the last person to post here wins

the goblin's blog

“...hello there...” says the goblin addressing the matron in Dungford's very own, and one and only, heathfood shop again “...I would like a meaty coffee where ones mind goes ping after a few sips, you know, a coffee with a body like a tigress whose bite is more like Dracula's...”, “...sorry, is that “regular” or “decaf” dear cause I'm in a hurry...” replies the matron whose ominously large cups came into view behind her, “...no I mean a little cup, boilingly hot mountain fresh water and those thickly brewed sensual coffee grains strained to the point of perfection...” uttered the goblin in panic now, “...well I'll see what we can do dear but...,...”, moments later “...here you go love...” as one large but near empty cup is steadfastly landed on the table whose contents just seems to laugh at him daring him to drink it, while the slot seems to say “...look, I hope you don't mind me saying this goblin but I do feel that our vessel of escapism has somewhat crashed on these rocks of reality this morning...”, some time later the matron bellows across to the goblin the usual “...well love, what ya think how was it, fancy another one then...”, “...well you English make absolutely exceptional coffee but I'll give it a miss this time, thanks all the same though...” replies the goblin aloud as he writes in the slot to keep it from busting its guts out loud in the laptop, “...well slot, they say “lie back and think of England”don't they, so I just lied back and still think of England as some huge unwinnable battle here...”

the goblin is playing dead at his desk again, where any sudden rush of frantic tapping fingers might betray his whereabouts to that captain he married watching television in front of him, "...you can never be too careful you know, one false move and she'll set her household chores on me..." whispered the goblin in full stealth mode whose motto seemed to be "invisible in reality, anonymous in virtual reality"


29

the goblin noted that even on a "last post" the subject of McDonald's was appropriate because it showed two diverging concepts, one of "finding oneself though posting" and the other of "losing oneself through McDonald's", "...OK both are not truly possible I know, but they do underline the concept trying to keep ones head above ones "dailylife" here, or just drowning in it..."

the goblin doesn't have bad days, "...to be able to post means that it is a good day..." said the goblin, confessing that some good days were more soul-testing than others because there was little love lost between the goblin himself, his "dailylife" and the moneygod, in that what the goblin wanted was an impossible freedom, while what "dailylife" wanted was all so very reasonable but all so superficial too, while what that moneygod wanted was ones continued commitment to some cheap slavery, so the goblin was just trying to square this triangle then

She is staring into my soul.

Syldoran wrote:

She is staring into my soul.

("...welcome..." said the goblin, adding "...I like your avatar and signature...")

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

the goblin is redoing today those habits of yesterday before he redoes them again tomorrow, saying "..."force of habit" is a prison that doesn't need bars...", to which the goblin then added "...what changes with time is ones ability, and ones perspective with it, otherwise it the same thing year after year..." not that the goblin minded where there was no choice in that one had to eat, sleep, bath and the like, but there were other less obvious habits that, if not seen to, would simply continue unseen like that skin cancer that one doesn't feel until it is too late, "...me, I'm stocktaking my habits this morning..." replied the goblin in answer to the question "what are you doing", and the list of habits was extensive

the goblin was happy, and then as if to prove it the goblin blurted out "...let there be "self" here, this year I don't want to just live, I want to be alive for real, I want to be both "creative" and "productive", oh and not see myself in terms who I see in the mirror, my bank statement, which social status I hold, and all those other cheap shortsighted definitions that "dailylife" and that moneygod pigeonhole us in, no, so OK what happens in life happens but self pride and real happiness come from building up ones own set of values, ones own opinion too and above all one own awareness...", outside from the window of his sitting room, the view was a dawning sun slowly rising across the icy rooftops of the sleeping city of Geneva, and somehow looking at the view the goblin concluded "...yes, something like that view then, that's my New year's resolution for sure, the dawning of self..."

repost from elsewhere, infighting on a writer's 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..."

repost from elsewhere

the goblin simply reminded everyone that the usual secret to concluding a successful job interview, was to show interest in the job, to both say and wear the correct things, and generally to be yourself at all times, "...not that jobs are for life anymore anyway that is, but it generally works..." ventured the goblin at it

"...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, "...what dangerous things these pictures are, the illustrator's eye perhaps..." went the goblin in passing now

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

the goblin has been trying to calm the monster under the bed, saying "...don't be scared now, any bumps in the night at our age is a pure figment of your imagination..."


56

repost from elsewhere

Quote :

It strikes me, and correct me if I'm wrong, that this little game we have going on here is one that can never truely be won. For someone to win they must be the last poster, and that would mean there was no one left to talk too. Is that really a victory?

"...quite right, "last post" posting is a state of mind here, simply a battle against the part of oneself that goes "I can't or won't post again", simply only the dead I feel have won outright that is, the rest of us still winning but the clock is running against us..." replied the goblin

the goblin, late in his life was growing up fast, simply time's tide was finally washing away those last ruminants of the bulwark, where his parents were, leaving the goblin directly exposed for the first time to fortune, "...no, not that I ever depended on them financially but they were there in case, with advice, praise and as a visual benchmark too, so somehow any freedom or independence that will be left in their wake hardly feels a fair exchange at this point, but at least it's me watching them go on, which is the correct sequence in families is it not..." mentioned the goblin somehow thanking death for playing a straight hand here, in that death owed nothing to the goblin and could have played its "wild card" whenever, it still could he knew


