the goblin's place Forum the goblin's journal

repost from the goblin's journal

pleased with his motley bunch of ill edited posts on this thread here, the goblin looked at moment across the room out the sunlit window to majestic fields beyond, then something odd struck him about the view of the sky over the old village, that for the first time in his life it all had a final end to it, a break then,  "...guess it's all past now..." he voiced as he dismissed it out of his mind agin, yes he knew that he was now looking at dungford village in a past tense where once back in geneva the unrealness of it would strike home as just another closed chapter that had had no reason to it beyond seeming to be the right thing at the right time then, yet the right in its time only underlined the fact that the goblin was now walking away from his past again

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from the goblin's journal

"...hey, don't drown before the boat sinks..." a line the goblin replied wondering if he was really saying that more for himself than for his mother upon hearing her death-wish, yet somehow the worse moments were when she half knew then, that dementia ebbed away at her in waves of more and then less awareness throughout, where those moments of awareness sometimes brought on despair, "...after all, you're looking so much better than last week...". "...am I...", she raised her hand toward him "...of course you are..." taking the hand firmly, continuing "...but you must drink more liquid now as that's doctor's orders, another coffee perhaps..." voiced the goblin sensing that she was over it if she hadn't forgotten it already

repost from the goblin's journal

"...something stronger than now remains,..." and with this bland belief the goblin faced the life to come, somehow the goblin could not believe that all this had no point, the nursing home, his mother's dementia and the ebbing of the time remaining, all this should at least mean more than just "now", perhaps the goblin should have said "...something stronger than me remains..." but it was hard for the goblin to imagine a future without a "me" or a "now", in other people perhaps but not about himself, his vanity invented loopholes that his reason couldn't accept, just goblins it seemed were no different from the rest of us

repost from the goblin's blog

clicking the link that brought him here the goblin first enjoyed the posted replies and then sat through the silence of the night fishing through his thoughts as he cast his mind back over the day, anyway, it would have been here at his computer or in bed as his day always seemed to end in a defrag, that was, before it all switched to sleep mode and the screen saver of dreams, he fished on "...ours is to witness..." a line the goblin had proposed to himself but then returned it back to the water, settling for the simpler "...it's the last gift..." something he hoped it would do towards the tally, other lines would come, yet in the morning the tally, in its turn, would be forgotten save perhaps for a line once in a while, this then was all that it was

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the not to be final post in the goblin's blog

60) the goblin somehow knew that he still had this forum to thank, its solid members and even this white square box with all its icons. the goblin's life had moved away from his blog now, the tally was debt-paid now, yet the night still returned the goblin here to reflect and write awhile, somehow the goblin knew that this should be his blog's last post, for it would become a picture over painted, too detailed, whatever, so now the goblin would just say goodbye to his past once more not that that ever happens as the night just returns him here often enough, "...reminds me then, the moon is late..." said the goblin as the sounds of the street below broke into the apartment, "...so where's that smile then..."

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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

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repost from elsewhere, the goblin relating a dream then

last night the goblin's bed had been restless, it just seemed hours had passed before finally he had drowned into that otherworld again, finding himself standing in the sitting room vaguely recognising that it was still his parent's house now, albeit with minor alterations, where those two decrepit armchairs, the ones the goblin himself had burned in the garden for their strong smell of urine or sickly white wine that his mentally failing mum had spilt herself often enough on, were new again each placed with backs facing the two windows that combined to give a decent unchanged view of the wet autumn garden and its stone gravel driveway, whereupon a car could be heard now, that soft distinct crushing sound crescendoing nearer by the long moment till it stopped as usual in view revealing itself to be a normal aluminium type car, where dad must have been either driving or at least had met her outside if simply because when they came in together, she was supporting herself on his arm, like so many times before that is, save that he was longer supporting her weight here, no, here the action was more symbolic in perfect control perhaps, and she must have decent thirty years younger here, middleaged then, as they walked together to the further of the two chairs now, where the goblin's mother let go of her husband to to sit down normally, and to simply look around herself too as she often did, while wearing clothes that the goblin clearly knew to be those he had seen many years ago, though whether not allowed to speak or not wishing to now, instead she gently adjusted one of the two enormous bracelets letting the goblin note that each rectangular matchboxed sized set emerald had six pearls set impossibly within them, simply she was thinking again, whole again then, and with that the dream ended but the goblin had imagined, when he woke up in present, that perhaps she had returned to show her gratitude for spilling her ashes in sea last november, where then the goblin too, had said nothing then either, just sometimes silence says it all

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repost from elsewhere

the goblin was thinking back this morning to the last time he saw his mother alive in the home, in merlin's cave as he called it, she was happy to see him, the goblin could see that, as she was sat up in the bed and tried to talk, not that she could really, just that her head bobbed back and forward with each popped word like little bullets from a steady machine gun, as dad fed bits of a cut pear to her mouth and, at times, she had enough strength to take one for herself from the small while plate placed in on her lap in the dull interior of her bedroom, cell room, or whatever they call them then, the day was ever gray the goblin remembers, this ceremonial like ritual never changed much, the pear, a freshly squeezed beaker of orange juice with a plastic straw, and the two of us there visiting her in a gradual goodbye, "...just, it just was, and we were there to see it out as always..." said the goblin once more, adding "...the feeling even now is one of depth, sobriety, and silence, yes, I kissed her forehead giving my promise to return..." recalled the goblin, who remembered walking away up the long corridor with dad and saying to him "...you know dad, it could be so much worse, think how lucky we are then, we are you know..." and with that dad would push those coded buttons on the ever locked door releasing us to the awaiting taxi, only to shut everything tight away behind us again, as the taxi would then pull away from merlin's cave seemingly just another time in many

repost from elsewhere

day nears its end, the goblin seated at the sitting room table is aware of the unfolding formality and pointlessness of returning to england to visit his mother one last time, and more likely the very last time too, before the inevitable that is, he felt like the rest of his life was on hold at this point while this one looming event was ever gaining on him, and, whether he embraced it or rejected it, the simple truth was that it would happen anyway and his only real course was just accepting it "...I don't know how many times I have accepted this fate already then..." related the goblin, adding  "...nor how many times more its demands for acceptance will return..."

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