the goblin's place Forum goblin's dear all diary

from the goblin's dear all diary, 22nd., October 1996

Dear All,
Having found a cafe, which is suitably bohemian for my all too frowned upon "scribble and stare into space" habit to pass unnoticed, I write(while making the most of the second hand smoke) only to see that I either have nothing to write or no one to write to, hence my "dear all diary" comes to the rescue. In fact, you catch me in those few minutes where my next job looms and my mind pretends to be indifferent to the fact that it's taking someone who I don't know, to a place I've never been and interpreting on whatever the subject turns out to be, but no point in downing before the boat sinks, plenty of time for that later.

Yours somehow,
a flamailman

from the goblin's dear all diary, 4th., February 1997

Dear all,
Of his children's welfare of late, one may look no further that a little white flag waving frantically above a large pile of laundry and hatter underneath cursing the washing-machine for having a capacity on par with hatter's culinary repertoire(Alice and dormouse opted for school lunches this week), all to the words "out out darn spot", still, the gently rotating drumcan is more interesting than all this coverage of the G8's "dine and dither in Davos", later things turn from worse back to mere bad as all three, Alice, dormouse and hatter, settle down to a semblance of sanity where, if they want to be naughty, the dormouse comes and shuts the door, leaving the hatter to wonder if he is supposed to first count to a hundred before reacting

Your surviving,
a fleamailman

[img]http://gi60.photobucket.com/groups/h8/9HJF0XTNZF/hatter.jpg[/img]

rom the goblin's dear all diary, 28th April 1997

Dear all,
"He who speaks two languages has two heads" a phrase which has Alice and the dormouse's imagination going this morning, whereas mine I try to restrain because that dental student (of "...hi there call me Benny Hill..." fame) rang asking if I would like to give my teeth another bash: I consented so I am in for a two fillings four hour ordeal with trimmings, I just lie back, open wide and think of England, um explains why English women aren't know for it, so all this is my penance for a happy four month AWOL, a throat like the Sahara, a jaw like Sampson's lion, roots like whining children and a mind questioning the context of virginity, Help! that three appointments next week.

Resigning, resigning, resigned
A Fleamailman

from the goblin's dear all diary, 2nd December 1996

Dear all,
It, contrary to any preconceptions on holding a writer's club meeting with only three members on  Thanksgiving-night, was magic because knowing each other off came the kid gloves, out came the crab forks and a melee ensued. Oh, and apparently this now all too cliche-conscious writer who, when reading out aloud, is "elocution-blind", "oration-deaf" or "articulation-dead", can no longer dismiss himself and his lot as "a dunce in the domain of domesticity set in snow and suburbia" without having everyone agreeing with him for once, Yours begging to disagree, am sinfully,
A Fleamailman

from the goblin's dear all diary, 20th October 1997

Dear all,
All in a day's work I guess as the restaurant's manager explains "...look you speak their language ask them for me..." as he hands me the pair of dentures found in the men's bathroom, I obliged, ask them, spoil everyones appetites and still have the dentures after the inquiry, apparently someone turned up afterwards.
sin., flea

from the goblin's dear all diary 11th October 1997

Dear all,
Interviewed, hours later and still her questions call me for answers: "why write", "how did it come to this", etc., and I know I wanted to say "...because to have an opinion is one of life's last luxuries..." or I could have explained the muse's pact, but whatever I said, it was something about wishing to catch the moment, to catch my lot through the focus of my pen, whatever, I probably came over clearly with the exact reason why I write all these afterthought like letters: "the absentminded old fart is hopeless at interviews".

Yours sincerely,
A Fleamailman

PS no need to disown me quite yet, it was late night, in French, and on Swiss radio, so god is my witness and in fact he could well have been the only one listening then

[img]http://i175.photobucket.com/albums/w151/etlvc/Lost%20Souls%20Club/CrowleyFinger.jpg[/img]

morning, the goblin is up, wondering if he has enough time to write out a letter before work grabs him, but then he promised to get this typed while he could.

from the goblin's dear all diary, 17th., October 1996

Dear all,
One phonecall and realm of reality breaks under the news that they need a nanny for a rich nutter in a timescale of sooner than now, and, gulp, across the divide that separates multi'cultured unreliable Geneva with that of mono'cultured too reliable Grindelwald. Minutes, if not moments, later a travel bag is packed while the questions like: "do I accept", "can I cope", "what's the pay", "why me" are stored for the long laborious trainjourney, however on stepping out the front door once more I find myself repeating "....one small step for man, one smaller step for sanity...",  the train seemed to carry my mind into the underworld of misgivings.

