the last person to post here, wins

"...see, I have already won..." said the goblin

Hmm, interesting. I wonder how many times I can win. >w<

This is still a new site though, Flea, so it'll likely be slow on replies.

(the goblin didn't mind it being quiet, in fact, it wouldn't be for long he knew, saying "...all you need to do is reply from time to time to show me that I am not wasting my time here in supporting you, and this will be your number one thread...", in fact, it sounded like the goblin was boasting, when he was only being sincere here, adding "...I will go slowly then, one or two a day, and anything you feel like posting, you post here too then so that if and when a member moves on, this thread continues in spite of that..." so with that the goblin posted his first post here)

most everything about me is explained already somewhere, the "writer" bit comes next except that it doesn't in that I am not a writer, or that perhaps what most people think of as a writer is not my interpretation of one, simply "a writer is not what he has done but what he is doing", what of it, well nothing really, save that everything that I have ever written is dead at this point, set in the past, belonging to the Internet and utterly dead, so perhaps this "journey to self" of just "facing the slot" like now is what then..." the goblin paused knowing he couldn't quite bridge it, "...that "publishing" I feel, is for some fossil minded fame seeking type whereas here in this small triangle of computer/coffee/self, I have had all the live writing, interaction and anonymous fame that anyone could even wish for..." ventured the goblin who knew deep down that he was lying, "...OK I admit it then, no there's never really is enough anonymous fame for this goblin it seems..." laughed the goblin at himself, that is, as if the result of being famous while still remaining anonymous really made any difference in the long run

the masked ball continued, “...give me a picture and I will give you a post...” called the goblin across the audience adding “...you will test me and I will reward you...”, the goblin felt the spur of the audience kick hard into him now, he needed them he knew, “...come now, to post is to publish and to publish is to die, that's all...” but that was the goblin for you, simply he preferred to live in some “last post” thread as a live goblin, rather than in some book as a dead one,

("...you are letting me win, mortals..." went the goblin but really he was just inviting others to post here, this was after all, a place for writers to show their spirit then)

the goblin had come to an agreement with the owner of the bistro, in that as soon a the place filled with lunch people the goblin would uproot to the bar and continue tappidytyping from there, the owner had once asked why the goblin typed so much "...well life is a race with death for revealing oneself through ones creations...", "..yer OK, but that isn't going to pay the bills then, is it..." the owner replied, so the goblin just found himself remembering that line he knew “Domine, quo vadis(I am going back to be crucified again since you are departing from it)" and typed on

the goblin lets the post write itself, he often feared that if he didn't think it wouldn't, so the simple fact of switching off the distractions, first those obvious ones and then recognizing the others too had become an objective in itself, the bistro was better than his home in this way, yes there was noise, people and clutter but they were not his, they, like the rest of it, were happening around him, not to him, then suddenly he voiced aloud to himself looking at the slot "...this life always finds tokens of value for one if one doesn't recognize real value for oneself...", so the heads in the bistro would turn towards him for a moment before they too dismissed this as yet another distraction for them

Ryue wrote:

Hmm, interesting. I wonder how many times I can win. >w<

This is still a new site though, Flea, so it'll likely be slow on replies.

("...win as many times as you like but no one is forcing you to post, neither here nor in your "dailylife" that is, only something within you says "who wins here, me or my "dailylife" then", which is when you become a writer for sure..." mentioned the goblin who had once crossed the very same dilemma then, so he post this one then)

"...if, in my life, I manage one perfect post, honestly just once, and only one that is, and really know it as such, then all the others, no matter however good or bad they were, throughout my whole life until that point, would have been worth it and irrelevant too..." ventured the anonymous goblin again, whose goal remained unchanged, he repeated "...I fight my old age here by trying to create that one "perfect" post then...", but the goblin knew that perfect was impossible, not that that changed anything in his view

