write something nonsensical, surreal, silly.

[brinny]

it requires a certain kind of abandonment of the fearless kind to explore what has not been explored before...after all, even thinkin' of gettin' outside that box can be quite terrifying, but alas, staying in them can be the death of us

 

[brinny]

i just saw something, well heard it really, causing me to peer out my window....it was a voice akin to Anne Ramsey's gravel-throated projection asking if this was a place to buy a soda....and there, crossing the street was, very bent over, and hunched but yet with a fierce-like agelessness cloaked in the epitome of black nondescript-ness going straight to a group of about four, one having a stroller.....they appeared frozen in their tracks as she came up to them still asking in that raspingly abrasive way uniquely hers. It was then that I realized they weren't frozen in their tracks at all as they very graciously answered her in a manner akin to an embrace of sorts. And there it was, that exquisite test that we all encounter, and that they aced without a second thought, perhaps little realizing that perhaps they had just encountered an angel unawares.

 

[brinny]

all of heaven pours forth as burdened-down shackled souls are set free and dancing commences to inexplicably exquisite resoundings of grace, mercy and healing.

Let it rain.

 

[fleamailman]

("...nice posts, keep them coming..." went the goblin thinking brinny was on to something now)

repost from elsewhere

tonight the goblin feels very old because his daughter phones "...daddy, mum's night off, could you come home at little late tonight as my boyfriend..., ...", somehow the goblin remembers the line was "have fun but be back by midnight though" where he actually says "...look, I have to be back by midnight tonight because I work tomorrow but is that ok with you two then...", later, as the goblin's coffee is drunk straight in the bistro, the goblin somehow addresses the imaginary barman moaning "...us parents these days, I don't know what the world is coming to..."

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[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere

it seemed that whenever the goblin opened his eyes he aged like wendy, yet whenever he closed his eyes he became childlike like peter pan, and then he laughed aloud at himself saying "...um, on second thoughts, I think I'll go through life with my eyes half open instead..."

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[brinny]

it started in 2nd grade....a shutting down of sorts as i retreated into a silent world of reading profusely, not speaking, and prone to number avoidances. it is a mystery to this day how, in the fourth grade i ever tied for first place in a spelling bee, since i barely spoke. It also remained a mystery why i was so confoundedly not speaking for i don't remember how it started or why and that it wasn't until much later that it left as quickly as it had come. Although it may have had something to do with dancing in the rain and grace and the beauty of mind, heart, and soul that is raised from ashes much like the sun's first rays breaking through a tunnel of the darkest night....and with it a voice, that come hell or high water, found the audacity to dare to speak.

 

[fleamailman]

("...see how it's coming together brinny..." smiled the goblin, adding "...and it only gets more real as you go along now...")

repost from elsewhere, the goblin replying to the persona of a magician initiate about livewriting

"...because the slot will just follow you now magician..." the goblin replied, explaining "...you see, it's not because you aren't on forumland that the post isn't there within you waiting..." the goblin lifted his hand and splayed three fingers saying "...no, the magic isn't in these fingers, the fingers can only focus the spell...", the goblin held the three finger once more in front of him again, saying "...ah these fingers are just pointers now, there to help you focus on "what you know", "how you feel" and "what you actually see" too, and now cast another spell again then...", the slot had been watching, it too wondered what the magician could conjure up under this constant practice, for the magician's imagination and fluidity was definitely evident but it needed constant focus and practice to turn it into magic

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[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere, the "what are you thinking" thread a couple of years ago

the goblin was thinking about how little television he actually watched now that the computer seemed to offer everything in its place, only that in its freedom of choice the computer, unlike the television, didn't force one to watch the news, so the goblin felt that he was often behind in keeping up with the news, saying "...ah, but on the other hand, the news of late does seem somewhat one-sided, where I'm almost glad to be missing it even, and to explain why let's imagine for example, that the british were striking possible IRA sites in ireland from the air, and then massing ground troupes on the boarder for a massive incursion, and then on top of this, that the british were then to announce on behalf of the suffering irish that there was no humanitarian crisis whatsoever, and where, if this was really the case then, that perhaps then the news coverage might possibly be portrayed slightly differently by the american media here, well at least slightly differently than it has in its coverage about the gaza incursion by israel..."

