mask then, saying "...I am glad you turned up, most personas do you know, though at first they just listen but then slowly they see that here is a way to share stuff too, simply they choose something they've done, mark repost and then publish it here, a round table so to speak, not a blog, a hotchpotch of poster's stuff then...")

repost from elsewhere

"...perhaps I could interest you in "journey to self" here then I wonder..." ventured the goblin who too, had no need of a name for himself, well not for someone who would remain anonymous throughout, adding "...but you do want to know who you are by what you post perhaps, or perhaps you want to become more aware of your surrounding by way of you pen's reflections then, ah just so many reasons it seems, I guess I'll never understand what you humans are about now..." but the goblin was happy with the site which had a vibe that was pleasant to breathe in

Quote :

the adversary persisted with his idea of the ideal writer

(the goblin had no adversaries, liked ari, or he wouldn't have replied here, and would remained anonymous with nothing to defend nor prove throughout, saying "...and I suppose you would have me be that unread "ideal writer" you mention, well I'll admit that there certainly are plenty of those types around across forums, nothing out of place there, "free world" as they say, but for me it's ones hitcount and the general participation that shows one where ones writing is going, the other benchmarks you mention are a writer's vanity in my view...", simply the goblin, on the internet, didn't want to be a writer's writer at all, he wanted to be a reader's writer)

repost from elsewhere, a wanabe is a wanabe because he wants to be, writers just are

Quote :

a writer should amount to something

"...wrong again, a writer writes for himself, moreover, someone who is anonymous doesn't even try to amount to something, he just tries to get "it", that which is within him that is, "out", in posts in this case as right to himself as he can possibly make them to himself..." replied the goblin knowing that at the end, the last day if you like, it would be exactly the same for him as when he had first started, "...OK, so what reward should I be seeking here, see how cheap it sounds too, no, those trappings of "dailylife" and these trinkets of the moneygod do not interest me bots, listen then, I'll say it once clearly here, "my posts are all dead by the time I have hit to send button", you amuse me with your assumptions but clearly you do not write from what you have written here, you don't know that all engaging feeling in doing so, simply "you may leave this temple when you can stop snatching this popcorn out of my hand MYAHAHAHAHA"...", and with that the goblin wondered if there was some sort of "tomb of the anonymous goblin" somewhere, sure he would need it after reading something like that "a writer should amount to something" idea here, "...help! more anonymity, and quick please..." he cried, quickly double checking his mask again


56

repost from elsewhere

Quote :

Thank you flea for the help with your proof reading of my stories.

"...they're very good, and I get to read them first MYAHAHAHA..." replied the goblin knowing that he didn't know how the story would go, continuing "...pick a book form the shelf, one knows a lot about that book even before opening it, but not with "live writing", no, one doesn't even know if the story has an ending here...", so the writers in the writer's club, well when there was a writer's club those many years ago now, were all somehow addicted by that unknownness in those unfinished unpublished works that others wrote there, so much so that real books just became dead by comparison


56

repost from elsewhere

"..."presentation without substance" is like tinfoil to the ears, whereas "substance without presentation" comes across like lead, and yet "presentation with substance" is like gold to the ear...” worded the goblin into Lord Chesterfield's idea again, as he sat in the bistro once more, in fact, his day often passed like this, with the clients climbing one mountain in the morning and another mountain in the afternoon, while the poor goblin was paid, albeit a pittance, to standby in the bistro separated by lunchtime, where once again simply accepted the meal stoically, and by which the goblin somehow understood the meaning of self sacrifice, he knew too, that is he wasted his life for "dailylife" here, and that it was really only those few simple solaces, such as his ever befriending computer, coupled with the power of his coffee, and perhaps too, the goblin's own undaunted desire to post and reply to “last post” threads here, that all held his mind precariously in check from that horribly depressive thought of what his life might actually have been like, if he had accidentally stumbled into a "proper job" in life, in fact, the mere thought of it still sent the goblin's hand rushing for the coffee again, such was the stress of it all


56