"... well I guess I can't really keep track of my posts but at least I can repost some of those posts on another site like here in a neater order..." answered the goblin looked across at the plume of smoke ushered sideways in the breeze, the day was beautifully bright and inviting, yes it was that but it was that for a wrong reason the goblin felt, as a ghastly cold awaited anyone reckless enough to go out to the bistro on this very early morning, and yet again the goblin's choice, he surmised, was a stark one, either "stay home and get roped into a series of household chores by the captain" or "swim it through the bitter cold to the bistro where he could still be called back" so as always the goblin's mind made a checklist of "probable chores" against his other list of "possible excuses" while the goblin wondered if he ran it bath would it stir the antagonists in their beds on this "Sunday lie-in", somehow the goblin's bath would be deep one he knew

repost from a UK "last post" thread, just sharing

the goblin thanked xxxx for her comment, saying "...now I know I am going to amaze you though, besides, I think Britain is ready for it too, you see, here in Europe we have a metal water troff we call a "bath tab" which one can fill with hot or cold water depending on what temperature one likes, and then, when one feels its just the right temperature ones takes off ones garments, which I imagine would be those animals skins and war clubs in wales that is, where one gets into the water..." mentioned the goblin not really knowing how to continue with the concept then but he tried, continuing "....now the next bit is harder to explain but do you remember that stuff that pours out of the other poster's ears here, well it's not exactly those poster's earwax as far as I know, but it looks very much like it, anyway, it's called "soap" and it melts ones body grease and grime in the water..." at which point the goblin wondered if xxxx hadn't somehow collapsed on the floor in utter shock here, so the goblin thought it best to wait and see before he would continue in his next post, "...now where are the other poster's socks when you need them..." went the goblin hoping he hadn't gone too quickly here

"...whenever you hit the "post" button you are alone here as the site only deals with one modification or new post at a time regardless of who or how many members might be looking elsewhere, so if you know you are alone on the site when you actually post, does it matter if the site has one or a thousand members members watching elsewhere..." said the goblin knowing that the best sites are those that have gone through a "Winter of doubt" where the remaining members are solid like rooted trees

another ghost, the goblin remembered the true story in newspaper about a super powerful motorcycle that had killed two of three brothers, of course the point of the story was what would the third brother do, "ride it" or "sell it", but for the goblin, at that time without children or those who depended on him, it was the wonderful image, of staking ones life in race with death, which haunted him "...besides, death, you can say "call" at any time so what do I stake then..." asked the goblin knowing death always replied "...up to you, how fast do you want to go..."

the goblin welcomed the poster again to a seemingly normal site with average members, perhaps guessing that somehow she too had realized that something was amiss here, that they were, all to a man, KGB agents just practicing to be humdrum housewives, "...yes, your asking yourself how in your heart you knew this all along, that is how when comrade admin appealed to her fellow proletariat members to rally up against the constraints of capitalism, you couldn't buy into the hidden Bolshevik ideology here..." said the goblin pausing for the exact words again, he continued "...no, like me, you didn't fall for it because their deception was in a way just too perfect to be real so it had to false then...", "...brilliant Holmes..." came the voice in the background as the goblin's three pipe solution was once more pressed into his pipe "...elementary my dear fellow, no one can post on this site longer than three weeks without going mad, and the rest was just a simple deduction from there then..." the solution smoldered away in the goblin mind

"...recognition by "hitcount", qualification by "just doing it"..." said the goblin, adding "...so which is the medium that is usurping all others here, not books, magazines, nor newspapers then, nor even television, cinema or radio, so which then is the medium that everyone likes to inter react with, to contribute to and then to follow...", and with that the goblin guessed that most people here already knew the point which the goblin was making, so the goblin simply repeated "..."welcome to the masked ball of this Internet" for this is our medium now for here we are all our own author/readers..."

in fact the valhalla site, the trolls there, and their writing style had flashed back in the goblin's mind his school days once more, simply the goblin remembered the time when he had turned up at some bible reading session at the bequest of his then girlfriend who, like all girlfriends of the time, probably saw their boyfriend as some cross between ones shopping accessory and ones very own pet "man friday", not that the goblin minded nor understood any of that, he was after all, besotted, desperate, or both, only that the moment the bible itself was ceremoniously passed to him to read in his turn he realized that he couldn't see the actual words for something he had smoked the night before, so out came those improvised words "sorry, I am a dyslexic but this is a cross that he hath given me to bear here everyone" as the goblin then passed the bible to the next person in the now somewhat jaw dropped line of Bible readers, and perhaps those dilated pupils probably gave the game away too, so it was little wonder that she, there and then, dumped the heartbroken goblin to make her conquests elsewhere, just that the goblin, for his part, never smoked after that,