27 427http://www.christianforums.com/misc.php?do=whoposted&t=7670171 4941

 

[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere

the goblin enters the bistro, heads for his usual seat and there in the corner is a couple who pay a moment's strained silent close attention to the goblin's entry into the scene here, the goblin tries to give the impression that he is not interested by simply making his actions of setting up his laptop clearer than usual, as they, in their turn, return to themselves in a conversation that will become more and more imitate as they lower their guard again, their infidelity is clear since married couples in bistros invariably talk shop and are indifferent to others

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[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere

by now, the goblin knew subjectively that writing wasn't what most people imaged it to be, whereas most writers too, find out too late that it isn't what they had bargain for either, explaining "...isn't there always a risk of self deception here, that once one has built up some shared life with a muse, that is once one had succeeded in whatever goal one envisages, that one can then simply dump her, unshare one's life, and somehow go back to some superficial surface living like before, but that's not the way it goes, ah no, for this sharing, perhaps like keeping a dream diary, or like those people who see ghosts then, is something where the practice reinforces its sharedness...", where perhaps the goblin was just one of those fools who hadn't bothered to read the small print of that muse's pact again, the part that read warning, last sanity check: you can't get her back into her bottle once you let her out, are you quite sure you want to sign the pact with a muse now

36

 

[brinny]

a muse not able to prompt the release of happy cells from her subject is not worth her weight in salt. For a competent or gifted teacher she is not. Anybody knows that creativity is unleashed from happy cells otherwise known as endorphins, that come out to play when one laughs. And play is akin to giving a vitamin shot to aliveness of the creative kind. Surely she knows this. Surely she knows she has failed. And has failed miserably and should be held accountable for that failure. the fact is, her subject should not be beholden to such a contract, fine print n' all. She has been criminally negligent and has lied about her intentions to be so from the gitgo, and is, as of this writing, trespassing and should be sent packing for being the defective fraud that she is. Otherwise she should graciously withdraw, returning voluntarily from whence she came, leaving only a disintegrating poof behind.

 

[fleamailman]

("...ah no, I'm never in control of my muse brinny..." replied the goblin thankful for the sentiment then, adding "...but I wouldn't want it any other way either, where outside me I would like the predictable, whereas inside me I would like a roller coaster ride I suppose...")

repost from elsewhere, a bad moment in the past

june 20th and the goblin is thinking that it's his mother's birthday today, wants to phone to say "hello" and to show that he is thinking of her, but knowing that she is too senile to understand anything anymore, so instead he just admits to himself something saying "...funny, before when she was all there before we could talk for hours, and later, when she is gone on, we'll be able to talk to one another again I suppose, but now I am just silent here with her in my silent thoughts...", and "happy birthday mum" those thoughts are telling him now, yet they don't want to remain silent at all, ah no, some things like this just scream inside one

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[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere, welcoming someone who wanted to meet writers

"...I mean, there you go then, and a very wise choice indeed..." started the goblin in his welcome here, seeing that xxxxx's seeking the company of writertypes here was better than that of zombies because zombies were more mobile and had special requirements whereas writertypes, well they kind of stayed put, and once they were firmly planted in front of their computer needed very little aftercare, and then the goblin felt that he really had to confess something, saying "...well, you know how those zombies keep telling you what they like to eat, well I hate to admit this to you but it does rather look as if there aren't any zombies on the forum, pity, but instead I'm sure we can offer you some filtered coffee and homemade cookies if you like, which I hope makes up for what they think we all evidently lack here..."

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[brinny]

("...ah no, I'm never in control of my muse brinny..." replied the goblin thankful for the sentiment then, adding "...but I wouldn't want it any other way either, where outside me I would like the predictable, whereas inside me I would like a roller coaster ride I suppose...")

perhaps it was your mention of the fine print that prompted a muse of my own...only diff'rence is, i'm fully in control of mine, for she is me and there is no fine print. After all, if there must be fine print it almost appears that the one obliged to it is surely entrapped by it and that there is payback a'comin'....y'know like that old adage pay the piper, yeah, that. as if that piper is loooming ahead waiting and salivating as the clock inches towards that last tock and inevitably ticks no more.

 

[brinny]

i have fallen head over heels....yes, 'tis true.....much to my surprise i fell hard for this....hmmm., not sure what to call him...cuz he's not yer average fearlessly masculineness-exuding detective hero who saves the girl, sweeps her off her feet and leaves her breathlessly and hopelessly smitten. As a matter of fact he's quite the opposite. Well sure he's a detective and he's brilliant, just idiosyncriatic-ly so, and he's skeered o' ev'rything, as in phobic to the nth degree. He's VULNERABLE. I mean he oozes it. And he freezes in his tracks at the most inopportune moments, especially when his female assistant needs him to at least help her and perhaps USE the gun he's holding to get her outta the clutches of an armed thug whose draggin' her off. But for some reason i don't have a clue about, i forgive his bumblings, as his endear-ed-ness grows with each passing episode.

Yeah, i'm talkin' 'bout Monk.