Sin., flea

from the goblin's dear all diary, 25th., November 1997

Dear all
The ticket still reads "Geneva-Bern Return" but the goblin didn't really want to go(while knowing he should protest the war) so he had said, "...hey, well I was too young for those Vietnam protest marches, in fact I've never protested in my life, sounds great(lying), but I'll go if you go...", the goblin's exit ploy based on the fact that surely she wouldn't leave her bookshop for it, the next scene is the two of them, together with some others, eating sandwiches heading towards Bern to protest bush's war now, and yes, once there the vast sea of protesters reassured the goblin of his stance, yet even all that heated emotion couldn't hide the freezing cold of the day so the goblin gave up, returned to the warmth of Bern's station where boarding the train homewards alone he slipped the ticket into his pocket and slept soundly; a week later she was dead and her bookshop ended with her. Today, so many years later, the ticket still conjures at her ghost who asks for nothing, "...it just like this then..." the ghost would say just as she had said so often when she was still there, and somehow she was always like that the goblin remembered.

sin.,flea

[url= why I protested then, and why I won't conform either[/url]

[img]http://www.beautiful-landscape.com/New%20Site.data/Michael%20Reignier/Mysterious-Road.jpg[/img]

from the goblin's dear all diary, 14th January 1998

Dear all,
Such encouragement without purpose this being still alive with reason;my flu loses out, I emerge from a pit and shadowlife whatever: nice just to have me to myself again, dare I write "next virus please" but I forget that this world is tottering on so many brinks that one is apt to feel now is just the eye of the storm. In this background then Geneva's lake looks like one giant duck pond today, but the writer of this letter has just done his stint in the Protection Civil so rest assured he knows how to put out chip pan fires, put up bunk beds and how to wear a blue boilersuit with a yellow helmet, that is, in the face of avian flu, global warming, stockmarkets crashes and mad cow disease, "...so where do I throw my bucket of sand then..." asked our hero.
sin.,flea

[IMG]http://i28.photobucket.com/albums/c237/mydeira/DrflubyTed.gif[/img]

from the goblin's dear all diary, 6Th October 1997

Dear all,
Dressed as the "stealth cyclist of Grindville" our citizen reflects not, neither to the cars nor to the danger of what he does as he slips the lights down wrong-ways in the streets of conformity; here then he blends into the black as if rebelling for that short time between dumping work and accepting the mantel of homelife, he likes both, is neither though and knows it. Soon though, capitalism and conscience will cast a line called security to reel him in where arriving home he will forget his cycleride only to wonder why he feels refreshed, - he, like most of humanity, can only take so much freedom it seems.
sin.,flea

[img]http://i42.photobucket.com/albums/e334/bioioiotch/surreal.jpg[/img]

from the goblin's dear all diary, 18th May 1997

Dear all,
Frantically, the dormouse plays "cat and mouse" with a little ball that will eventually escape his attention, while his father (the hatter) poised with a pen, fishes for thoughts while wearing a small hole in the sleeve of the elbow that supports a head which should read "Back in five minutes"; in fact the hatter suspects too, that only their ages dictate any difference in the degree of distraction here. Later, when hatter has finished writing and rewriting this letter he'll shout at the dormouse to have a bath(wallow in toys), brush his teeth(chew the toothbrush) and go to bed(fall asleep somewhere) but the dormouse plays "cat and mouse" with hatter who will eventually let the dormouse escape from his attention until a few hours later, when the hatter will actually notice, that something is rather odd about the usually flat floor.

