the last person to post here wins

the goblin's sleeping days were passed him at this point, he was so very awake now, as he turned his mind back to what he had thought of this morning, as if feeling he should repeat it here, "...oh no, I won't compromise anymore with this "dailylife" of mine, I accept our growing old like this, becoming unemployed or retired, devoiced, those illnesses and handicaps, that loneliness and those ostracizements, even the deaths of near ones that is, in fact simply everything, I accept anything or everything that this "dailylife" might choose to throw at me now, but know this too, this mind if anything is all sharpened by it, this pen is steadied by it, and this imagination escapes right through and beyond it, for we are all prisoners of circumstance here, yes, but do you think that I am as chained on the inside too mortals, by all this cheapness then, MYAHAHAHAHA..." addressed the goblin to his "dailylife" again knowing that it could hurt or please as it wished, but that it didn't change the simply fact here, that "to live" is "to win"

repost from a "last thing your character said" thread, elsewhere

the goblin thanked Hadhafang, saying "...then think that I am writing everything here for you alone if you like...", and with that the goblin was looking across at the slot who was eying the goblin's coffee once more, the evening now promised its depth again and prehaps for that alone that goblin loved the pull of the night here, and yet the goblin also knew that there was no rush at all, nor anything to prove for that matter, no, far from it, he had known, from way back now, that these two were perhaps the biggest failings of anyone who really wanted to write something, "rushing" and "proving" that is, "...simply, they lead to regret and doubt..." he remarked out loud addressing no one, "...goblin, you've read the other posts here, but do you know who any of the characters are, I mean Aria, or Gerard, or Julian, or any of them, it's as if one is expected to know, perhaps even to cast an image up in ones mind that is, and yet what, if anything, is there to go on here when, their age, their gender, their setting, are simply missing, it's as if they forgetting that the reader is someone blind and that their, I mean, the author's job is to see for their readers...", the harlequin nodded in agreement with a Cheshire cat like grin, and then waved her index finger back and forth in one of those "tut tut" fashion women do when rubbing it in, the goblin for his part somehow knew that she was actually addressing him here, slowly, and perhaps as if to divert her attention too, he brought the coffee cup up to his lips, sipped down the last mouthful, and then returned it now empty to the edge of the old wooden desk again, saying "...well that's a tall order slot, I mean both, "being within the story itself" on the one hand, and then "explaining to the blind man" on the other, is not easy at all, but I suppose if one first became "the one", and then later one became "the other", it would work out then, perhaps this that was really what my muse was on about when she stipulated "a shared life" as one of her "three clauses" in her pact with me, funny, now it makes sense, simply one shares as a "go between" does..." and with that the penny dropped within the goblin's brain, the harlequin quietly bowed out, and slot just swallowed everything with one big enormous greedy gulp again

epost from a UK "last post" thread, just sharing

the goblin thanked xxxx for her comment, saying "...now I know I am going to amaze you though, besides, I think Britain is ready for it too, you see, here in Europe we have a metal water troff we call a "bath tab" which one can fill with hot or cold water depending on what temperature one likes, and then, when one feels its just the right temperature ones takes off ones garments, which I imagine would be those animals skins and war clubs in wales that is, where one gets into the water..." mentioned the goblin not really knowing how to continue with the concept then but he tried, continuing "....now the next bit is harder to explain but do you remember that stuff that pours out of the other poster's ears here, well it's not exactly those poster's earwax as far as I know, but it looks very much like it, anyway, it's called "soap" and it melts ones body grease and grime in the water..." at which point the goblin wondered if xxxx hadn't somehow collapsed on the floor in utter shock here, so the goblin thought it best to wait and see before he would continue in his next post, "...now where are the other poster's socks when you need them..." went the goblin hoping he hadn't gone too quickly here

repost from "what did you character say to you" thread elsewhere,

the goblin thanked xxxxx, saying "...then think that I am writing everything here for you alone if you wish...", and with that the goblin was looking across at the slot who was eying the goblin's coffee once more, the evening now promised its depth again and perhaps for that alone that goblin loved the pull of the night here, and yet the goblin also knew that there was no rush at all, nor anything to prove for that matter, no, far from it, he had known, from way back now, that these two were perhaps the biggest failings of anyone who really wanted to write something, "rushing" and "proving" that is, "...simply, they lead to regret and doubt..." he remarked out loud addressing no one, "...goblin, you've read the other posts here, but do you know who any of the characters are, I mean Aria, or Gerard, or Julian, or any of them, it's as if one is expected to know, perhaps even to cast an image up in ones mind that is, and yet what, if anything, is there to go on here when, their age, their gender, their setting, are simply missing, it's as if they forgetting that the reader is someone blind and that their, I mean, the author's job is to see for their readers...", the harlequin nodded in agreement with a Cheshire cat like grin, and then waved her index finger back and forth in one of those "tut tut" fashion women do when rubbing it in, the goblin for his part somehow knew that she was actually addressing him here too, slowly, and perhaps as if to divert her attention, he brought the coffee cup up to his lips, sipped down the last mouthful, and then returned it now empty to the edge of the old wooden desk again, saying "...well that's a tall order slot, I mean both, "being within the story itself" on the one hand, and then "explaining to the blind man" on the other, is not easy at all, but I suppose if one first became "the one", and then later one became "the other", it would work out then, perhaps this then was really what my muse was on about when she stipulated "a shared life" as one of her "three clauses" in her pact with me, funny, now it makes sense, simply one shares as a "go between" would..." and with that the penny had dropped within the goblin's brain, the harlequin quietly bowed out, and slot just swallowed everything with one big enormous greedy gulp