 

[brinny]

"...life is odd..." said the goblin who had just returned from a conversation with his mother who after two months had been allowed to return home from hospital, their conversation was typical of all those he had with her and at least she was well though she couldn't really be left alone for long

"...ah, I see you're awake, would you like to get up..."
"...where's grandma..."
"...she passed away long ago..."
"...oh, and where's the other one..."
"...dad's gone up into the village to do some shopping..."
"...ah, you have lost weight..."
"...I would like to do the bed, would you like to get up..."
"...where's the doctor(dad again)..."
"...dad's gone up into the village to do some shopping..."
"...I cannot hear what you are saying, come nearer..."
"...would you like a coffee..."
"...funny that the doctor would choose to go shopping at this moment when will he be back?"
"...soon, I will go and make you a coffee then..."
she comes into the kitchen, the goblin hands her a coffee
"...where's the doctor..."
"...dad's gone up into the village to do some shopping..."
"...ah, you have lost weight...."
"...here's your coffee then...."
"...oh, can you drink coffee your parents must be very proud of you, where is grandma..."
"....she passed away long ago..."
"...oh, you can drink coffee your parents must be very proud of you, you have lost weight, where's the doctor..."
though the goblin by now had got used to this conversation and realized that any conversation was after all still better than no reaction..

brinny wonders if flea has other memories too then goes back to contemplating her star she just spotted through the narrow side window as she opened it....for fall it was a bit stuffy inside on this very early Saturday morning and there it was, that far-off sound of a train, a mournful sound, and somehow mesmerizing, especially on this very early morning when the world seemed to be sleeping, contemplated brinny, wishing it would stay that way at least for a little longer....

 

[fleamailman]

("...the blog is quite extensive but haven't finalized it yet, and many of the texts still need their pictures..." mentioned the goblin)

20th July 2006

re: my ad in your rag then

Dear village elders,
Now I understand that having a green skin, pointed ears and a screwdriver might not exactly put me into the type of person you would want to welcome with open arms to Riain'ile's very own timewarp of Dungford but if you put your pitchforks aside for a moment, allow me to explain that I am setting up a free selfhelp line for computers and would therefore like to place a ad in your parish magazine amongst those ones for healthfoods, livestock, and God. I thought too that it might be a good thing if we meet somewhere quiet where we won't be disturbed to discuss this further, let's say the church then.

Your sin.,
fleamailman

 

[brinny]

random word play:

If you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt. (Taken from: The Two Gentlemen of Verona)

 

[fleamailman]

("...still a long way to go though..." mused the goblin, adding "...where often it's me doing some text but then waiting for as long as it takes for the matching picture to show up...", in fact, the picture was the hard part because it was fate and often one just had to make do with something else instead)

repost from elsewhere

You worry you are corrupting me? How so? I agree, a Livewriter does seem similar to a graffiti artist in terms of their ideals, approach and execution. And why not introduce the others? I don't think assumption and exclusion would be consistent with the inclusive, open-minded attitude that seems core to Livewriting.

"...well, the only determining factor to a livewriter is probably that trait of storing posts now..." replied the goblin, adding "...so now kobold, do you store your posts I wonder, do you suddenly feel that something you have replied is worth keeping and could be polished, perhaps the slippery slope starts from there then, or perhaps it might just be that you suddenly want to practice writing in third person for your book, and might want to add a picture each time to practice illustrating, perhaps you might want to land on a forum and within the space of a week hold the fastest growing thread there, or you could enjoy conversing with others livewriters like now...", and with that the goblin was checking length, visualizing it for the picture, and stocking it for polishing later, smiling "...so which is it to be, red or blue posting pill then kobold..."

126

 

[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere, on writing again

"...yes you are quite right again, where I am well fed on your posts it seems, and where too, my being gnostic means that I am not allowed to blindly believe in anything now, not even god, no especially not blindly believing in god, so instead I have a duty to find out what it is that one knows and to know it all the more..." mentioned the goblin turning back to the subject in hand, of knowing one's readers and not blindly accepting writing rules either, splitting the two between the self determination, something which all writers need, and a certain consideration towards one's reader, which can turn into blind belief if not careful as I have pointed out, so the goblin just put his idea another way then, saying "...imagine your readers to be like a pack of wolves here, where one needs to keep them in view because one both admires them while they inspire you, but even so, one doesn't actually let them devour one through their expectations towards one's writings...", simply the goblin felt that the reader often pressured the writer through their expectations, whereupon the writer then became trapped by it, much like arthur conan doyle ended up hating his own creation sherlock holmes because no one wanted to read anything else from him, so the goblin just felt the answer was in keeping a safe-distance from the pack while writing with them in mind but not too much in mind as to over compromise one's journey

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