"...this image is surreal, its details unknown...." notes the goblin as he cycles pass a group of people gathered around some car/pedestrian accident, and although the goblin can see nothing for the crowd, the attending ambulance lights seem to twirl through the dark in unison with a lone church bell that calmly calls from somewhere above, the goblin had moved away but the image still followed him, things like this do

the goblin had changed saying "...before I started this Muse's pact, I might have been someone who had wanted happiness but now I know that if I had been content I wouldn't have even seen, nor felt, nor understood half of what goes on around me...", outside in that hum of this late city's night that contrasted or complimented the methodical ticking clock on those white walls around him and with that countless majority who still wanted "to be happy", and yet the goblin's feeling at this point was awareness and depth, "...happiness is just one color on the palate of life, I need all the colors to create, I want to mix those colors together, the sadness and the tears on the one hand with the joy and laughter on the other to create something beautiful, but above all I don't want know the outcome, oh no, this author mustn't know how life's story ends, even if that ending is the same for us all that is..." said the goblin feeling the need of this "last post" thread once more, the clock ticked away his moments but every moment here was worth it to him he felt

("...their loss is your gain Ryue, but, that apart this explains a bit more I hope)

repost from a writer's site, before giving up there for not getting his wish of a "last post" thread

at which point the goblin showed up, saying "...that's the trouble with ones "dailylife", one spends 24hours as some dumb human in it, and the moment one gets onto the Internet, where one can be absolutely anything choosing any persona under the sun that is that fits one Internet self and guess what happens mortals...", the goblin paused, reached over for his coffee and then quickly blurted out the rest saying "...well they then just expect you to be that dumb human again of course, well I've got news for them, I am going to be a goblin and that's that...", the view from the McDonald offered a cascade of falling snow, the goblin, stuck inside, wondered if the humans minded that he always wrote in third person, it was after all a "writer's site" here and the goblin somehow knew that the only way to get good at writing in third person, which was, after all, what most fiction was written in he noticed, was to do just that, "...oh, and there's something else mortals, how about a "last post" thread in the games section here, if you open one up I'll stay MYAHAHAHAHA...", the goblin's hopes were high, humans had a bad habit of letting mad creatures lurk under their beds he remembered

("...Ryue you also you asked about "winning"..." mentioned the goblin, adding "...winning against ones "dailylife" that is, well here is what I wrote for the lupus sufferers on their site's "last post" thread then...", to which the goblin reposted it here for Ryue then)

repost from lupusMCTD forum's "last post" thread

the goblin often wondered how kathy and the lupusbots, could put up with him but he liked it here and them too, somehow the goblin needed to feel their courage and take it for his own at times, for if they could "read on" then surely the goblin could "write on" with them then, "...well it's "the last person to post here wins" isn't it, and this site, together with this thread too is only for winners...." ventured the goblin knowing that winners needed something to win against, continuing "...and while one has this moment, which is after all, all that any of us really has anyway, one can't lose this game for one can always post back winning again, and again, and again, that is..." said the goblin ever sketching what he encountered, adding "...funny how this simple defiance of silence on my part and of ones situation on your part makes heroes of us all like this, whose for winning then..." asked the goblin already knowing the answer

the angel's aim was perfect, touching a nerve within, the goblin could now re'see his fingers burning with cold as he frantically cupped the snow into a ball as he closed in on his girlfriend, in fact he loved her but dammed if that mattered at that point, first came revenge

the man looked at the goblin, he explained slowly "...in my hand I have two pills, the blue pill of reality, and the pink pill of illusion, once you take one there's no going back, it's up to you then, which one then goblin...", "...there is something I don't understand..." the goblin looked straight at the other man "... and what's that..." the man leaned closer, the goblin thought deeply "...well I haven't taken either of those pills yet so which pill am I on now, surely I would need only one pill then, the one that changes from this reality to the other reality, not two...", "...very good goblin, lets shoot the scriptwriter then..." smiles the man

which was the moment the spacecraft landed and a little green alien said "...take me to your leader...", the goblin replied "...well, I don't know if he's actually the one you want, he's rather busy too, but a word of advise, don't mention the housing crisis, health insurance, the price of petrol, global warming, the troops in Iraq, the deficit, gunlaws, unlawful detentions, torture and the exchange rate, second thoughts would you like Larry King or Jerry Springer instead..." to which the alien scratched his head, got back on his spaceship and whizzed away not quite sure what to make of the humans then, nor of the goblin for that matter