sin., flea

[img]http://www.writerscafe.org/uploads/rte/f0dbc04711045bf69ed7d0adc05b91dc.jpg[/img]

from his dear all diary, 6th December 1996

Dear all,
"...those new to our good city of Geneva might have noticed that this time of year the shops are selling chocolate marmites; well, this tradition I am told goes back to the first landing of an alien spacecraft in 1602 when everyone had run out of vegetables..." anyway by now, as long as I just keep on talking, everyone will just sleep on as the bus winds its weary way through streets of shops which seem to read "spend or by gone", then "...excuse me sir..."(help, there's someone awake) "...you mentioned 1602 but was that the same year you said for queen Victoria's revolt against the Romans, didn't you..." "...ah it wasn't intentional if I did but I, you see, have so many people with so many languages that it calls for a certain amount of simplification, thank you..." and with that the bus gets to their hotel.
Yours simplified,
a flea

from the goblin's dear all diary, 10th November 1996

Dear all,
Air of anticipation, relaxed and seated, a small circle of writers take turns to read aloud their latest pieces in a motion which so ofter resembles a dancing choreographer. Unknown reasons cause these people to break with the norm then, they become writers, their works(wrought out of their minds, contents argued, words weighed, read aloud, rewritten, deleted and restarted, improved on, and shortened and finally finished) are their own creation while, their self-critics(published, make money, sure of your subject, able to continue) a cause of a kind of writer's vertigo, so they carry on ignoring self-judgments preferring to be caught up in their own works, and like I've mentioned here, the choreographer then stops his movements after reading aloud the piece but somehow the piece itself seems to dance on in the mind of the reader and those listening to it.

sin.,flea

from the goblin's dear all diary, 16th January 1997

Dear all,
Welcome to Siberia upon suburbia, Geneva seems stiff in a deep frost and a seldom seen sun that is a mere ember of its normal self, though all this falls beneath Alice and the dormouse's consideration when these primates wait restlessly for hatter(dad) to finish boiling the sachets of ravioli and sauce which, apart from fry-ups(to fill and flounder one) covers the sum total of his inextensive repertoire to date; in fact, it's "just as well" since these children somehow epitomize that term "what the horse don't know the horse won't eat", and, what with hare(mum) being away for two whole weeks, hatter as a now not too overtly optimistic surrogate mum thinks "...no this is not "just as well" it's more like "appropriately well" yuppie..."

sin.,flea

[URL=http://imageshack.us][IMG]http://img207.imageshack.us/img207/7489/jfhg7.jpg[/img][/URL]

from the goblin's dear all diary, 9th April 1997

Dear all,
“Beware of the dormouse” seems sound advice as a frantic dynamo fast pedals his tricycle more or less forward, more or less straight, and right into the first OAP coming out of the old age home next door,  - bang!,  ah but fortunately the residents take delight in children so off he goes again round in circles like a blind cruse missile until the inevitable brick wall claims its pray and a grazed child bawls for help, later washed and tucked in he'll probably dream about cycling in space more or less forward, more or less straight and right into the first Martian coming out of his UFO.
sin.,flea

from the goblin's dear all diary, 11th April 1997

Dear all,
I suppose being recognized is as good a form of fossilization as any other, and in that way writers are odd enough to write when most people don't, odder still to think that newspaper journalism is the way one should write and oddest of all, just like paying the stoic of old, even willing to pay and learn writing in workshops, but let me put their minds straight, the rule is so simple “if it is on the page and from the heart then it is writing and it is yours...” but compromising for the consensus, especially in the need to be recognized as a good writer, probably means the opposite.  I say better Dickens writing about workhouses than someone else writing in workshops, better to be truly hated than falsely liked.
sin.,flea

[img]http://i37.tinypic.com/1seebs.jpg[/img]

from the goblin's dear all diary, 28th May 1997

Dear all,
Any letter to pop out of the  pile of bills and ads gets slit, gutted and consumed even before I have walked back to the lift such would be my joy and such is my need, yet back in the room though Hare, unaware of my return, will talk her half of the conversation down the phone to an interested party whereas the disinterested party (consisting of the dormouse with all thoughts surrendered to the television, Alice who is reading when not eating or eating when not reading, and hatter happy in the  haven of headphones back bent over this desk and wrestling an angel to write a record of just how crazy my normality is) are happy just to hear her voice carry through the room and out into Geneva's wet skyline, - somehow if I could stop the clock I would stop it here.
sin.,flea

