oh how I hate editing posts, so why not join me at it

[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere

the goblin welcomed those who welcomed him, simply saying "...what I post into my posts is what I get out of them, yes but also they are a reflection of myself, perhaps all posts reflect their poster in that way...", and with that thought the goblin's mind went back to a picture in the london's national gallery where a well painted portrait of a man is looking down at one with the caption if you have nothing better than silence, then remain silent, yet the goblin hated that caption, "...yes but how will I even know if I ever had something better than silence if I remained silent..." asked the goblin to the man in that portrait


20 105 806

[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere

the goblin often felt the truth of what he had once said then, that each post was dead at the moment it was posted, "...no, the bit that is alive to me, is when the slot is still wide open and every possible choice is in front of one to choose from here..." said the goblin knowing that each time he had eventually posted, it had come from a short span of inspiration, so it was thit surge moment then the goblin loved as he weaved each idea into its text, the goblin continued "...and then, at some later point, one comes across some picture somewhere that seems to have the same idea as the text itself, like a vindication of that text even, where, upon adding the picture to the text like some fashion statement the post becomes complete and ready to be set adrift on forumland and forgotten afterwards that's all...", just something the goblin did habitually then, simply he did all this to forget all this where none of this actually mattered as the posts themselves were externals quiet beyond his control, and yet the person that resulted from the practice of posting was not external at all, for that would become this goblin here and his persona for the rest of his days


20 106 897

[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere

"...no problem everyone, my fault, guess I am pretty random at times..." voiced the goblin now looking at that falling snow through those large french windows again, where only a fair sized yellow "M" stuck tight upon the frozen glass betrayed any reality here, where ever this growing old cold reality the goblin tried so hard to counter balance here was his virtual escape then, "...me, I deal with ghosts I suppose, most writers do, they pop up offering their candidacy whenever I ask myself "so now, what's worth posting at this point", or while I sift through my thoughts as if to prove, to myself at least, that I too, am not quite as dead as those ghost are...", meanwhile the constant falling snow just seemed like a slowly closing curtain upon the growing old reality outside, his dailylife as the goblin often called it was slow but relentless


20 106 920

[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere, the "what are you listening to" thread

"...ok humans, just wake me up when it's over please..." went the goblin

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3FHCGW7m4K8



xxxx