the goblin's madness continued with the goblin explaining "...in the old age home next to where I live, I always see two types, that "fighting on" type, and the other "letting go" type, but their lesson here goes largely unnoticed by society in general where they're just ignored, hushed up or tucked away like this, but all the same, it is something so simple, simply, that if one is lucky to live to retirement in relatively good health, one had better take into account the meaning of remaining mentally active in ones old age before one arrives at it...", in fact, the goblin felt that he had seen, by now, just too many unprepared old people mentally rot and flounder in an enviable situation of "retirement, rest and freedom" because they hadn't the slightest idea what to do with themselves..." stated the goblin again, adding "...oh no, it's not "rot in hell", it's actually "rot in heaven" then..."

repost from "what did you character say to you" thread elsewhere,

the goblin thanked xxxxx, saying "...then think that I am writing everything here for you alone if you wish...", and with that the goblin was looking across at the slot who was eying the goblin's coffee once more, the evening now promised its depth again and perhaps for that alone that goblin loved the pull of the night here, and yet the goblin also knew that there was no rush at all, nor anything to prove for that matter, no, far from it, he had known, from way back now, that these two were perhaps the biggest failings of anyone who really wanted to write something, "rushing" and "proving" that is, "...simply, they lead to regret and doubt..." he remarked out loud addressing no one, "...goblin, you've read the other posts here, but do you know who any of the characters are, I mean Aria, or Gerard, or Julian, or any of them, it's as if one is expected to know, perhaps even to cast an image up in ones mind that is, and yet what, if anything, is there to go on here when, their age, their gender, their setting, are simply missing, it's as if they forgetting that the reader is someone blind and that their, I mean, the author's job is to see for their readers...", the harlequin nodded in agreement with a Cheshire cat like grin, and then waved her index finger back and forth in one of those "tut tut" fashion women do when rubbing it in, the goblin for his part somehow knew that she was actually addressing him here too, slowly, and perhaps as if to divert her attention, he brought the coffee cup up to his lips, sipped down the last mouthful, and then returned it now empty to the edge of the old wooden desk again, saying "...well that's a tall order slot, I mean both, "being within the story itself" on the one hand, and then "explaining to the blind man" on the other, is not easy at all, but I suppose if one first became "the one", and then later one became "the other", it would work out then, perhaps this then was really what my muse was on about when she stipulated "a shared life" as one of her "three clauses" in her pact with me, funny, now it makes sense, simply one shares as a "go between" would..." and with that the penny had dropped within the goblin's brain, the harlequin quietly bowed out, and slot just swallowed everything with one big enormous greedy gulp again

the goblin knew that he could force himself to stop posting on these "last post" threads but by now he couldn't stop thinking in terms of things "worth posting" and the goblin also understood that whatever he found "worth posting" usually became just that more precise to him in committing it to text on "last post" threads, ah but often it was the opposite for him too, in that at times the goblin arrived here with nothing at all "worth posting" only to surprise himself by what he had thought up on the spot in reply to someone, "...posting is like dancing, at times one slips into a trance..." explained the goblin continuing "...while other times, one is 100% here, stupid to think which is better when one can have the best of both worlds..."

repost from elsewhere

Quote :

You are very weird.

"...the question then would be would you like to think "normally" then..." wondered the goblin somehow knowing that that wasn't what he wanted for himself, "...imagination tells you that there's more to life than this "dailylife", and that, at every turning along the road, one has abnormal thoughts that ones reason keeps in check and under control..." the goblin paused trying to find the right words to explain that balance between ones "imagination" on the one side, and ones "reason" on the other, and then continued "...what if "imagination" were like the waves and "reason" was like gravity, where those waves of imagination keep washing up all types of thoughts onto the shore of ones mind, where the gravity of ones reason either anchor them to beach there, or let them roll back into the sea to be washed up again in a different way with the next wave of imagination, either to be anchored or wash back again, so this perhaps for me is my mind then, abnormal..." at which point the goblin asked again "...do you still want to be thinking "normally", or do you want more from your imagination then..."

