the last person to post here wins

the goblin thanked the posters for their attempt to covert the inevitable course of things and sympathized deeply but alas time had given the last post once more back to its rightful goblin who loved this thread because no matter how his own fortune changed here at least he like anyone else could win just by posting but he reminded himself that this, like any other post, might well be his last so he always wanted to post something he would like to read later even if in fact he wouldn't be able to being no longer in this world "...anyway we goblins are silly about leaving pretty footprints in the snowy path of life..." he thought, "...more snow will fall and all would be forgotten but here we "tread on" on this thread then..."

I have a confession...your writing is good and a bit...........odd at that.
I like, it's funny and cute.
But it makes you a bit mysterious.
[And you kinda look like you took a dose of crazy pills. -.-] <---Not that is a bad thing.
I would like to talk to the human side of the goblin one day, but continue with this.
It's fun.
Just odd.

Leaka wrote:

I have a confession...your writing is good and a bit...........odd at that.
I like, it's funny and cute.
But it makes you a bit mysterious.
[And you kinda look like you took a dose of crazy pills. -.-] <---Not that is a bad thing.
I would like to talk to the human side of the goblin one day, but continue with this.
It's fun.
Just odd.

Leaka I knew there was a reason I liked you... this was pure gold!

(and now another, yet more terrifying than the first, "...all hail great creature of the scribblebot, what, and whence forth, come you now that knoweth of my cazy pill habit and of those mysteriousnesses that I do thus hide myself behind, this pen is yours oh great sorceress, first let me know of your bidding..." articulated the goblin somehow guessing that Leaka was used to this sort of thing, she'd heard it all before the goblin imagined as he posted his next)

the goblin, at this point, walked alone along a beach in his imagination where, having come across a washed up stick, the goblin suddenly wonders what he could write across the wet sand on this windy day, "...well, aren't you wasting your time impudent goblin..." came a very old voice somewhere outside him "... surely, you know very well that I will just wash your scribbles away with the next tide..." came the mocking sea's voice carried through its waves faintly under in the sea breeze on to the still goblin, it seemed to continue "...go ahead and write, write and be dammed for all I care since I will only wash it away..." the sea repeated again and again to the goblin who after a long while moved the stick slowly across the sand writing "for now I know the gods must envy us our mortality", after which the goblin ran up to the waves and flung the stick to the sea retorting "...ah but I, in my one little moment, can write on this sand, so take this stick and show me what it is that you, with your forever, can write then..." but the stick just floated in the water, perhaps to drift back to the goblin, perhaps not then, as the goblin walked on passed that day but never really far from its grip on him

("...something written today then..." mused the goblin winning again, adding "...come now humans, would you let me win so much, you must win too...")

the goblin didn't mind seeing "Tom & Jerry" in his childhood, only that now whenever he hears his son playing Chopin, Ravel or Debussy, on the piano that is, up pops the those cartoon images battling one another is perfect unison to those notes again, "...yes, something like, Chopin Piano Concerto No. 1 in E minor, alias "Tom gives Jerry as a gift to the girl cat, bad idea", Chopin's Piano Concerto No. 2 in F minor, alias "Tom's rival takes on Tom for the love of the girl cat, Jerry stops the duckling from committing suicide by suggesting it join a goth forum for emos, etc.,..." concluded the goblin again, his coffee was somehow sinking ever deeper into consciousness and beyond again in a slowly flowing daydream of imagination, nothing was impossible to him now he felt

Goblin you hear me out.
You have to fix your dosage of crazy pills cause they are not helping you with reality.
I am no she, I am a he.
My organs, my blood, and my noticeable[well not noticeable on the internet and maybe not to people outside the real world since you know we wears pants and underwear...mostly not as noticeable as females chest] opposite of a woman's chest is there...all say I am male
Unless those crazy pills are telling you something different and now my doctors should be taking these pills to see my real gender. <----I don't know what I am saying...I think I am on crazy pills too

(the goblin apologized profusely, "...ah human, your deception was unique, that feminine avatar had me convinced almost beyond the very point of conviction itself, how could I have possibly guessed that behind that intricate persona of femininity hid the pounding heart of a man, I do beg your forgiveness and I will be more careful in future, btw does this mean that Kellycakes is also a man too, gosh you writers do have a way with writing you know..." ventured the goblin perhaps pleased that he hadn't strayed too far from this thread after all, adding "...there is more to this place than meets the eye...", before he posted his next below)