57

repost from elsewhere

certainly, the goblin thanked the poster for pointing out the plight of the American economy of late, but either way the goblin's mind, or whatever little remained of it that is, was musing on the idea that somehow those federal financial institutions could solve much of that accusation, that the market is out of touch, insensitive, and even irrelevant to mr joe average, whatever, if they were to better entice the average American here to participate in the stock market more, by, for example, creating some "special issue" bonds that convert straight into food stamps upon maturity, "...yes, these "food stamp bonds" could be traded freely on the market, so that the "one in ten" Americans receiving food stamps at the moment would be able to keep track of their investment in the US economy so to speak..." ventured the goblin somehow now realizing that without some sort of intervention soon, his much needed supply of american peanut butter could well be in serious jeopardy


56

repost from elsewhere

Quote :

You do get out and about a bit do you buddy ? Smell the flowers and all that... Sometimes I worry for you posting intensely in a almost manic obsessed manner. Just sharing my feelings mate, cos I care

the goblin thanked the poster, and agreed that his life was very internet orientated, where his dailylife just seemed dull by comparison, saying "...somehow I do like the things that this dailylife offers, but nothing really elates me quite like the responses across the many sites I am on, where either I am helping someone enter into to this "live writing" world, or replying about some current topic like here, or just fending off those trolls again, each of which engages my mind at a depth that my dailylife, for all it's necessity, doesn't...", outside, it was raining and the captain had commanded her minion to fetch groceries again, plus the bedroom needs cleaning, plus the goblin's coffeecup was empty too, oh and then there was that internetolics anonymous meeting tonight, online of course, where raving craving forum addicts could relate their ever losing battle to "last post" posting

"...thanks..." said the goblin knowing that when he tried he failed and when he didn't try it came to him, the goblin explained "...simply, the "muse's pact" changes the focus of ones life from "what do I want in life" to "what is worth posting in life", and there are three clauses of the "muse's pact" that remain constant throughout, their being "honesty", "a shared life" and "a thick skin", where the first and last clauses are obvious, but the second "a shared life" is only really understood by someone who has opened up to the muse...", at which point the goblin wondered if he was making sense, even to himself now, he continued though "...a writer doesn't know when, or what, idea will hit him, but the muse is constantly there and the writer lives with her somehow sharing their "dailylife" together 24/7...", "...in other words he's saying that you writers are raving schizophrenics..." went the voice in the background, where the goblin started twiddling his thumbs in escape mode wondering how he could get out of that accusation then but there seems no escape now


18

today the goblin's goal is to get into the "males need not apply" forum he had come across this morning, "...um, well let's see, first name: Margaret, last name: Thatcher, address: 10 Downing st., London, european weather buffer, sex: long ago, age: even further back, hobbies: shopping, ladies nights and powdering my noise for hours, username: fleamailnotaman..." as the goblin then pressed the "agree to terms" button in earnest adding "...now Slot, all we have to do is start the "last post" thread there and retreat presumably unnoticed..." sighed the poor little goblinness in her distress now


18

repost from elsewhere, someone who, after ten year, had finally bought that jukebox she wanted

the goblin could relate to xxxxx's post now, for in his past too, there was a simple seaside fryup place with a jukebox in the corner, where the goblin would place his few coins to the hear "sitting at the dock of the bay" once more, the only song he seemed to like amongst the choice he remembered, while outside the place, that blustery day would simply pass in its uncomplicated course, "...I think at that age I had little concept of either the passing of time, or the value of money, I, much like that blustery day then, was just there without any consequence it seemed...", afterwards, the goblin would stroll back between that old defiant seawall and unsettled turbulent beach, over sea grasses and sand dunes, cross heaps of pebbles that as if chorused his quick steps of those last childhood days with a springy crunch each time, somehow the goblin was racing the approach of evening time in a promise to be home before nightfall he recalled, for the word "late" in those days only had one meaning, yet today it's its other meaning that comes to the fore whenever the goblin looks back at it now


76

the goblin was trying to think of far away places but, now and again, the present cold cut through into his thoughts as that ever bitter wind somehow peculated from outside into the silent sitting room today, outside, where the sun should have been, a dull lit sky told the goblin yet again that without gloves and a scarf his hands and face would simply burn stiff with cold, and that it was through this harsh gantlet of cold then that the wretched goblin now had to go for those groceries once more, "...pass, give this fate to someone else, some super hero, I am not worthy, no, please no..." sighed the goblin in vain recalling those images of the Titanic colliding with that grocery cart and then slowly sinking into the sea of supermarket indifference as he opened the front door taking those first steps once more to the words "...for whom the gods wish to destroy they first send them shopping through all this then..."

(the goblin welcomed the half elf then, saying "...I would would give you my post count too, the little it means to me now...")

(repost form elsewhere, advice to anyone into writing)

the goblin knew that writing was never easy, "...too few adjectives and the story seems colorless and monotone whereas each adjective one adds to the storyline is a parameter that one is then tied to, so writers have to keep thinking back to earlier parts of the story to avoid contradiction and confusion on the part of the reader..." mentioned the goblin adding "...think of it like rocks under the flowing story, the other rocks are misspelling, ambiguity, writing style, and length ...", at which point the goblin was thinking that all these rocks are forgivable if they were only a few and if the story is deep enough to draw the reader over them thought, where not, the work breaks up on them so to speak and the reader then flounders..."

repost for "what are you thinking" thread here

the goblin is thinking why it was so important to be oneself, and to say "fuck'em" about people who have no way of knowing what is going on in ones own mind, "...all you have is your own thoughts, once those thoughts are surrendered to what people expect from you as their norm, once that happens, then no matter what you wear, what tattoos you might have, what swear words you might use, whatever, you are as good as invisible to them and worse still, probably invisible to yourself too..." said the goblin adding "...but once you have your own self back, once you can see that one doesn't have to buy into their crap to make oneself visible, then one probably is visible, and for the right reason too..."

The man in the backbiter appeared in a flash of icy wind, tipped his backbiter to the small gathering, and vanished just as soon as he came.

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