once more seated between his coffee and his computer, slowly the goblin closes up his latest "today" and places it neatly into his past as yet one more "today" of so many "todays" stretching back to a point beyond his own memory, his mind, having a quick guess of how many memories he must now have against some rough total of "todays" he has lived, feels cheated even if he tries to deflect the self resentment with a quick retort like "... but anyway what does anyone owe their past and how can someone pay it back now then...", outside upon the cold street, as if in some echo to the goblin's reflective mood inside, the morning's rain had continued unbroken on through to this "today" to this now late night until, in the end and on giving up, the goblin simply says "...I guess I owe it to my past not to forget it..."

the morning darkness, the goblin has a coffee as if waiting for the rain to stop though it won't, not for now at least, and work beckons him through it, the goblin looks at a reflected light in a puddle below to gage the droplets against the need for an umbrella, chooses a book from the shelf for the bus journey and readies himself making sure that he has switched off the lights, locked to doors and placed his brain firmly on standby, he steps out and is pelted numb, or who knows perhaps he was numb before "...greetings great temple of the Moneygod, count me amongst your ranks then, I do your bidding..." he says to the waiting unmoved metropolis as the scene closes tight around him

("...join in, whenever you wish anyone..." said the goblin uploading his post here then)

meanwhile, back in Gotham city, Batman and Robin burst onto the scene "...drat..." Batman's fist hits his cupped hand "Robin I don't get it, this goblin guy is always one step ahead of us, worse I'm sure he's a penguin too, he got to have a weakness if only we could find it Robin we'd have him, Robin what we need is a plan..." "...Batman, what say you that me and my merry men joineth this brigand in Gothem forest yonder and there offer council that he may yet steal but from the rich to offer unto the poor..." "...alright Robin what's that in English and start the sentence with "holy cow Batman"...", "...prithy who sayeth "holy cow Batman" in this here age thus, t'is but a fabrication of the mind's eye m'thinks, come let us settle on "haynonnyno Batman" t'is wisdom is it not...", the waitress interrupts the goblin's string of thought "...excuse me could you pay your coffee it's 3 francs please, oh let me guess, you're a writer..." "...well sort of I'm a dyslexic with multipersonality disorder and a posting addiction..." "...great I've never met one of those, could I have a signature in case you become famous and die, thanks..." "...here you go, by the way do you know sometimes I wonder if the gods might actually envy us our mortality..." "...oh that's too deep for me, sorry but thanks anyway..."

"...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, 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..." he had promised himself ever since but the muse always laughed saying "...goblin, you can't out stare the sea but 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

the goblin himself had been haunted by the old executioner's line "est is sic nocens morior"(is it so bad to die) no, not in some silly action way but more in contemplating what is after all an inevitable arrival for all of us, "...is this the point of Hemingway's "the old man and the sea" book, is that what were doing here on this thread then..." asked the goblin but that old Roman line just pulled the goblin onwards ever out into deeper water

I finally claim my spot on this! >w< I really have been meaning to for days, maybe even more, but I keep getting drawn into other things, then I loose track of time, and by the time I remember that I had intended to post here, I'm already laying in bed and/or someone else is already on the computer. But I have remembered now, and I'll try to for now on. I'll try to at the very least once a day. Heck, it sounds like good practice to just wright whats on my mind and let loose. Thats not something I've done in years. Actually, it sounds pretty fun now that I think about it. I look forward to more of it. Thinking of topics though.....ah well, that'll come to me when it comes time to write them I supose.

(and with that the goblin welcomed the first member to reply here, saying "...yes, that is exactly it, think of this as whatever you feel it to be then, as long as you post, you will grow by it...", and with that the goblin posted on too)

in fact no one knew if Obama was "any good", just that he was "so much better", and with that the goblin too put his faith in Obama, and yet the goblin also suspected this crash of 2009/10 was now imminent, and that any correction in the market could somehow be "delayed", "accepted in defeat", or "fought tooth and nail", or any mix of those scenarios perhaps then, and yet, still this crash would just flood in like a some financial tsunami, if only because it seems natural that these monitory faultlines inevitably and invariably correct themselves taking their investors and everyone else with them each time, "...here we are again then, any reason why this time is should be any different, bar in possible magnitude perhaps..." ventured the goblin

the goblin never hid who he was, just he didn't believe that his "dailylife" self was really him while here, that's all, saying "...actors, who do not believe in their parts, while acting, are unlikely to have the audience believe in any of their parts either, and, where the story engulfs its reader, the story teller too, is most likely been possessed by his own story..." the goblin tried to bridge it, continuing "...but you writers all know that much I guess, you've been there yourselves, in your stories that is, oh no, don't try to tell me that it was by some cold calculating thought process here that you wrote your stuff, no you wait for it to come, it's that funny gripping sensation isn't it, in which you type on following something in your minds it seems, building it up, and above all "being it" in ones total, oblivious to all else, especially time that is..." ventured the goblin as if somehow returned at the point to the bistro where he had been before he had started writing this "...gosh, is that the time..." the goblin just mentioned as his "dailylife" intruded on his thoughts once more, yes, like everyone else the goblin's "dailylife" owned the goblin on the outside, but inside it was up to him to make sure it didn't own him there too

