We Are All Mad Here Forum Music!

"...I think a few turns on the merry-go-round might make things clearer..." alice concluded, bong zebedee appeared "...hello alice..." said zebedee, "...hello zebedee..." said alice, "...gosh well I never, a merry-go-round, I mean I haven't seen one of those since that love-scene between dougal and florence got cut out of the script, pity, but mind you it was british television so those viewers would have probably understood even less than what they had already understood by then, which was near to nothing if I recall rightly, not that they ever wanted "answers" that is, they wanted "escape into fiction" instead, oh I see you have met the goblin, hello flea..." said zebedee "...hello zebedee..." replied flea the goblin "...hello..." said the goblin "...hello flea..." said alice adding "...btw goblin have you ever heard of the thirty nine steps, it's just someone mentioned them and..." her look was sharper than her question, to which he replied "...depends which steps then, you see most people think of it as some climax to his book, some secret process, but then again, what if buchan in writing that book while recuperating from illness at et cuby house had actually seen a real staircase there...", zebedee's moustache twitched again, his head swiveled around to alice saying"...I get it, it's the same as the magic roundabout itself that we puppets never actually ride on the roundabout since those other puppets always do, a second set of puppets then, yet their story is never told, central in the plot but irrelevant at the same time..." bong zebedee disappeared into alice's past again, yet alice's mind felt she was now onto something now

the goblin restarted "...I have many posts where not only have I found a matching picture but also some matching music, yet each time it seems to be very serious music to some very serious texts now, but if that's ok with you then I'll post them up shortly...", in fact, the goblin was out of his depth here, saying "...no, you'll never lack for posts from me, only that writing in posts is untried, where success might be indicated by hitcount if hitcount equates to readership, yet I would swap all that hitcount for one worthy reply, hence the readership is a means to an end, the end being what replies I get out of it..."

"...livewriting, for want of a another word for it, starts out differently for each livewriter I guess..." ventured the goblin continuing "...where in my case I was just another poster posting upon forums while writing letters home, where being a dyslexic often quite unaware of the typos it forced me to edit my posts causing me to both keep them and to repost them anew, like a painter with a theme, eight sunflowers paintings by van gogh perhaps...", thus to livewrite was not so much what got written but more the whole process in itself of reposting one's posts in an air/edit/backup manner, smiling "...how you paint a picture is up to you now, where honestly anyone could livewrite, yet most folks discard their posts willy-nilly, instead how one continues over the years, and how those posts build up becoming a benchmark of self is what sets one apart from them then..."

("...why did you choose music as the theme here..." asked the goblin posting something based upon music now with a link to the piece in question, smiling "...only that links don't work on this forum so one will have to cut/paste to hear it...")

repost from elsewhere

the long departing bus homewards now, the goblin just lets the text type itself again between his mind and his laptop, as a wave of slowly typed words are, written, wiped, rewritten again in some slow repetition until a residue of what the goblin really wants to relate here remains for all to see, that is, while the music is Ravel's piano concerto mov 2, a deceptive piece that starts off normally enough only to slowly break into something deeper, deathlike even, and certainly appropriate to the view of those stepping stone like silent still gathering rainclouds that the goblin has fixed his view on now as all below seems to shoot by out of goblin's focus and consideration, and somehow the scene seems set, "...slot, perhaps I shouldn't have asked dad, no choice there I felt, I mean how long now until and who inherits, etc that is...", "...goblin, if it falls on you to clear up things afterwards, you have that right and should know everything...", the clouds thicken in their gathering darkness, everything else continues its ignored whizzing course, but the music has changed at this point from the normal piano to the orchestra, something bigger is afoot, something is taking over the piano then "...well slot I think it's going to rain, it will be for real this time, quite a show don't you think...", "...goblin, it's so easy to be cheap here, you're not cheap I hope, you have to live with yourself after he's gone, all that you did and gave to date would be cheap if you fail him now then, the end will crown it goblin, think about it goblin, you're lucky to even know in advance, you can prove yourself here...", the piano breaks into unrelated high notes, it's erratic now as if drowning, certainly wrong, the piece is breaking up or into something else then as the rain breaks too, and still the scenery, ever out of focus, whizzes by under the encroaching storm that had to pass overhead, the piano tinkers into a deathly silence




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("...the link didn't link directly to a song..." informed the goblin who imagined that that was not the intention then, adding "...you write well, and like no one know of...", meanwhile the goblin too, added another work, where each time there is sadness, there seemed to be a matching youtube stream for it...")

