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

[JimC]

Umm.. can anyone explain this one to me, please? I'm genuinely quite confused.

It appears to be a vanity thread by someone completely uninterested in any form of interpersonal forum-interraction. He posts here in the third person and appears to enjoy it... so we let him!

The pictures are good though!

The goblin portrays himself as an internet persona, and that may be the case, but I've been reading his snippets at a couple of forums for a while and have developed a sense of who he is .. possibly a greater sense of who he is than I get from other, less revealing people who are posting as themselves. Whether the author and the goblin are one and the same I don't and cannot know, but I appreciate his insights and the evocative, often poignant imagery of his prose. And yes, nice pics too.

I agree!

I always get something from these posts. Sure, it is not something that works the same way as normal forum dialogue, but it works on its own terms...

Post on, and may the goblin continue to reflect!

[fleamailman]

("...well the wager is 10000hit to this by christmas..." replied the goblin appreciating the feedback and posting on, saying "...and what does it matter if I fail as I'll keep going anyway, just forumland on my terms then, and how many years now, as the goblin something from way back now...")

from the goblin's dear all diary, 29th January 1997

Dear all,
My wife hasn't even got on the plane yet, but there seems to be a silent chorus going on just a bit beyond earshot going: "...but they'll drown..." and admittedly I haven't always given the impression of even the remotest aptitude towards housework, let alone looking after children on my tod, but it's only two weeks, alright, that's two whole weeks then, and as long as I get them to follow my non-existent rules with bribes of happymeals and cigarettes, I can just slip into the recesses of my own bed-covers albeit occasionally having to stick out my nose to check for smoke. Anyway, besides, etc., once a place becomes untidy, how untidy is purely academic is it not. With situation firmly under control somewhere, I remain.,
Yours sinfully,
A fleamailman

[fleamailman]

to place into the blog sometime


dad drives as the site of gates of Mortaldumpsted's hospital were passed though, his mother had been there for some time now, her leg perhaps had mended but could it be trusted to take weight, besides, would her balance hold, these things tried the goblin who, after rubbing his hands in alcohol, greeted his mother who recognized him as family, one of the sons perhaps, and there the goblin siting on a chair recited those daily lines that repeated themselves "...the garden is looking wonderful, the snowdrops and out and just waiting for your return....", lies, white lies but to hell with the truth now accepted the goblin who continued "...are you going to sweep the path, you'd like that wouldn't you..." his mother would says words of agreement but they were no longer the right words, just those roundabout near words with a smile that meant she understood and, with that over, the goblin set to feeding her liquid, testing the plastic mug of tea for heat and passing her the spout to drink from, "...more tea then...", the doctor had told the goblin that hospital wards are very dry places and the more she drinks the better, "...bit more then...", ".... a chocolate then...", "...there, you've nearly drank it all...", "...all gone now..." phrases like words reminding him of childhood, his, or his children's that is, and with that the visit was nearly over, save to sit by the bed for a while longer, later, having asked the nurse for the news the goblin would return home where, looking out from the sitting room, he gaged the skyline for the weather and the approaching storm, and then happened to look down at the huddled snowdrops "...ah my little white lies..." he whispered to himself, knowing that this strange association had grown permanent


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[fleamailman]

from his dear all diary, 5th September 1996

Dear all,
Oddly, the two responsibilities of "bringing up" and "bringing in" remind me as a parent of the offerings of Cain and Abel, how much more the offering of "bringing in"(the money) burns with a brighter flame, so I am grateful that we live in an age where the clear cut roles of "father brings in" while "mother brings up" have blurred to the point where each parent does both, at least now I can understand the little thankless flame of "bringing up" is far warmer in its unappreciated way.

sin.,flea


xxxx 93 700

[JimC]

from his dear all diary, 5th September 1996

Dear all,
Oddly, the two responsibilities of "bringing up" and "bringing in" remind me as a parent of the offerings of Cain and Abel, how much more the offering of "bringing in"(the money) burns with a brighter flame, so I am grateful that we live in an age where the clear cut roles of "father brings in" while "mother brings up" have blurred to the point where each parent does both, at least now I can understand the little thankless flame of "bringing up" is far warmer in its unappreciated way.

sin.,flea


xxxx 93 700

[fleamailman]

("...thanks, I love editing my posts, and hate doing it by myself..." mentioned the goblin)

repost from elsewhere

back in the village, and still looking after his mother in her mental decline, the goblin looks out the window and notices an old woman, who was now watching from the safe distance of the church path behind the house, the funeral in the graveyard of someone who apparently had, some 35 years before this day then, refused her daughter something, and it was as if that ancient phrase captain I have holed our boat and together we will drown now was just written into the old lady's staring face at that point as the goblin watched her in his turn too


1

[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere

"...this may be like a "last post" thread but let's hope that there is never one's last post upon it..." voiced the goblin to himself on the balcony under a clear silent moon, for tomorrow he had yet another day to the mountains, and yes he would need every edit thread going to stop him somehow slipping into a resentful sanity, "...no thanks, done sanity, been there far too often for my liking, and now I need escape again..." voiced the goblin out unto the ever observing darkness, "...ah yes, but your escape returns you ever back to your reality goblin..." it seemed to reply without wording it


