We Are All Mad Here Forum Music!

"...green is fine by me..." went the goblin remembering a spirit persona who chose red for her prose always, reminiscing "...yes, it had worked well for her, especially on a black background, beautiful penmanship too, and now with green choice you remind me of what I had forgotten so I'll link her forum though she's no more and her forum is all but a cemetery to a more inspired time before...", but that was how it was then, some things were just before their time for no reason

repost from elsewhere, chatting with a raven


"...well, I guess we're not to be trusted then..." admitted the goblin suspecting that once it out there it's out there, adding "...though to my defense I was only editing my replies to you, but now that you're here it's making my day too, did you decide upon a picture for that cheat poem down there, it's a gem and I do like you're company...", in fact, the invitation was open to all without exception, explaining "...so you do a work raven, that poem there for example where others then comment upon it there, and then it sinks down quite lost amongst the other threads of poems only to be forgotten by your readers, but I wonder if there is a way to square that circle instead, perhaps a thread that is shared like a victorian journal between writertypes, pauperpoets, and even sane people too, for readers to get to know their likes and dislikes, I mean communal threads don't sink into oblivion...", "...no, don't ever trust him now..." went slot's voice in the background once more, but the goblin just grew a smile as he busied himself with his editing through his posts once more while the night seemed an observant silence to the goblin's racing thoughts

"...well mouse, I'm here because you're here, though few I fear will ever see this thread now..." replied the goblin aware that a communal thread was not something as secluded like this group thread was, not minding though, only that it ill served the purpose of getting readers to read one's posts he imagined, explaining "...one only has to compare the number of book readers one sees in an average day against the number who look at their telephones to suspect that the whole book writing approach needs rethinking, but in what way though is as yet uncharted ground quite up to the individual...", thus the goblin's idea was to focus upon posts as in short interactive content suspecting that mostly those readers wanted to see what they were thinking rather then mutely follow some narrative of an author, still smiling "...often I harp on about hitcount too as a fair way to judge one's readership, no that there is a hitcount on his forum though, and thus I treat this forum more as a backstage so to speak of those other more active forums, a great place to ready posts then, and how about you mouse, what in it for you and how do you see it being here too..."

("...in answer to your question as to why no website..." started the goblin thinking upon it awhile before continuing "...just my nature I guess, but also do remember that I'm on those troll's forums too, thus a sitting target I'd become by it, so no then, instead I simply work across forumland, where one forum is for storing posts, another for editing, another to find pictures, and still many more just to see keep up the contact then...", where often the goblin saw it as forum/venue thread/stage and persona/act here, where his trick was to feed to be fed, smiling "...a writer wants to be read, not me though, I'd rather engage the reader here for what it's worth...", ah but didn't everyone know that somehow goblins were not to be trusted)

repost from elsewhere, just sharing again

something within the goblin always feared all that they call organized religion for the fact that it was organized, and thus trying to organize one too, saying "...how often do I feel that religion is an excuse not to find out for oneself then, and that one's connection to within, to that which has always been there too, is just ignored because of this compliant towing of the given external line each time, and no, I won't believe in, nor go somewhere closer, nor pay something towards, anything outside of me now, when you and I know it to be just there within one and without those preconditions too..."


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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 lost childhood days with a springy crunch in each aimless moment, 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 that he knew of, yet today it's only its other meaning that comes to the fore whenever the goblin thinks back upon it

 sitting on the dock of the bay otis redding



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"...just keep at it I guess, I'm sure you'll get it right to yourself in the process eventually..." suggested the goblin thanking the mouse for her company and suspecting that that was all he could ever say to anyone really, then adding "...doesn't the question then become if you have done your post well now then where next will you post a second time to, to hew it into something better still, and then some time later a third time again, even a forth time perhaps, and so on and so forth till finally that post is done, hewed into something you feel as finished, thus years later I'm still reposting these posts here, still in need of new forums too where those there haven't seen my posts as of yet, and where no doubt if I hadn't been dyslexic I wouldn't be editing on like this even...", somehow the goblin couldn't let his posts alone and was simply fighting his childhood defeats within posts still, sighing "...ah yes, fighting one's childhood does seem so childish doesn't it..."

"...then I'll remain here too, after all one has to start one's posts somewhere I guess, and who knows then, I mean I might write something I can then hew into something worth keeping so you have my company now for all it's worth..." replied the goblin appreciating the mouse's progress, smiling "...you see, most folks don't give their alter-ego enough leeway to write imaginatively, thus their posts are very much as you see them here, most dull indeed, moreover, imagine those writers too who only turn up on these writer's forums to advertise their books to some wound be reader here, and what does that tell you about how much they see their readers around them for what they write where posters are readers agreed, but they're not some collective dunce readersheep of those yesterbooks ways, no they'll only read those whom they find engaging upon the forum itself, so instead the author for his part has to write within the post itself, not repeated doing that "hey dude, written a book, here's the download link then" fail way anymore..." but by now the clock had caught him up again, sighing "...so much for my 2cts worth..."