repost from "what's on your mind" thread,

perhaps the goblin was thinking about what his daughter told just told him of his father on her recent visit to london, his loss of facial expressions by now, just those last stages of parkinson's of course, so the goblin just said "...so my mother died of a growing incomprehension incarcerated due to her dementia, whereas with my father its this growing inability to parkinson's...", "...well it's just pain to open the eyes goblin, where nothing and no one was ever yours to hold onto forever..." softly voiced the muse again back at him, continuing "...and besides goblin, I just know you too well don't I, oh yes, you'll catch the fall of those you love won't you just, but when it come to you you won't let them catch you in return...”, “...yes, I suppose so muse, just when that time comes I'll take matters into my own hands for I doubt that from have seen what I have seen and knowing what I do, that I would do otherwise, so it's for them really and for myself too, but till that final decision time I guess our pact of honest, a thick skin, and a shared life still holds as our little journey to self in post continues apace, yet it's not a journey at any price now, ah no I won't burden others with me...”

Oh, it did not??
It works as intended for me!
That is a shame.

Also, that must be because you must have never met someone like me?

*smiled the mouse proudly and suggestively, at which point the meaning of the
sentence probably lost a part of it’s original value, the one it had before being
stated*

...
That muse conversation seems oddly familiar
it must be part of that feeling of knowing
that I have had since we “met.”
Actually... it makes perfect sense.

I am sorry goblin, I truly am!
While I have not lost anyone close to me so far
to this plague bodies succumb to
but I think I know how it is to fill that role.
I have been close, so many times before,
and I have been there when it had happened indirectly.
Abruptly, by choice, no chance to say goodbye.
Because the choice was not to say goodbye.
 
How broken up can it be, that talk and love can’t mend it??
I mean, I know... now it just seems so long ago.

*Mouse had stopped writing at this point, and moved to her window.
Where the rain downpour had brought a fog so thick that one would be
unable to see anything but itself. Which is a shame, because seeing her own
birth town caused a sort of contradictory positive reminiscing that formed her, which was felt needed at the moment, especially since it does not happen often, since it was not where she lived anymore. But maybe it was right where it belongs, as a reminder that sometimes the sun too, needs a break, and heaven just needs to cry it out after all the heat, like a form of catharsis that humans fall in need of as well.

("...still on the theme of music then..." went the goblin like the mouse's reply and choice of music there)

repost from elsewhere, the "writing to music" thread, chatting with a raven persona


"...um..., yes that's definitely him again isn't it..." whispered the goblin who had followed the raven's beak to where she was pointing, thanking her for her warning, and then agreeing to the words "...so I guess it starts early this year then, what with those subtle placing of red objects in the stores, the snow lights with innocent decorations everywhere, he's just building up to the moment he can finally turn the mommies christmushy once more, no doubt to then unleash them upon unsuspecting goblins everywhere...", oh yes, santa was running the show now, for could the goblin possibly survive a stampede of a christmas shopping mommies, moreover, the goblin's mind was fighting off that music too, but the music seemed to be everywhere he turned just seeping within with each passing moment, "...can't sleep, no I will fight bing crosby to my very last thought here..." he promised himself suspecting that it was already too late for many around him though

("...don't think I've ever dreamed about the moon then, but I've written many posts mentioning the moon in one way or another..." smiled the goblin hoping this one would please before adding "...I didn't know that last track and liked it a lot, alas my moon posts have no music...")

repost from elsewhere, the "any new year's resolutions" thread

"...me, I'm out to conquer forumland now as some livewriter would..." said the goblin, adding "...and yes, I don't even know what a livewriter really is, only that it's never been done before, and after that I'd like to capture the moon too, though that's been done before countless times...", simply the goblin had to cup the moon in his hands like he had done in his childhood, saying "...ah yes, I was so much better at catching moons when I was little, then all types of rationality cluttered my mind and somehow I lost the knack, so today too I don't want to be some rational writer here, no I just want to cup the idea in my hands..."


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repost from elsewhere, new, from the "suicidal girlfriend took all her stuff, deleted facebook, etc. What should I do" thread


"...where no doubt like you will just ignore these logical responses this time too for their base logic then..." smiled the goblin thinking how much you humans lack flare hiding your hearts too, continuing "...so go to her now, tell her the truth then, that you're willing to die with her if that's what it takes to be with her now, be sincere and mean every word of it, discuss suicide then, talk it over as lovers would, for your rival is death here and her fixation upon it, follow your heart and not your head in this, just offer the ultimate price to her, see if that is what it takes to wake her up from her fixation..."