Poirot carefully twisted his mustache into a fine point "...um, you know inspector the gray matter moves and the gray matter is telling me that there is something about this case that, how would you English put it..." the inspector looking up from the two typed texts said "...wash, Hercule, but I don't know, they look alright to me, I mean I can't make head nor tail of them though, but what of it..." the inspector shrugged "...precisely inspector, but that is what they, or should we say he or she wanted..." "...I don't follow..." "...think about it inspector, two posters posting here on the same day in the same thread, what does that tell you inspector..." the inspector looked back at him and ventured "...that they both wanted to take the last place from the goblin...", Poirot laughed "...oh la la, no inspector it tells you that snacker and kellycake or whoever they say they are, are in fact the same person..." at which point the great Ork poked his head around the door asking "...how it going with that WIFI problem flea..."

Goblin my avatar is that of a male character in a manga.
How is that a female's avatar?
A female's avatar is that of a female character. <---or that is how I have always felt...cause the females that I talk to on the internet use female characters in their avatar
I'm now going to change my ava. -.-
Goblin you are strange........

(the goblin felt that he had indeed helped bridge the gap between humans and goblins here, that dialog had brought forth understanding between them, and this all to sharp learning curve, hard as it was, was worth every miss understanding, "...you humans are very very amusing..." smiled the goblin posting his next)

the goblin is thinking of those ghosts in the past again and how stupid it is now to try to justify himself to them saying "...what can one ever do otherwise to what one has done, yes there's are always observations with hindsight but none of them will ever change what happened..." as even now those ghosts just seemed to have their palms outstretched towards the goblin in a wish to be paid, "...so what coins do I place on your eyes then to pay that ferryman to send you on then..." the goblin asked into the silence of their faces but they never replied

Leaka wrote:

Goblin my avatar is that of a male character in a manga.
How is that a female's avatar?
A female's avatar is that of a female character. <---or that is how I have always felt...cause the females that I talk to on the internet use female characters in their avatar
I'm now going to change my ava. -.-
Goblin you are strange........

It looks to me like a female, too... but then so do a lot of the male anima characters I've seen.

(and with that the goblin noticed that yet another human had turned up, "...welcome to this thread then..." the goblin said politely continuing "...every site should have a "last post" thread then I feel, it's really just a glorified chat room...", in that the goblin had never liked chat rooms per say, his being dyslexic and all that, he couldn't write on them with any clarity their having no "spell check", neither notification, nor attachments, and either way they all seemed so momentary and trivial to him, "...not that I like blogs much either, one central character and a lot of people either agreeing or disagreeing, hardly something that will hold member's attention for years in my view, not like these "last post" threads where it's a round table, mixing greed on the one hand, with exhibitionism and readability on the other...", but the goblin wasn't selling something here, he just knew that no one here was aware of the way these "last post" threads were booming across the forums at this point, besides , it was his turn he felt to post something again, saying "...I never tag a thread, it's either a post or nothing...")

the goblin lets the post write itself, he often feared that if he didn't think it wouldn't, so the simple fact of switching off the distractions, first those obvious ones and then recognizing the others too had become an objective in itself, the bistro was better than his home in this way, yes there was noise, people and clutter but they were not his, they, like the rest of it, were happening around him, not to him, then suddenly he voiced aloud to himself looking at the slot "...this life always finds tokens of value for one if one doesn't recognize real value for oneself...", so the heads in the bistro would turn towards him for a moment before they too dismissed this as yet another distraction for them

"...abracadabra..." went the goblin calling to somewhere within to show the way, well it was often like this, that something that the goblin had thought of in the day, perhaps just a line, would grow into a post of its own if he just looked long enough at the slot, no nothing planned, as if a magician had just popped his hand into the hat and pulled out a rabbit making the audience wonder in surprise, but only the magician knew the truth of what the rabbit was probably saying to him "...OK I'm the wrong rabbit, not meant for this thread am I, but mum's the word, promise..." it was saying

Goblin can I write little snippets like you as well?
I want to be an elf.

