write something nonsensical, surreal, silly.

[brinny]

Yes. No.

 

[brinny]

*quizzes silently*

 

[brinny]

and just as silently there slowly, and ever so delicately, emerges, from the ashes.....

 

[brinny]

a sprout.

 

[brinny]

It could hardly be seen. No one was aware it was there.

 

[brinny]

yet, on it grew.

 

[fleamailman]

afternoon, and the bistro claims the goblin once more, while around him from all directions is lots of noise of lively people, where their banging of plates, cups and utensils fill the room with only imagined motion since the goblin has his back turned both to it and their chattering against the pointless radio music above, in fact, the goblin is about as unthere as possible then, so no, instead the goblin is quietly here on-line posting something backstage before he does the rounds on those forum/venues he loves, one thing though, the goblin sits across from an old woman with parkinson's disease who has just eaten lunch, where of course it isn't the done thing to talk to her so the goblin just ignores her, and eye contact too is best avoided, and besides that, neither her nor the goblin would know what to say if they struck up a conversation, and then again what would they say if they ever met again, after all personal space in society is at a premium, "...and what if she turned out to be strange anyway..." muttered the goblin to himself, so this then sums up the fear that most people have about other people in dailylife, and is partly why the goblin himself has neither his age nor his photo on-line, and then suddenly she calls for the bill, so the goblin and her momentarily smile at one another as she rises from the table that the goblin has pulled out toward himself to let her pass by, "...thank you..." she says, "...you're welcome..." replies the goblin as she walks by as if this too near for comfort challenge had mattered, "...well city life is all this then, but my time on forumland won't be like this then..." promised the goblin, adding "...ok, so I won't talk to myself aloud, nor talk to strangers in dailylife, but I will do both upon these threads...", and with that the moneygod noticed that one of his minions was fast slipping through his cheap net of suburban reality to an open sea of forumland and beyond it

 

[brinny]

and grew. still, no one noticed it was there. no one cared.

 

[brinny]

Until....

 

[fleamailman]

(until, the goblin confessed to reading every word, saying "...I like your writing style indeed...")

the goblin was happy by default saying "...honestly there are so many ways that I could be unhappy...", and either way the goblin, in some moment of madness, had signed some muse's pact which just went honesty, a shared life and a thick skin, so he simply repeated "...to live is to win, to post is to win too, but to build up those posts is to triumph...", the slot wondered what was for desert then as the goblin just enjoyed the calm of his "coffee-computer-self" triangle "...no idea slot, but I'll come up with something, you won't go hungry..." promised the goblin but it was never the result anyway, only the means to that result that mattered

 

[fleamailman]

the goblin wants to be by the seaside now, he wants to paddle the cold retreating surf just above those crashing waves looking for that ever elusive carnelian that shines with the reflected setting sunlight on his way homewards, somehow the goblin knew too that if he ever found that gem it would be a gift from the great sea herself to him alone, something worth far more than anything a jeweler could ever offer

 

[brinny]

soundin' suspiciously like Proverbs

 

[fleamailman]

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 the grip that it held on him still

 

[brinny]

and the jewel, elusive still, floated onward

 

[brinny]

Proverbs, it seemed had clouded over....again

 

[brinny]

me thinks those gemz gotz wingz or sumthin'

 

[brinny]

perfection is a mist of delusion, it is.

 

[brinny]

and a harsh, killer of a task master.

 

[brinny]

chainz n' me don't getz along

 

[brinny]

loathesome things they are...forged together link by link by link...