repost from elsewhere, the "how old are you" thread

"...well now, I seem to remember that I was much older before..." mentioned the goblin casually enough, continuing "...but that was when I was trying to write perfectly, and carrying the weight of my years around my neck too, so I just dropped it understanding that all this was just a virtual reality anyway, and what's another name for virtual reality humans, yes you've guessed it right, fiction, it's all fiction across forumland, where in fact all that is ever here are just these words upon your screen, something that you then interpret into a reality of me, but nothing we can say to each other can prove it now, for in truth we're just anonymous...", simply the goblin was pointing out that the choice concerning one's persona on forumland was ever one of an aging wendy or of an ageless peter pan, smiling "...so why have that which one can't prove, ah no, no dailylife mask here please, for who needs those unprovables upon forumland anyway..."


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repost from elsewhere


"...very little..." replied the goblin, explaining "...the reposts are simply air/edit/backup now, where each time I repost something it gets feedback, while I get to edit it too, and where it becomes a backup should something untoward happen to the original...", yet nothing actually mattered by it, in that he was anonymous and had been banned and so many times with his threads/posts erased so many times too, that he had arrived at an understanding now, a madness even, that it was not so much what resulted form posting as gaining the ability to do post in itself that counted, saying "...think of this as the reader seeing the written footprints of a creature that only the author sees, the author writes hoping that his pen will capture the contours of the creature for the reader knowing that the creature is never caught by it, just it's this practice of capturing that the author is trying to perfect within himself each time...", and that was all it ever was he supposed, yet that all was everything too


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("...it's not so much that one is lying, where the world of adults is one of white lies anyway..." started the goblin continuing "...it's that the truth cannot be proved here, I mean whose to say that one's alter ego is not exactly as one portrays it then...")

repost from elsewhere, the "writing about writing about writing" thread


"...a friend I am, yet I see you've been talking to goblins again, steady now, bad idea, they're not to be trusted you know, but, whereas in dailylife one has no choice about it, on forumland one has that choice, so for me, I'd like to grow something other than simply old..." replied the goblin, adding "...and since nothing here can be proved at all, what is the point, and where is the need, of one's dailylife mask now, one's mask by fate perhaps, but a mask all the same...", the goblin guessed that any self portrayal was unlikely to be as objectively honest as perhaps how others around him would see him, so that just saved the goblin from drawing the line about himself, by having no line at all, observing "...it's quite simple, an ageless faceless goblin on forumland, masks an old man in his dailylife, who in turn masks an ageless faceless goblin within him again, so now, do you judge something by its appearance or by its contents where perhaps both are the two sides of the same coin here..."


154

the goblin's journal

dad drives as as the sign above of gates of mortaldampsted's hospital were passed under once more where his mother had been convalescing for some time now, and perhaps her leg had mended fully too, but could it be trusted to take weight, moreover could she still balance herself correctly, these things tried the goblin at this point who, after rubbing his hands in alcohol, greeted his mother who recognized him as family, one of her sons perhaps, and there the goblin, siting on a chair recited those daily lines that repeated themselves aimlessly "...the garden is looking wonderful, the snowdrops and out and just waiting for your return now....", lies, white lies but to hell with the truth, accepted the goblin who continued "...are you going to sweep the path again, 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...", yes 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 perhaps...", "...there, you've nearly drank it all...", "...all gone now..." phrases like words reminding him of childhood, his, or of his children's that is, and with that the visit was nearly over, save to sit by the bed for a while longer, where 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 within him

("...it's coming along, you're evolving with with that experimentation there..." smiled the goblin liking the post immensely, then asking "...what do you write about mostly...")

repost from elsewhere,

“...well I suppose the real lesson taught by you death is that one's life just carries on until it's one's turn and then after that life carries on afterwards too, and that it cannot carry on at all without one's death then...” voiced the goblin upon his noting that what with his parents gone from him now he had become the older generation in their place, “...quite so my little goblin, no life as we know it without death now, none of this present here without that buried past behind you, and no future for anyone else without me first clearing away this present here, not that any of this was really ever anybody's to keep mind you...” replied death with a comforting smile then pointing to a little children's toy that the goblin had kept as some keepsake of his childhood, continuing “...well now, you've certainly grown out of playing with this toy then, and how long ago was it now, just like you grew out all of those youthful follies too, so let's just say that in the end one just grows out of this life completely, I mean who isn't fond of their childhood toys and youthful follies I guess, yes but the fact remains that if those toys no longer amuse you today and doesn't that mean your no longer a child, or are you a child really goblin and which toy would you still want still, and besides, yes I could let you live on indefinitely if you like but it would mean seeing the death of your loved ones in your place goblin, I mean either I can let you die for their sake in good time or just let you live to burden them instead, so be brave my little goblin, be thankful for your life, yes but don't forget that the whole point of this life was never your own longevity within it, ah no perhaps the meaning of life was to finally know why it must be left behind when the time comes..."



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