"...so what are friends here then..." said the goblin who had had to slowly let his real life friends drift away years ago after his wife told him to get rid of one, the goblin explained "...in marriage one does these things of course, but, like a recession, or an illness, or some other bad experience, one never quite goes back to the innocence of the point before it happened, does one...", and so the goblin now understood that, as sad as that truth may seem, that those friendships were, up to a point, replaced by all this virtual socialization here, that is, by today's masked ball of the Internet, where a person's details don't mean anything, nor really mattered because they couldn't be proven one way or the other, "...amazing, when you think about it, it's all just someones "written words" written and replied to someone else's "written words" that is, just a gathering of "written words" here then...", the goblin laughed at it, continuing "...in fact, we would think this all extremely surreal if we weren't so used to it by now by now that we don't even notice it any more..."

(same idea)

reply from elsewhere, someone who had offered to send her sexy pictures to the goblin


the goblin thanked the poster, but simply reminded her that everyone here might not be who they claim to be, so that the poster could indeed be the sexiest woman in Australia on the one hand, or, then again, he could be the local drag queen transvestite having a ball at the other male member's expense here, the goblin mentioned "...well, that's the freedom and the pitfall of this internet isn't it, that, while one is unknown, so is everyone else too, simply we give the benefit of the doubt to any given persona here, since we ask ourselves why would that persona be lying here, not that that makes it the truth though, so for that reason alone I am the most honest one here, since you've probably guessed that I am not a goblin in real life...", and then the goblin noticed that queen bot too had made her usual barb last night, which the goblin in his preoccupation hadn't got round to replying to, something he felt he should make a amends to now, saying "...thank you O great queen, somehow my Monday wouldn't have been complete without your barb to crown it then..."

the goblin was always anonymous, so really whether he was liked, hated, or whatever didn't matter to that goblin persona he always portrayed himself as, he goblin explained "...sooner or later, I am just haunted by those three questions again, "so what have you actually written for all this posting then", "and what has one learned from the replies and comments too" and "well then, what have you seen of yourself from what you have posted"...”, pausing for a moment, the goblin went back into the kitchen to make another coffee, a dull workday morning was his unavoidable encroaching reality now, so the goblin's only escape could be to cast his mind elsewhere since his family depended on his continued surrender to this present situation, to this society, and just to this living too, even if all those were just compromises on their terms for their rewards, well that much at least was unavoidably clear to him by now, "...ah but, as strange as it may sound, my mind up to a point has a choice of being "aware, unaware, here, or elsewhere", so what if I could master this choice then as something against that all too mundane reality of mine, while also slowly producing a stored body of posts somewhere that thwarts those three haunting questions again, surely that would be reason enough to post here, wouldn't it mortals..." concluded the goblin as the clock just ushered him on now to society's bidding once more, the goblin retorts to the clock "...lift anchor, rig the mind to "elsewhere" boson, and steady as she daydreams then..."

"...happy April fools day..." said the goblin knowing that that was probably the right word for sleep-deprivation resulting from trying to take over the internet by stealth, even if his email inbox resembled a jungle of "last post" replies, sanity by the way was now that faint dot on the horizon long behind him, somehow Star Trek springs to the goblin's mind with kirk's words as the goblin repeats " dart dadar di di di di dee....Internet, the final frontier, to boldly start "last post" threads where no goblin has gone before, to meet an endless stream of engaging dotty humans....da dar etc..." then adding "...Ok Slotty you can beam everyone else up now..." the goblin pressed his "post" button