in fact the valhalla site, the trolls there, and their writing style had flashed back in the goblin's mind his school days once more, simply the goblin remembered the time when he had turned up at some bible reading session at the bequest of his then girlfriend who, like all girlfriends of the time, probably saw their boyfriend as some cross between ones shopping accessory and ones very own pet "man friday", not that the goblin minded nor understood any of that, he was after all, besotted, desperate, or both, only that the moment the bible itself was ceremoniously passed to him to read in his turn he realized that he couldn't see the actual words for something he had smoked the night before, so out came those improvised words "sorry, I am a dyslexic but this is a cross that he hath given me to bear here everyone hallelujah" as the goblin then passed the bible to the next person in the now somewhat jaw dropped line of Bible readers, and perhaps those dilated pupils probably gave the game away too, so it was little wonder that she, there and then, dumped the heartbroken goblin to make her conquests elsewhere, just that the goblin, for his part, never smoked after that, pity

repost from elsewhere, sharing again

the goblin could relate, since the poster's words about the troll's site were true, but in fact, there seemed not much, if any, actual animosity directed towards the goblin at this point, simply they had accepted him, or sulked off, so the game had entered into the next phase of replying to the content rather than hitting at the persona, the goblin repeated "...once they saw what happened to "yorkshire troll" first, and then "thicky troll" next, and without my resorting to rudeness nor crudeness, they probably realized that their personas were both in view and on the line here, and that the stakes were higher than they could afford then...", perhaps too, they even guessed that when the goblin had said casually remarked of himself as a "black belt" in "last post" posting, that it had something to do with having years of those very same barbs, "...anyway, the real difference between books and live writing is that the author gets the chance to correct his mistakes where he is wrong, while clobbering the critic where he is right, simply, this is much more fun..." mused the goblin

today the goblin, his tour being canceled, probably though lack of victims that is, has once more been let loose on humanity in Geneva's most prestigious city center that, though lack of any WIFI choice, has forced him into some Ritzy tearoom where, seated near some ladies on the next tables drinking their Earl Gray tea to neatly cut cucumber sandwiches , shoots down espressos neat while pneumatically pounding the remains of his brain to heavy metal under his headphones, only to notice that his laptop is running low of power, "...no choice I guess..." he utters as the goblin then moves across the "children's play area" where, seated on a chair about the height of his shoes, puts the laptop on the low table plugging it into the sole wall socket available only to be befriended by toddlers fascinated by those smileys next to the slot, and yet, the goblin doesn't explain that they are serious tokens of communications used to express abstracts, intellectual or otherwise, knowing that probably their mommies would understand all this even less than these toddlers would, in fact, the goblin just concluded that perhaps this morning he didn't quite blend into the scenery as much as he had hoped for as he typed on regardless, in fact, he felt too that the toddlers would make very good trolls in a year or two

repost from a "last post" thread on a trolls site

the goblin showed up readying an improvised speech, he started "...your majesty, fellow trolls and trollops, normal people and lone member xxxxx...", the goblin coughed to clear his throat, continuing "...a troll, if I may be so bold, is not someone who gets banned for making irrelevant posts on "such and such's" site, far from it, he is someone who can turn up on that site, start a random thread there with no subject matter at all and which, within a space of a week or so, becomes their most viewed and replied to thread there...", the goblin's coffee was tasting good as he looked out across the gray city of Geneva again, in fact, the goblin never really felt himself to be a troll, only that what he did over 40 to 50 "last post" threads now could easily be interpreted as such, he continued "...to be on this site is an honor, well for you lot that is, for here too I will fight to be last, thank you mortals MYAHAHAHAHAHA...", to which he put the note pad down on the desk again, his bistro, and that Internet conquest awaited, he simply borrowed Dali's words saying "...the difference between me and the trolls is that I am the troll then..."

