write something nonsensical, surreal, silly.

[Forge3]

Truth is the real and will not pass. Those things which are not of Truth will fade and disappear. They are like shadows that receed in the presence of Light.

 

[brinny]

a mournful soul, am i

 

[Forge3]

a mournful soul, am i

What is it you grieve? Let it melt into what you believe. If you have a hard time to cope put your troubles into Hope. And yes we have reason to Hope it is how in toughest times we may cope.

Your servant,

Mark

 

[brinny]

Awwww thanks Mark. My heart is burdened. It's a permeating, mournful sadness. Yes, i know that we have hope. And thank you for your edifying words, that even rhymed. Pray for me, brother. God bless you.

 

[Forge3]

Awwww thanks Mark. My heart is burdened. It's a permeating, mournful sadness. Yes, i know that we have hope. And thank you for your edifying words, that even rhymed. Pray for me, brother. God bless you.

I hope to include you in all my prayers. It truly saddens me you feel burdened. I simply rhymed in keeping with the spirit of this thread (creative writing). I am not sure what grieves or burdens you though. Perhaps if you are willing to share we can together find the Lord's healing in this matter. You can always send me a message if you do not want to post it here. I am truly here for you.


Your servant always,

Mark

 

[brinny]

We're all burdened, brother. Me, with many things.....but mostly, a sadness that i got distracted from my "Anchor". I need prayer for my Abba to intervene and minister and strenghten as only He can. your prayers would be most appreciated. Thank you.

 

[Forge3]

We're all burdened, brother. Me, with many things.....the future of this nation, issues in my family, a knife put in my face a few nights ago, and just a sadness that i got distracted from my "Anchor". I need prayer for my Abba to intervene and minister and strenghten as only He can. your prayers would be most appreciated. Thank you.

I am your servant always as that is the great commission God has given me. To be the servant of servants. Sorry for the trauma you experienced. Anytime you want to confide in me and I am online I will hold your words as sacred. I want to be your friend if you will accept my friendship

 

[fleamailman]

("...I like this thread..." went the goblin, adding "...let's see in we can find common ground then...")

"...simply, you and I are anonymous, the number of posts, the hit rate, and all the other paraphernalia which goes up to create any member on a site actually means nothing because nothing can be proved here, nothing except the fact that I am writing this and you are reading it..." said the goblin whose goal remained to know himself from what he posted, adding "...you can't know the future, there is no way to know it because it is not here yet, but perhaps one can know oneself, because oneself is here all the time..."

 

[brinny]

the parentheses....at first glance, they seemed a lopsided grin.

 

[brinny]

forums are a cloak of sorts.....they offer temporary reprieve, and to some, a sounding board. To others, a safe playground, where crumpled souls come out from their hiding places, rendering a safe place to speak.

Truth is not necessarily absent.

 

[fleamailman]

the goblin looks up from the laptop out the window where the cold but sunny Chamonix afternoon shows a man with some muscular disorder erratically trying to help himself up onto the curb from a wheelchair where his carer hasn't quite got the knack it seems, so the goblin thinks nothing of it till the carer succeeds in getting the front wheels up and where in her first step it hits the goblin that she too limps badly, after which they then cross slow clumsy loving glances at one another and then laugh happily on their way together as it nothing had happened, that is, as if they were no different from anyone else, which of course they weren't any different, save perhaps that the goblin had now caught a bit of their happiness in his post here he felt, goblins often stole from life like this, "...we're not to be trusted you know..." whispered the goblin again with a smile

 

[brinny]

no one is.

 

[brinny]

the goblin looks up from the laptop out the window where the cold but sunny Chamonix afternoon shows a man with some muscular disorder erratically trying to help himself up onto the curb from a wheelchair where his carer hasn't quite got the knack it seems, so the goblin thinks nothing of it till the carer succeeds in getting the front wheels up and where in her first step it hits the goblin that she too limps badly, after which they then cross slow clumsy loving glances at one another and then laugh happily on their way together as it nothing had happened, that is, as if they were no different from anyone else, which of course they weren't any different, save perhaps that the goblin had now caught a bit of their happiness in his post here he felt, goblins often stole from life like this, "...we're not to be trusted you know..." whispered the goblin again with a smile

the goblin "feels"?

 

[fleamailman]

"...well I promised to return this morning then..." mentioned the goblin in passing, yes, while also feeling heavily those moments till the kettle would boil in the kitchen alcove once more, "...first the coffee, and then the post, that's my way isn't it..." voiced the goblin reminding himself that there was no need to rush, far from it, each post had to be in tune with the muse's pact, continuing "...or else, what's the point of writing, we know that, don't we slot...", the slot just opened its mouth again, by now it barely needed to say "feed me" to be fed , saying instead "...goblin, when you look at the posts, you are with others and it's all fun and games, ah but when you write you are alone with yourself, that's all, so discard all those motivations to write for their cheapness that just makes you so cheap with them, forget the others too, think of writing solely as your journey to self here, just write to know who you are by what you post then, oh and while you're at it, hurry up and get us that coffee will you goblin...", the harlequin felt the need to add the settings again, but the dull advancing day hardly seemed worth mentioning at this point, preferring instead to point out the fact that the sun todayruled the bright sky, even if the moneygod ruled the city of geneva below it, leaving the goblin to contemplate what he would then post next, though there was never any rush he knew, the post would just come of itself in its good time

 

[fleamailman]

and then the night fell, and with it that rain as promised in the forecast, where the sound of cars driving on the wet road now told the goblin that the hot summer was slowly giving way to the start of autumn, "...the best time of the day in the best season of the year..." ventured the goblin who loved the colors of the declining landscape, the earlier evenings and cosiness of something to read and reflect upon, or just a spate on his computer then, "...actually I'm just happy that I live in a life where I can try to be the last poster here, not that I will ever do my last post and actually stop outright, ah no, I am going to do posts until my very last one.." mused the goblin in view of the ever encroaching time and season

 

[Forge3]

I am buying a stairway to heaven with bread that has no leaven.

 

[fleamailman]

I am buying a stairway to heaven with bread that has no leaven.

("...kudo, I love it when it's beautifully rendered like that..." mentioned the goblin)

 

[brinny]

autumn is brinny's fav'rite time of year.....a time of burnished grace, muted sounds, and the world's pace seems to slow.....

 

[brinny]

I am buying a stairway to heaven with bread that has no leaven.

quite poetic, brother.

 

[brinny]

Leo Buscaglia loved leaves...he once had his students fill his class room with them.

“I still get wildly enthusiastic about little things... I play with leaves. I skip down the street and run against the wind.” Leo F. Buscaglia