("...no need to ask me, it's not my thread here, the challenge is not what you write, nor how you write it, but taking the last place here, that's all, in fact one could win if one just posted "win" each time but I doubt anyone here could step on this stage without being more inspired..." ventured the goblin who posted his next)

the goblin, that practiced practitioner of poverty, has slowly learned through his life that poverty helps us cede the superfluous, in that any money the goblin earns goes straight on his family's needs or gets saved for the family's needs later, in fact,the goblin was almost amazed by the little he himself actually needed to be happy, everything the rich did seems either to be too much effort or too much responsibility for him

the goblin noticed not that he had to bow to the pressure of his oncoming age, slowly an unwelcome moderation to his lifestyle was being forced upon him, the goblin observed, as he struck compromise after compromise between some prison like self preservation and the wish for reckless behavior, simply the goblin lamented the truth saying "...how these consequences kill ones dashful spirit then, my youth was a folly of "no tomorrow"..." so the goblin compromises, surrendering to his growing age in real life yes, but no, there will be no such surrender on the Internet here, that was different

("...humans, you're letting my win here, I bow to your generosity NYAHAHAHAHAHA..." said the goblin)

re-post from "morning/evening" thread elsewhere

"...good morning..." said the goblin aware that, if nothing in itself was actually life threatening, then the next thing down the list automatically became the most important thing in ones life, meaning that, to this family at this point, the most important thing in the goblin's life was that the goblin goes to the shop and gets a little plastic band to stop that leaking wash basin from leaking, or else that basin will just continue leaking slowly filling the bucket below, now, the goblin, who is aware that this is, in fact, unimportant, well unimportant on the grand scale of the cosmos and the movement of the stars within that is, intends a compromise, the goblin will actually buy the little rubber band, for the sake of family unity, while expressly refuting its importance, along with humanity's importance, here, to the disinterested members of the scribblebot, something on par with Madame Bovary who, faced with how to rearrange the flowers for her husbands all so important dinner party, actually chooses white funeral carnations aware that neither her husband nor her guests would follow the subtle meaning of a message where, if nothing humans ever do is important in itself on the grand scale of the stars across the universe, one is actually free in ones own insignificance

fleamailman wrote:

if nothing humans ever do is important in itself on the grand scale of the stars across the universe, one is actually free in ones own insignificance

Yes, that is the problem I am facing. I would like to get another book published and again head to conventions, but as long as I stay an internet writer I really have no restrictions on what I can write. If I actually manage to gain some significant fame, I might be forced into the blandness of modern fantasy (I actually heard someone say that they felt modern sci-fi/fantasy was so standardized that it was written by computer programs with the actual writer only adding some mood and character flavor).

I believe at present life itself will keep me at home. My children are at the age where they are trying to make their own decisions, and actually seek my advice. I am however again getting tired with teaching, so looking for something else - and I really do enjoy writing.

("...ah but that is where we differ then mortal, I have no wish to be their type of writer, a "writer's writer" or that "best seller" type writer, for I am, and will always remain, ever anonymous here with only the goal of creating my Internet self and that other goal of knowing myself form what I have posted..." ventured the goblin trying to keep his mind off the falling rain outside and that ever dull depressive continuation of his "dailylife", "...besides..." he continued "...books are all dead, or at least their authors have set them in some sort of published cement, but not here, not now, here the author is me talking back to you before you reply, here you and I are "author/reader" then, this is live writing where the only win is to take the last post because it is the one that isn't dead yet, only those who don't post lose here..." and then the slot wondered if the goblin could hurry up because the captain could return any minute to find out that her tyranny of household chores had not been followed by her perpetrator of them, the goblin's fingers hurried across the keyboard again, somehow his morning slumbers were in deep peril he felt)

the goblin just mentioned "...I have written much about the ideas "facing the slot", "journey to self" and separately that of "creating ones Internet self here"..." continuing "...but anyway, I doubt I could have ever got people to try it straight off, so I had to have them think this was a game here knowing that slowly they would come to see it for what it really was...", the goblin tried to bridge what he was saying by concluding "...it's like they're playing peekaboo to a mirror only to shock themselves by seeing who they are by what they end up posting out of themselves..."