Hummm.... Ok that was amusing and mind warping at the same time.

the goblin thanked Urs, saying "...simply, "live writing" is very different from "book writing", first off, the post can't be long since one is competing with facebook here, next off, the hit rate is a pretty fair indicator of ones readership against participation, and last off, the work and the author are just two sides of the same coin here, in that, it is very much the same difference as that between "those films one views second hand" since a film is a record of acting, and "theater where the audience is views the acting first hand"...", at which point the goblin felt there was something else to add here, continuing "...the total number of hits to a thread tells one of its readership, and the number of hits divided by the number of posts gives the participation rate, some "last post" threads I do have a high readership rate, while others have a high large participation rate, and yet as much I understand the workings of these threads now, the fact that I remain anonymous, simply means that none of what I have written here matters beyond the fact I enjoy "live writing" far more than I would "book writing" since you and I are here..."

repost from elsewhere, someone replying on a long dead site that sent a notification recalling the goblin there

the goblin slowly typed the reply to the "last post" thread that the stranger had called him with a simple "I win" post, saying "...I guess that we are the only ones here now...", but that was fate then, that some sites worked while other didn't, and now, here looking across these dead posts, the goblin saw fun usernames which read like "here lies so and so, RIP" and living texts reading like unanswered epitaphs to a time before then, "...so this site becomes a cemetery now, and sobriety has seeded in what remains of it..." typed the goblin leaving that lone line as his reply as he walks away in silence

the goblin's madness continued with the goblin explaining "...in the old age home next to where I live, I always see two types, that "fighting on" type, and the other "letting go" type, but their lesson here goes largely unnoticed by society in general where they're just ignored, hushed up or tucked away like this, but all the same, it is something so simple, simply, that if one is lucky to live to retirement in relatively good health, one had better take into account the meaning of remaining mentally active in ones old age before one arrives at it...", in fact, the goblin felt that he had seen, by now, just too many unprepared old people mentally rot and flounder in an enviable situation of "retirement, rest and freedom" because they hadn't the slightest idea what to do with themselves..." stated the goblin again, adding "...oh no, it's not "rot in hell", it's actually "rot in heaven" then..."

the goblin didn't trust himself with clocks then, "...you see when one starts looking at the slot here, either thinking up some reply, or something new, its tediously slow until the inspiration crosses the mind and then it's a rush trying to see if one can write it down before it escapes again, which is normally where those two problems of the right "right words" and any possible miss interpretations step in, thus what looks so simple, simply isn't, ah but by that time the clock is up to its old trick of jumping that minute hand again..." said the goblin knowing that the real win was actually landing the post, not tagging the thread here

repost from "what are you thinking" thread, elsewhere

"...well I'm thinking about that gap, between that of ones "internal" self and ones "physical" self, again..." mentioned the goblin, adding "...the question now is how to create an "Internal" self that helps me come to terms with the demise of me "physical" self here, as summed up in the idea "the act replaces the actor, the writer by his creation" I suppose...", in fact the goblin clearly understood that no one could escape their own age, only that the goblin was never aware of his age, nor even of being here, when he was creating something, simply inside he was alway oblivious and remained ever that same vivid imagination that he had always been when creating something

repost from troll's site "last post" thread

"...oh no, don't bother to read my stuff please, a troll's golden rule is simple, "one writes for oneself, one reads for oneself too", lose sight of that and one risks becoming normal, and we hate being normal don't we..." said the goblin, adding "...in fact, you trolls should turn off the notifications here, vow not to look at the replies, and above all, not post back then, and yet the luxury in this life is "not doing what one should be doing for what one wants to do here" isn't it mortals MYAHAHAHAHAHAHA...", and with that the goblin knew that the trolls couldn't resist themselves, mind you, neither could the goblin, he too, hated that which life had lined up for him

repost from a troll's site "last post" thread, just sharing

"...thanks..." repeated the goblin at everyone at the xxxxxx site, somehow the goblin felt torn between the trolls on the thread and the ghosts in the back of his mind "...ghosts, I would like you to meet the trolls who communicate in barbs, heckles and offensive material..." the ghosts smile, and then, "...trolls, here are my ghosts who communicate in past images, heckles and strong associations with everyday objects..." the trolls smile back, introductions over he lets them get on with it.

in fact no one knew if Obama was "any good", just that he was "so much better", and with that the goblin too put his faith in Obama, and yet the goblin also suspected this crash of 2009/10 was now imminent, and that any correction in the market could somehow be "delayed", "accepted in defeat", or "fought tooth and nail", or any mix of those scenarios perhaps then, and yet, still this crash would just flood in like a some financial tsunami, if only because it seems natural that these monitory faultlines inevitably and invariably correct themselves taking their investors and everyone else with them each time, "...here we are again then, any reason why this time is should be any different, bar in possible magnitude perhaps..." ventured the goblin

morning and the goblin starts the day with the usual "what have I forgotten" and then, when he sees he has forgotten nothing, forgets everything till his next "what have I forgotten" moment comes some time later in the day, it is as if he pops in and out his "dailylife" in this way then, "...oh no, I don't daydream during my day as that is my normal state I "down to earth" at times..." joked the goblin while his body did the household chores unnoticed by him

I'm still trying to process what you said about acting...