"...agreed, the world of adults wants lies far more than it wants the truth here, since that innocence of childhood is no longer acceptable to our reason at this point, so we just seek loopholes to our reason then, it's as if we can see that great financial crash coming this fall, and think that if we just sit tight, it will blow over and go away, somehow knowing that, even at best, we are just stoking the flames with more investment for some later crash then, the loopholes are "bailouts, or someone else's problem, or I could be wrong then" but what does your reason tell you at this point mortals..." said the goblin who was only using this as one easy example of many out there, in fact, without lies this world of adults collapses into a chaos of honesty and despair, he continued "...oh no, lie to me please, as my mundane "dailylife" is ample proof of truth of my slavery to it, I want out and yet I can't escape from myself can I, so lies and distraction will suffice then..."

the goblin thought that all these forums were like parallel universes, each one having a different set of creatures though, so the goblin simply explained that, whereas most people here saw one "last post" thread amongst the many other threads on their site, the goblin himself saw 50 "last post" threads in his one email inbox, "...in the end, the point of this exercise is to create matched posts from raw replies here...", that is any raw reply, those in brackets, that the goblin makes which he likes, he then edits into a post with matching picture, whereupon he then reposts the now "matched post" back to the thread forcing him to correct those typos something he would never get round to doing if he just tucked away the "matched posts" in some blog, "...simply these "last post" threads push me to produce "matched posts" from those raw replies then, that's all..." mentioned the goblin forgetting to add that he also took that last place on the thread in the process, so there was that win too, "...MYAHAHAHAHAHA, why so silent mortals..." he went as he just remembered how many times he had lost till this moment again

the goblin was thinking that the moment he started to compare his "dailylife" with his "Internet", the bistro in the one became the "last post" thread in the other, "...well they're both just means of mental escape I suppose..." noted the goblin

Quote :

Do you never get tired of being the last poster?
Isn't it kind of lonely, having such a long thread practically to yourself?[/size]

"...no, I am not lonely at all, by the time I have finished writing this post now, am aware that I will have to reply a number of others "last post" threads, ranging from a whole spectrum of possible types and ages..." replied the goblin who also knew that there was no knowing which "last post" thread would have an interesting post to it, nothing followed like that it seemed, in that a site which had been quiet could suddenly become engaging to me like now for example, whereas another site, which had been full of serious imaginative posters could equally descend into nothing more than some "I win" tag game meriting the goblin's exit there, "...this thread here is neither long nor short, what does it's length matter when one writes alone with ones thoughts, and that's not going to change if there were one, or a million other people, going to read this post after I have hit this "post" button, the self doubts are as true for me now they are for anyone else here then, just that I edit, illustrate, and store those post I feel merit it, that's all..." and with that the goblin hoped the poster didn't mind what he had written as it was just an explanation which seemed normal

I've been having a lot of trouble with my writing for a while now, ever since I looked back on my old works a realized how predictable they were. It had been done before, and I didn't want to be that person who wrote something which someone had written about just months or years ago. I didn't want to be a copy-cat author. It sort of depressed me, because no matter what cool Ideas I came up with, or how I wrote them, it always reminded me of something else. I couldn't get something that was purely "me." It's only recently that I realized that everything has been done before. There is no part of writing and story telling that hasn't yet been touched.

Love story, horror, fantasy, mystery. All of them are done in thousands of different ways.

Vampire, alien, medieval, beastie, scientist, evolution, ghosts, mental, it's all been done. There is nothing left for me to take on.

But that also made me think, if it's all been done, then why the heck are people still reading? They know what to expect, they've read it a hundred times before, they know that there will be a happy ending and that the hero will do what the hero had been trying to do that whole book. There is no surprises, not really. If the hero falls in love with the heroin, then they will end up together. The villain will loose. The story will end happily ever after, even if "happily ever after" isn't written out. So why then do people still read? and why do they still write? It took me a while to decide that they write and read, not because of interest in the ending, or even the story, but how it's written. If it's written well enough, then people won't care that they read it fifteen times previous just that same month. It's strange, but I've found that it's true, even I still read, even though the stories are the same stories that I've read many times before, with the same kinds of characters, wanting the same kinds of things, in the same kinds of lands.

Now why? That is what I haven't yet figured out. Are people truly so simple that they are amused and kept content with reading the same story over and over? I don't know. I personally can't read a book more then once, but, >w< shuffle the characters around, give it a different world, a different title, and even though it's the same exact plot, I'll still read it, and even enjoy it. I don't have the answer to the why yet, I guess I'll have to think a bit more before I can figure that out..