[IMG]http://i274.photobucket.com/albums/jj253/kyolin1/Madhatter.jpg[/img]

from the goblin's dear all diary, "UN radio" scene one,5th May 1996

Dear all,
Citizen fleamailman, aware that few people know of his private life, has decided to make a rare exception and allow readers, on condition that don't disturb the narrative nor make undue noise, to join him on this peaceful morning on his sunny balcony where sipping coffee he write and admires the progress the workmen have made in turning last year's bus depot into what will probably be Plainpalais's most secluded park, that is, even if for the moment it remains an open stretch of gravel below him. “...you see...” he likes talking to himself “...one can write in style here, no noise and this mountain view too...”, “...tock...” interrupted he looks up “...tock...tock...vem ca...tock...para...”, “...what the...”, “...tock...tock...clack...”, “...can't be...”, “...tock...tock...jogar...tock...esta bem...”, “...it is but how did they escape their petanque-pen on the plain of Planpalais...”, “...tock...tock...tock...” the sound of petanque balls continues, “...right that's quite enough Hare what's Portuguese for “clear off”, better still do we have a elephant gun...”, his wife replies “...darling if you live in Planpalais you just have to accept local peculiarities, “...yer but not petanque morning, noon and siesta, I am going to shout down and tell them to clear off...”, “...ok dear but don't forget you invited all these readers here...” “...never mind them, if they have read this far they must be pretty desperate...”, collecting his thoughts he leans over and should “...'oy you stupid bunch of, ah Mr Alfonso Herique,  a very good morning to you and how is our beloved concierge today then, sorry I can't hear your every word clearly my bicycle in the corridor again, fire hazard, eyesore, yes it's a bane on humanity, I am so very frightfully sorry and I assure you it will be done first thing the last judgment, and no I would love to play patanque with you but I am frantically searching for any excuse not to and have a wonderful day my sweet concierge...”.  “...well dear that was a real piece of your mind there then wasn't it...”, “...Hare, in Geneva the concierge is superior to the bank manager...”, “...tock...tock...tock...”, “...I give up, who can write with all this noise, I am going in then...”, “...and what about all these readers dear...” “...sod them, knew I shouldn't have started writing for posterity, next thing they will turn up wherever I go...” he enters the living form from the balcony by means of the French windows “...see what I mean, clear off the lot of you...”

from the goblin's dear all diary  “UN radio” scene two

Citizen fleamailman, fed up with the patanque players outside has gone indoors, followed by his wife Hare, the readers and the narrator, has now turned of the radio “....and now for the main points again, China has been given “most favored status” for helping Taiwan's independence movement, Israel continues its piece by piece process, Switzerland has rejected membership for to the European Union for the second time because fear that it would be unable to maintain the Swiss German continuity of having all geraniums red, 20cm high and identical in all Swiss German window-boxes, the...”, “...Hare, any more coffee...” natters the goblin so that one can't hear the radio “...and now for the weather, if the snow warms it will rain, if the rain stops it will be cloudy, and if the clouds disperse it will be will be sunny...”, “....we know, if it will be sunny it will rain patanques...” says him again, probably meant to be a joke somewhat reminiscent of Moses kindly kicking his dinosaur “...'oy I'll do the jokes, you just stick to the narrative...”, “...dear, he is only doing his job...”, “...badly if you ask me...” says the cretin who live in Geneva's internal bed-town of Plainpalais, “...stop if both of you, the radio's “Serene” moment is coming up, and I want to hear it...” “...Okay then, I know, how about guessing what it will be, Hare...”, “...alright dear, I bet it will be “the sermon on the mount”...” “...nah, bet you it's going to be “the end of the world”...” while the smart money is no “the Lord's prayer” here it comes “...and now for our serene moment: and then the first blew the trumpet...”, “...WHOPPEE!!!, end of the world, told you didn't I...” the little thing that has pleased the smaller mind has happened, “...came hail and fire mixed with blood...” “...crash...” a noise sounding like a patanque ball landing on the balcony, “....ding ****...” the doorbell rings “...yes I think with modern day education the reader can make that out, might as well write: goes, fumbles for the keys, opens the door, etc.,...” ditto, big yawn. “...dear I think that will be his eminence the cocierge for his petanque ball, he wouldn't like to see all these readers here so take them and next door...” says Hare while the narrator grabs the radio because he wants to hear the UN recording next.