203 here and 129 there

("...I liked that one too, keep them coming, nothing like posting is there, but anything worth reading twice is worth writing twice too, thus all gets better in its reposting, well that my excuse for what I do I guess..." smiled the goblin)

repost from elsewhere, the "world building" thread

"...no, I don't understand it really, why would you wish to go somewhere else when everywhere else is just this same old forumland around you still, where any other forum would just be the same old you on that forum again, still writing with the same old failings of your constant throughout..." ventured the goblin politely before continuing in his off hand way his soliloquy here, while not quite forgetting that before mentioned forum that had banned him then, thinking of it as not a bad forum in itself but clearly not as avant guard as this forum here, continuing "...surely xxxxx, if you really wanted a writer's way with words and to build up that vivid world for your characters too, then wouldn't it be just simpler to drop the bland and boring writing style that you seem to have used for your posts to date, being something which evidently does no justice whatsoever to your pen, and to rethink everything about yourself and your being here instead, where nothing and no one bar yourself holds you back from integrating every aspect of your writing style into your posts directly...", at which point jagged memories of that forum cut hard into the goblin's otherwise calm composure, while outside in the cold sun of chamonix's minus 10c contrasted well with the warmth of his favorite spot in his bistro once more, yes the goblin just wished well then, saying "...what does it matter what happens to you anywhere  as long as you never stop writing in the way that is truly you to your pen, btw which world would you have me to share with you now, I mean I'll help you where I can, um..., I mean if you can trust one such as I that is..."




xxxx 3675 86008

("...very nice thread with interesting posts..." went the goblin welcoming yet another now, before adding "...creature of habit am I I guess, where short interactive content is what I'm into here, so keep my company then where the practice will reward you and where your posts are like your ambassadors...")

repost from elsewhere,

"...well my parents are dead now where I guess that in part in miss the excuse I had back then to write to them..." mused the goblin who had written home often enough, continuing "...it was as if they were my very first edit thread, where there too, whatever I wrote just had to meet a benchmark that I held towards them, while amusing myself too, not least because I felt that somehow they would know when I wasn't for real...", where today too then, the context might have changed somewhat but in essence the goblin was still writing home even now, just trying to interest the reader in what interested him too, just keeping up the contact then, ever just these letters home still




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repost from elsewhere, goblin doing a welcome here

"...suppose I just asked you two questions then..." started the goblin in his late welcome now, continuing "...look, if nobody bar yourself liked what you wrote would you still have the guts to write it regardless, and conversely again, if everybody bar you liked what you wrote would you just fake it for them for their approval, that fame there, or for some financial gain...", but the goblin was standing on ceremony here, so instead he just drew a circle in the air with his finger to reveal a coffee set hanging in thin air it seemed, to which he quickly handed a cup to Marketa Lazarova before carefully pouring into it some of the finest filtered coffee going, saying "...milk or sugar then, I believe that it is here somewhere, I mean this forum has most things, but the readers are like a pack of wolves where one keeps an eye on them but only enough to not let them eat you up with all their expectations, where if not, you won't reach old age without regretting that you never wrote what you really wanted to write, so now, think hard upon those two questions for your decision will show you who you are by what you then write...", and with that the goblin bade Marketa Lazarova hither, adding "...the forest of forumland is yours from this point onwards, yes more readers here than most elsewhere, where livewriters are known by their posts..."

repost from elsewhere

the goblin liked everyone's posts feeding himself on them, he, for his part, had been desperately trying to convince his children that, contrary to all outward appearances here, their father was still just that then, and no, that he wasn't in fact some sorry substituted alien lifeform from one of those planet of the body snatchers movies, somewhat dashing their hopes it seems, even if their other two claims, that "dad, like all those of his age group, had actually descended from planet bingo at some ancient point long ago", and that the other one, that mum had married the invisible man seemed somewhat more substantiated by the facts as jotted down here, at which point, and in the face of all too much of this unacceptable reality, an internet portal just opened wide in front of the goblin's keyboard, its steel gangway resounding under his quickening fingertips which then turned into a full paced rush up the rest of the reassuring ramp, where a liquid suction sound just welcomed the goblin once more across the ether to those comforting contours of somewhere nowhere and anywhere on forumland, saying "...ah, that's better, now I'm not real again, gone is that overbearing dailylife that always tries to solidify me within its tedious framework each day, so my goal here is to create a persona that is beyond its grip, something both ageless, faceless, responsive, and mercurial then...", in fact, the goblin lived next to an old age home as if to rub to point home, continuing "...but I promise to listen to you humans, that's one of the things I do best on forumland, I listen with a passion for I'm a creature that feeds on posts, and as such one that returns whatever it's given in kind, care to escape with me then, I'm always listening, listening is reaching out isn't it..."


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