(the goblin thanked Urs, saying "...actually, looking at my inbox this is one of my quieter threads, resembling very much a blog, which it isn't or at least isn't intended to be not that I mind, but anyway, turning back to the difference between "book writing" and "live writing", which a equated to "the theater" and "the cinema" before, simply the book writing market share is in decline, for every new book reader there are perhaps ten or twenty people who turn up on the Internet as a reader/writer, I have a readership and feedback that rivals the average book writer if I add together the hit count across 50 last post threads, not that this matters since I will remain anonymous by choice and is merely a result of my journey to self here...", the goblin morning had started well enough, the low clouded sky seemed to hold in the warmth for the short time before the sun would break through at midday where in the afternoon the goblin would be at the unemployment office where his age and lack of any real qualification would be all too apparent, not that he was giving up his present line of work, only that, what with the crisis, it had dwindled down into something part time, something fun as ever but not serious enough for the "man of the house", the goblin continued "...it is all too easy to drown in "dailylife" at this point, what stops that though is the understanding that my "dailylife" is their set of values, my role in this life is simply to find my own set of values since deep down, much as I love the trappings of "dailylife" and the trinkets of the moneygod I somehow know that I am not a commodity even if it is a labor exchange...")

"...so what are friends here then..." said the goblin who had had to slowly let his real life friends drift away years ago after his wife told him to get rid of one, the goblin explained "...in marriage one does these things of course, but, like a recession, or an illness, or some other bad experience, one never quite goes back to the innocence of the point before it happened, does one...", and so the goblin now understood that, as sad as that truth may seem, that those friendships were, up to a point, replaced by all this virtual socialization here, that is, by today's masked ball of the Internet, where a person's details don't mean anything, nor really mattered because they couldn't be proven one way or the other, "...amazing, when you think about it, it's all just someones "written words" written and replied to someone else's "written words" that is, just a gathering of "written words" here then...", the goblin laughed continuing "...in fact, we would think this all extremely surreal if we weren't so used to it by now that we don't even notice it any more..."

"...happy April fools day..." said the goblin knowing that that was probably the right word for sleep-deprivation resulting from trying to take over the internet by stealth, even if his email inbox resembled a jungle of "last post" replies, sanity by the way was now that faint dot on the horizon long behind him, somehow Star Trek springs to the goblin's mind with kirk's words as the goblin repeats " dart dadar di di di di dee....Internet, the final frontier, to boldly start "last post" threads where no goblin has gone before, to meet an endless stream of engaging dotty humans....da dar etc..." then adding "...Ok Slotty you can beam everyone else up now..." the goblin pressed his "post" button

the goblin noted that even on a "last post" the subject of McDonald's was appropriate because it showed two diverging concepts, one of "finding oneself though posting" and the other of "losing oneself through McDonald's", "...OK both are not truly possible I know, but they do underline the concept trying to keep ones head above ones "dailylife" here, or just drowning in it..."

"...so what are friends here then..." said the goblin who had had to slowly let his real life friends drift away years ago after his wife told him to get rid of one, the goblin explained "...in marriage one does these things of course, but, like a recession, or an illness, or some other bad experience, one never quite goes back to the innocence of the point before it happened, does one...", and so the goblin now understood that, as sad as that truth may seem, that those friendships were, up to a point, replaced by all this virtual socialization here, that is, by today's masked ball of the Internet, where a person's details don't mean anything, nor really mattered because they couldn't be proven one way or the other, "...amazing, when you think about it, it's all just someones "written words" written and replied to someone else's "written words" that is, just a gathering of "written words" here then...", the goblin laughed at it, continuing "...in fact, we would think this all extremely surreal if we weren't so used to it by now by now that we don't even notice it any more..."

reply from elsewhere, someone who had offered to send her sexy pictures to the goblin

the goblin thanked the poster, but simply reminded her that everyone here might not be who they claim to be, so that the poster could indeed be the sexiest woman in Australia on the one hand, or, then again, he could be the local drag queen transvestite having a ball at the expense of the male member's here, the goblin mentioned "...well, that's the freedom and the pitfall of this internet isn't it, that, while one is unknown, so is everyone else too, simply we give the benefit of the doubt to any given persona at this point, since we ask ourselves why would that persona be lying now, not that that makes it the truth though, so for that reason alone I am the most honest one here, since you've probably guessed that I am not a goblin in real life...", and then the goblin noticed that queen bot too had made her usual barb last night, which the goblin in his preoccupation hadn't got round to replying to, something he felt he should make a amends to now, saying "...thank you O great queen, somehow my Monday wouldn't have been complete without your barb to crown it then..."