("...perhaps the biggest thing, which makes something predictable for the reader, is the writer having smoothly thought it all out in an interesting plot that will be approved by some standard editor then, so while you personally want to write something odd and unacceptable, you compromise in two ways, plot and writing style, to be published by the benchmark of the editor, on the one hand while all along, the reader wants a good tasting "hamburger and fries" because he has paid for "hamburger and fries" and expects "hamburger and fries" to be as he expects too because he is your reader then..." mentioned the goblin thinking that he himself wasn't a writer at all, his world was that of "posts" and a journey to self here, for somehow he knew that if he ever started to write for the reader's sake then he will slowly share the fate of Doyle in hating his Holmes, so the goblin just concluded that reader is a two edged sword, "good in moderation")

"...who knows..." said the goblin, so this was his paradox then, that the goblin needed members to please to write well but taken to an extreme the goblin would compromise himself by pleasing too much those same members he was trying to please anyway

Quote :

to write for the reader's sake

What a thought...To write for the reader. I had never considered that before, but I guess it's true that writers tend to write for the reader. After all, without the reader the writer has no job and no money. Still, I think I'll take that idea and use it as a mark to keep away from. I don't want to go that rout. I want to write for myself, and if others like my style, then they can follow me, and if no one does, then I'll just get a normal job I s'pose, and continue writing for myself in my spare time. A writer needs passion to do good work, and if they're forced into a style they don't like, just to please those that don't like their style, then how long can they possibly keep up their pace before they give up? Nope, not me. I'm going to do what I've always done; have fun.

("...ah, but you are writing, this is "live writing" now and this is the present trend of writing is it not, or at least it's the most written type of writing out there..." replied the goblin thinking more about the sky this morning that couldn't be bluer, and how it contrasted almost starkly with the white of the high jagged mountain and a lone smiling witnessing moon in it, the morning was ahead of him he knew but now more than ever he just wanted to follow his muse blindly, adding "...oh but every rule to write something, which has works of paper to date, has simple to be rethought when posting here, so do I want to be the vanguard or the rearguard in posting then....")

the goblin ventured "...if one is not "last" then one is "past", so the great thing about this game is the chance to post again...", the coffee kicked in so the goblin continued "...me, I am just happy that I still have that chance to post something wonderful, might not post it today, maybe not tomorrow either but who knows what lies within until one comes across it, only one won't come across it if one doesn't first try..."

“...slot, the Internet won't miss me...” said the goblin now looking at an open office Word slot, “...goblin, look I understand, and if you feel that you can only write on-line then you should stop until you can write for yourself again...” the goblin was feeling the shallow necessity of others in order to post and even worse that trap of “the need to please” which always lead him into being someone else just for their sakes, “... slot, I like everyone but in the end it's a journey to self here I feel...” and with that the goblin felt that he had turned a corner in his own understanding the Muse's pact meant

"If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you." a quote which shocked the goblin because although it seemed exactly the point that goblin was getting at by posting like this, it actually came from the Gnostic gospels, so the goblin simply repeated "...when I look at the "last post" thread, it's a fun game with the others here but when I look at the slot itself I am alone and it isn't a game at all, it's a journey to self..."

the goblin wants to be by the seaside now, he wants to paddle the cold retreating surf just above those crashing waves looking for that ever elusive cornelian that shines with the reflected setting sunlight on his way homewards, somehow the goblin knew that if he ever found that gem it would be a gift from the great sea herself to him alone, something worth far more than anything a jeweler could ever offer

"...life is a series of shocks to me..." mentioned the goblin, only a day or so after the hold up at the "money exchange" across from his work place, one with that usual "someone just walking into the exchange, asking for the money at gunpoint, and then escaping on a stolen motorbike", no, what was unusual was that it happened at all, simply events like these don't happen in safe Switzerland, so times had changed it seemed, and yet, what with the gathering of the gypsies in their ever larger numbers, the lack of snow in Winter, and Summer's insufferable heat, Geneva, the goblin had to admit to himself, was different now, "...it's as if this accumulation of little changes over the years that, although insignificant in themselves and too gradual to really notice, had suddenly had one waking up to the shock of it all...", somehow the goblin's life simply seems ever to straddle this mental fault-line of his own complacency, and then bang, a new landscape appears out of the old, and his bearings have to be reset to the new norm again