from the goblin's dear all dairy “UN radio” final scene

the radio is heard by the narrator and the readers:

“...a first for this radio station: live coverage of the nonproliferation debate in the UN itself, over to our man of the spot are you there goblin...”, “...loud and clear folks but there has been some rolls to thunder, we might have signal trouble ahead perhaps...”, “...what happening there exactly goblin...” “...well folks the members are taking to their seats and the interpreters to their booths,  reminds me I will need a pair of earphones too, do we have any spare because I am not going to hear anything like this...” “...nope goblin sorry but you're good at these sort of situations...” “...sure am folks, anyway it looks like the band is going to play a national anthem again, probably “the chicken song” by Belgium but it could be Canada's “muffing the mouse”, oh no please it's not...” “...save our gracious...”,  “...right, take five everyone...”, “...and victorious, God save...”, “...no make that half an hour then, hope this can continue afterwards then...”, “...God save...” “...come on, come on, please...” “...save our...” “...hurry up will you...” “...save our... ” “...save our goblin too...” “...queen...” “...Oh thank God then, at least it wasn't Finland, I couldn't face hearing “here comes Santa Clause” again, ah there doing the UN salute, oh I know this by heart, the speaker goes “the seeds of the our will to stamp out injustice wherever we see it are sown here” and everyone claps, now this is odd, and as far as I know he only has observer status and never attends but he is walking up to the American seat, and wait, he's stopped, yes I think he is going to say something, he's pointing to heaven and addressing them, and now the American are angry they are leaving their seat and they have put a wastepaper basket on their table in protest no doubt, there you have it folks America expelled from the UN but this can't be, this is amazing can you believe it a first on your local radio too, here comes the official announcement then: hello, may I have your attention please, his eminence the concierge has told the Americans about the leaking roof suggesting they leave the bin on the desk while they are found another place...” “...well I think we will leave the coverage there goblin, thank you, and now...” citizen fleamailman walks into the room “...well he's gone but I see you lot are still here, look if you had better go, or else you'll end up posted on the this site...” the readers run for their lives.

from the goblin's dear all diary, 12th Dec., 1996

Dear all,
Snow smothers the senses yet Geneva, as if in some pre-Christman pagan binge, is covered in posters of a woman posing in uninspiring underwear probably meant for "those with the forlorn hope of prizing their spouses from the television and the six-pack" but instead attracting far more attention from other women who promptly sprawl ungratuitous graffiti on them claiming that it is "male conspired sexism" and all in a city whose low 1.3 birthrate says a lot more than I would dare, - besides, as I tiptoe away, isn't there some maxim for it: "in the realm of women's interests, man is king log"

Yours aloofly,
A fleamailman

[IMG]http://i114.photobucket.com/albums/n274/phatt03/woman-television.jpg[/img]

from the goblin's dear all diary, 16th October 1997

Dear all,
Alice asked the hatter(me) "...daddy, what happens when you die...", "...well there is probably one of those new touchscreen ticket machines one sees in the station here, with the same type procedure, meaning one touches in turn; language: English, religion: church of England(remember, when in doubt say "church of England"), destination:  heaven, day: today, single/return: return(hedging one bets that is), via "Eye of the needle": no, (no, not by a long chalk), please put in coins now, only to find out that it doesn't work at the first attempt..." but by now Alice wasn't listening again since she knew "all good children go to heaven" probably because the rest of them ended up in that local primary school where she was.

sin.,flea

[img]http://i225.photobucket.com/albums/dd264/mumicimo/Ecstasy_of_Cecelia.png[/img]