oh how I hate editing posts, so why not join me at it

[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere, the lupusbots "last post" thread

at which point the goblin suspected, that in his opening up here and explaining what it meant to go through each and every wretched posting moment under those cruel whims of an invisible incurable illness called dyslexia might not actually cut much ice with the lupusbots here, "...ah but no, none of that defeatism, no defeatism here, for is my heart somehow shattered by all my wretched predicament, do I ever flinch form posting even under the very gaze of those of who now somehow mock these sensibilities and sufferings, no not this goblin then, not me now, for I bear it all with much forbearance fortitude and caffeine..." exclaimed the goblin over the melancholy of his lone coffee once more, saying "...so perhaps everybody fights angels then, where I can never truly win against my angel either, but at least I'll show everyone what stuff goblins are made of here, and on my terms too..."


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[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere

the goblin felt that whole point of posting was to create an alter ego, a persona then, something which couldn't be done if one were known, simply the voice in the goblin's mind seemed to go “...if you could be anyone, then who or what would you be then....”, which then seemed to continue by saying “....well then, since no one knows for sure who you are anyway, then why not become that persona now...”


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[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere

the goblin re'explained it, saying "...simply, if you go against the moneygod and dailylife you will suffer, whereas if you fall for those trappings of dailylife and the trinkets of the moneygod, doing their bidding without question throughout you life, they will reward you, and you will be well off by it, ah but, the first question is, where is oneself in all that..." mentioned the goblin, continuing "...in fact, one could die without knowing what one could have posted here, I mean most people don't bother to find out now do they, and no one would mind about it either, since it hadn't mattered to them that is, leading to the second question then, don't you want to know yourself by what you post, or would you like to be like most people then..."


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[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere, on posting

"...ah now, one only really wins here when one is truly empty inside..." said the goblin, continuing "...otherwise the slot just laughs and follows you around simply waiting upon one's return...", somehow, for the goblin at least, "winning" was merely going to the point where he felt he had used up all his ideas once more, "...yes, that's my breaking point I suppose..." remarked the goblin now, "...well goblin, are you broke yet, or are there still more posts in you..." asked the slot inquisitively, and what cunning creatures these slots were


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[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere

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 anything 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 something, 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 with that the goblin somehow understood what he meant now


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[JimC]

to the goblin, and

[fleamailman]

("...no, the post are flashbacks..." mentioned the goblin thanking JimC if that was what he meant, adding "...but the thread doubles up as a loose diary too I suppose...", in fact, the goblin was just editing here, where he could be quite honest considering that he was anonymous)

repost from elsewhere, goblin's easter address

"...other americans, wackos, fruit and nuts, and nut and blots..." and yet the goblin was not quite sure if that really was, in fact, what the pope was actually saying in latin while making a cross hand-sign each time he visited america, surely it would just be easier to look at the map of north america rather than trying to remember his barrings that way, but perhaps the goblin was missing something now, that is, while still wishing everyone a happy easter


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[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere

goblin's lonely harts page:
dyslexic, hunted by ghosts, a mad muse and an ever hungry slot does not seek similar, if interested, you are not normal, contact:
http://www.thispagecannotbedisplayed.com/

my photo:

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[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere

"...hi everyone, yes sorry, still squatting on the thread here..." said the goblin who was taking a break by visiting his old folks over the weekend in england, something the goblin did often enough always remembering to gently shout at the top of one voice, slam the door when entering the room and risk of being slowly drowned in tea and lemon cake, "...more tea..." comes the voice from downstairs followed by a the ghost in the silence that seems to still say "...and have you done your homework, had your bath, and brushed your teeth yet..."


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[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere

"... 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 by telephone" so, as always, the goblin's mind made a quick checklist of "probable chores" against another list of "possible excuses" while wondered if running a bath would stir the antagonists from their beds on this "Sunday lie-in", somehow the bath would be a deep one he knew


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[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere

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


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[Xamonas Chegwé]

I come here for the pictures. The words are so much talk soup - they taste nourishing for a while but they are thin and insubstantial and you soon get tired of trying to digest them - until you cease bothering.

But the pics are great!

[fleamailman]

I come here for the pictures. The words are so much talk soup - they taste nourishing for a while but they are thin and insubstantial and you soon get tired of trying to digest them - until you cease bothering. But the pics are great!

("...yes reading is difficult but you'll get the knack of it eventually, promise, meanwhile enjoy the pictures then..." replied the goblin)

repost from elsewhere

the goblin saw it clearly now, that he had to bow to the pressure of his oncoming old age, as slowly an unwelcome moderation to his lifestyle was being forced upon him, the goblin observed too, how he had struck compromise after compromise between some prison like need for self preservation, and some wish for at least some reckless behavior, simply the goblin lamented the truth here, saying "...how those consequences kill that dashful spirit in us all, where my youth was a folly of "no tomorrow" then..." but the goblin compromises now, he surrenders to his growing old age within his dailylife, "...ah yes, but there will be no such surrender on forumland here..." voiced the goblin in a firm promise


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[JimC]

I actually like the words as well, although they do not form the basis for an easy dialogue...

No matter...

[fleamailman]

("...we are no different then, simply I'm just another poster like yourself here, one that likes to write a bit and add a picture too..." mentioned the goblin appreciating the replies for their honesty towards him)

repost from elsewhere, another moment in the past, second version

the email reads that the goblin's mother (86 years old) might not be able to swallow, the goblin understood that the family would bulk at having her force fed with tubes, so the goblin replied to his father typing "...I know we hope that we haven't yet reached that point but, as always, simply I go along in supporting any decision you take or plans you make, also I think going naturally "without distress" is what my mother would have wanted if one was talking to her before this illness took her reason away from her, so I imagine there isn't anyone who wouldn't wish to go out in dignity so your decision for her would be once more the correct one for her here I feel..." and with that the goblin had to choose another postcard to write to his mother again as she would like to see pictures of the mountains, while dad, when he received it, would then read it to her if she was awake but what was written on the postcard didn't matter, only that she would feel that something nice had happened, the postcard seemed another slot asking for feeding, asking "...so slot shall we tell her of the flowers in bloom, of the blue sky and of that breeze that floats those clouds across the alps then...", "...goblin, let me swallow for her then..." replied the slot now in a whisper

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dI17VdRfCek


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