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[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere, on being asked about the goth's site where the goblin had started a "last post" thread on

"...no that forum has just started up..." replied the goblin "...actually, apart from what goth looks like dress-wise I haven't got a clue, so I'm wondering if my posting neogothic works by byron and shelley would help..." ventured the goblin adding "...and then I've got some photos of 14th century cathedrals too, and what about "the hundred years war right on to the war or the roses", not forgetting quotes for shakespeare's richard III, like "now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of york", perfect don't you think..." mused the goblin knowing that he would never actually post it as he always supported forums starting up even if the mere thought of it did make his fingers twitch in goblinlike deviousness, "...but first I need some black eyeliner..." mentioned the goblin


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[charlou]

("...well the wager is 10000hit to this by christmas..." replied the goblin appreciating the feedback and posting on, saying "...and what does it matter if I fail as I'll keep going anyway, just forumland on my terms then, and how many years now, as the goblin something from way back now...")

from the goblin's dear all diary, 29th January 1997

Dear all,
My wife hasn't even got on the plane yet, but there seems to be a silent chorus going on just a bit beyond earshot going: "...but they'll drown..." and admittedly I haven't always given the impression of even the remotest aptitude towards housework, let alone looking after children on my tod, but it's only two weeks, alright, that's two whole weeks then, and as long as I get them to follow my non-existent rules with bribes of happymeals and cigarettes, I can just slip into the recesses of my own bed-covers albeit occasionally having to stick out my nose to check for smoke. Anyway, besides, etc., once a place becomes untidy, how untidy is purely academic is it not. With situation firmly under control somewhere, I remain.,
Yours sinfully,
A fleamailman

ahehehe ... and yikes (I guess you all survived?)

[fleamailman]

("...um, I lived on but I'm still not sure that I survived unscathed..." replied the goblin knowing that everything turns into a fond memory in the end)

repost from elsewhere

"...most everything about me is explained already somewhere, where I suppose the writer bit comes next except that it doesn't come, in that I am not a writer, nor perhaps, what most people think of as a writer now, or how they interpret a writer to be, where for me too, a writer is not what he has done but what he is doing, but what of it, well nothing really, save that everything that I have ever written at this point is actually dead, that is, set in the past, belonging to forumland alone and utterly dead to me, 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 to himself, continuing "...just that both "publishing" and "recognition" come across to me as self-fossilization, a trap then, whereas here, within this small triangle of computer/coffee/self, one can have all the livewriting, interaction, and anonymous recognition that any goblin could ever wish for..." ventured the goblin who knew deep down that he was actually lying, "...ok, I'll admit it to you then, no there's never really is enough anonymous recognition to satisfy my liking of it..." laughed the goblin at himself as if the result of being recognized, while still remaining anonymous that is, really made any difference in the long run


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[charlou]

heh.

[fleamailman]

("...I like your company human..." went the goblin wondering what RiverF would post next then)

repost from elsewhere

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


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[normal]

repost from elsewhere

the forum and the gremlin hadn't even assumed that the "want not will not" attitudes, "...but what of it, the savages did not join the circular masturbation conglomerate, nay, they shunned it..." his mother all the while chastising the befuddlement slowly and rigorously, his hands shaking from the effort, he managed to squeeze out one last edition before going "... perhaps a glass of wine...", "....or some deodorant straight from the bottle...", "...no, what the hell is going on..." the words had once run so easily like a river of nonsense shrouded in rectal lubrication, when would it make sense "...and the cause of this animosity was only to be expected, and it would make no difference in the end...", and the gremlin faithfully trundled on, happy that the destination came second to the way travelled

[fleamailman]

("...now that's more like it, kudos for the gr"eat read..." went the goblin thanking the gremlin then, adding "...keep them coming, rationalia has talent for sure...")

repost from elsewhere

the goblin liked the posts, saying "...the balance, between being too sensitive to post, and being insensitive to what one sees, is a fine one then...", simply, the pace of the goblin's work had numbed him again to the events around him once more and although he had seen the gypsy boy holding a paper cup out to the drivers stopped by the traffic lights, had seen the boy's mother seated on another corner holding a baby under one arm and a paper cup under the other, the goblin hadn't really thought about it till later, when he asked himself again whether taking the child away from the parent as the swiss had done in the past, was the right answer here, anyway continuing homeward the smell of the elephants from the visiting circus, the degradation of the foliage of autumn, and so many other things were just happening for the noticing now, "...well, what is the point of being alive if one doesn't match it by being aware too..." typed the goblin into the slot's mouth at this point, yes but when an event had happened the goblin had barely noticed it he noted until now, "...ah, this dailylife and that moneygod are real thieves..." the goblin concluded slowly realizing just how much of his life was just washing over him unnoticed


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[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere, daylight saving time

"...ah, look at the miss set alarm clock watson...", holmes pointed across the bed "...ingenious..." watson replied "...so the zombie we found at the writing desk came from that...", "...yes, and most probably the work of morinomalarty and the rationalia gang again, a fiendish ploy to stop him from posting most likely...", "...I say holmes, this just isn't cricket, what's ever to be done I wonder...", "...no time to explain now waston, we must retrieve the last post on this thread before it falls into their hands...", "...by jove, brilliant holmes..." as their steps quickened towards the goblin's computer


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