("...aha, still winning am I NYAHAHAHAHAHA..." laughed the goblin wringing his hands in glee and a swagger that only true goblins did well)

by now the goblin kept a truce with time saying "...if I don't trust time, it won't fluster me nor run off, and if I don't wait on time, it won't drag its feet either...", somehow, that image of a very small child being taken for a treat to the playground in the park, sprang to the goblin's mind here, as if, one is letting it free, yes, but not free enough to wonder off

The elf pondered on what he should do next. the elf was not a realistic person sometimes, but the elf was trying its best to be. The elf decided that maybe he should settle down with one project and focus on that. Instead of trying to work onto three different and new projects. But this just leads the elf to more pondering.

(the goblin would accept the elf, if the elf wanted to remain one that is, "...can the elf talk I wonder..." asked the goblin as the posted his next)

"...ah, so you want to know more about English women, mr goblin..." Emma said effortlessly ducking under the cyborg's swing that had left a gaping hole in the farm wall "...the trick mr goblin..." she continued dodging the cyborg's every trust and drawing it ever closer to the duck pond "...is..." but the goblin beat her to it saying "...is to get the cyborg to hit the cameraman I suppose Mrs Peal...", "...well no, I hadn't thought of that I mean, is to play it out till Steed gets back from the drinks bar so that I can powder my nose, actually I rather fancy this cyborg's naughty rough ways with me...", "...oh I get it, it's that "English romance" thing I suppose..." ventured the goblin, "...precisely, now cyborg I want you to beg first..." she whispered "...fab, that's it Emma..." said the cameraman "...and cut..."

repost from elsewhere

[quote author=xxxxx]
I think maybe you'll win this competition Flea - you never run out of things to say
[/quote]

"...too true..." replied the goblin, adding "...but it's a battle against ones own indifference here, first one sets a quota like perhaps "one post a day", then one asks oneself "so what in my life is worth posting", makes a text, perhaps adding a matching picture if one likes to underline it, and then posts the result across as many "last post" threads as one can so as not to lose it, and then eventually one just dies like everyone else...", at which point most people ask "but why bother then" but the goblin knew that that was the difference between a "shared" and an "unshared" life, and that most people hadn't a clue what that meant as they were probably too caught up in their "dailylife" and that bidding of the moneygod again to see it for themselves, "...their Muse sleeps I guess, that's their choice then, not mine nor ours I feel now..." felt the goblin

(The elf wants to stay an elf. -.-)
The elf ponder himself for a moment. He was being jealous and a bit emotionally touchy. He is always touchy sometimes. It's cause the elf himself was always been emotionally fragile. "I should apologize for my behavior..." the elf muttered to himself. The elf knew he was being unfair to the others, but then again to the elf felt the others were being unfair to him.

(the goblin appreciated the elf's being here, which was as it was as it should be the goblin felt, that is, a vying on this thread for the last place on it, "...the only "live" spot is this "last post" thread is the last one each time, the others, good, bad, moving or whatever, were past as in posted, published, beyond ones now..." mentioned the goblin continuing "...no, it's always the last post, while it is still unposted, that pulls me here..." and then the goblin noticed the falling, as yet, light snow out the window of his sitting room that the retreating darkness had revealed, the road to work and the days itself was going to be difficult the goblin suspected but who could avoid "being in life", it just had to be matched with imagination over the rough parts, the goblin concluded, as he set off through it again)

the goblin often paints a picture of what he sees, feeling that some intricate depiction was often a writer's equivalent of a “still life”, “... ah, and what lends better to my pen here then, than just watching others in a bistro like now I wonder...” said the goblin seated opposite someone again, “...simple, in my work I have to meet people, which spoils it in the interaction that that involves of course , but in the bistro they're mine to depict as I surmise them to be I suppose...” but the goblin took pains not to let on, that he was sketching, nor cared who they were either, only that something in the situation merited his pen again

the goblin knew that we would always be friends, "...the score is more or less the grim reaper's game here, and she does a great job at it..." said the goblin approximating her to a skeleton pointing at an hourglass with one hand while taping the goblin's empty posting slot with her index finger with the other, "...oh boy these score keepers are good..." concluded the goblin again as he once more tried to catch his evasive thoughts