Emotions on paper Forum Get to know eachother.
Get to know eachother.8 Years AgoThank you for joining everyone! I just thought that since we are all part of the same group, we should get to know eachother.
E.g- what genres you like, poetry or stories, why you write.
Soooooooo...Hi?
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Re: Get to know eachother.8 Years AgoHello, my name is, Raven. I enjoy both poems and stories. I usually prefer the darker side that words have to offer. I too have a hard time expressions myself to others in every day life. The only one who listens to me, is the paper I right upon. I'm glad I found a group describing just how I feel. Thank you.
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Re: Get to know eachother.8 Years AgoHi everybody..I'm new to this and look forward to sharing my writings with you guys...so happy to find a platform like this
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Re: Get to know eachother.8 Years Agohey guys, I hope this group does exactly what it says on the tin I would love some help with my work as much as to help
Ben :) |
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Re: Get to know eachother.8 Years AgoHey Ben :) I read that you'd love some help with your work. Just tell us what you need.
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Re: Get to know eachother.8 Years AgoOriginally posted by Hyacinth Thank you for joining everyone! I just thought that since we are all part of the same group, we should get to know eachother.
E.g- what genres you like, poetry or stories, why you write.
Soooooooo...Hi? Hello, I am a dark poet I will enjoy speaking with you. |
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Re: Get to know eachother.8 Years AgoI think if you look at the writing I'm posting, I fit this club perfectly
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Re: Get to know eachother.8 Years Ago"...well I would so like to be part of this group here if you would let me now..." voiced the goblin who always wrote in third person though, before adding "...not much to say really, I'm just your average everyday sort of goblin I suppose, you know, just a goblin like any other now, where if you don't believe me you only have to ask any other goblin then, it's that simple...", and with that the goblin hoped he was amongst friends, smiling "...I like your company already, I think I'm going to be happy here..."
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Re: Get to know eachother.8 Years AgoMy writing exposing my life. My poems are reflection of myself. Search for the light and search for peace and calm. My universe is fill up with emotions. But I cannot see any logic at there.
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Re: Get to know eachother.8 Years AgoHi,
I am a Bipolar Survivor. Over the last 8 years writing has been my therapy. I am now proud to say that I have been well-published, but this was a big step as for years I showed my work to no one. My writing is often emotional and provides an insight to my mind. I would like to share one of my poems and one of my stories with you (below). I love to read short horror stories and dark satire. I work to raise awareness for mental health. The Pride
Barefoot she climbed grey rock after grey rock. Blood
streaks stained her bare legs; she could almost feel the tears, almost. At the
peak she peered lucidly over the peak of the mountainous heap to the lions that
lay beyond. Long locks of filthy auburn hair clung to her paling cheeks and
tears filled her eyes. She was lost. Weakened finger nails scraped, clinging
onto the stones and she hauled her slender frame over the apex. Her footing was
instantly lost and she tumbled rapidly down, the fall seemed to last forever
like a film moving slowly frame by frame. At some points she floated, but
inevitably she found herself on hands and knees peering up at a heavily maned
giant cat.
Paling hazel eyes met the beasts stare and fear filled her.
In the distance she could espy the other enclosures. Furious rhinoceroses
steamed by high wired fences as hippos clambered along a murky swamp. The
threat was imminent. The lion approached accompanied by his mate, both edged
cautiously growling in a deep, low voice. She pulled herself awkwardly to her
feet and backed away ever so slowly. The King sensed her terror and warped with
a hunger caused by the absence of his keeper he leapt forward paws
outstretched.
Marie woke with a start. Her left cheek burned and she
clawed at it with sharp talons. Her flat was cold, the council still had not
replaced the broken glass and outside under the smoggy black of night she could
hear car alarms whirring away, bottles being smashed up the side of walls
smothered in gang graffiti and voices shouting drunkenly. Her face itched and
she tore at it in between yawning and rubbing her worn eyes.
Damp and cold made her home unbearable. She often laid in
bed for long periods hoping that the world outside would vanish of its own
accord. Of course that never happened. She had once been married to a
successful businessman, had a glorious apartment in the centre of London, but
that was a long time ago; a fading memory tarnished by his violence and
philandering. The ultimate cruelty came when Marie finally broke down and
without remorse he had her committed to a psychiatric unit.
The divorce came during her incarceration exacerbating her
unhappy constitution. Eventually she accepted the loss and grudgingly submitted
to counselling before being rehoused to what could only be deemed as the worst
estate on the brink of the city. Nobody came to see her, except the Psychiatric
Nurse and her visits had become infrequent.
Lethargically she dragged herself to the bathroom. The
mirror revealed the extent of the damage. A huge blister splattered gorily down
her left cheek, leaking and now painful. Her clothes lay in a heap on the
bathroom floor, the same clothes she wore every day; an old black tracksuit
stained and torn. She pulled them on with an old pair of trainers and fumbled
around inside the pockets for her car keys.
The communal back stair well stunk, but enabled her to avoid
the mobs roaming dangerously around the estate. She slunk by the side wall and
snuck to her car hoping that it would start. The door was slightly ajar; it had
not shut properly for some time. The red paint peeled due to the pranks of the
gangs. The old Metro banged and knocked as the key was turned, it struggled
onto the main road and then stuttered up a back street before dying.
Inexorably she found herself drawn to a small side shop. The
dimmed light glowed and all else seemed dingy. A bell sounded as the door
rattled open. The mark still stung, but she had no way to get to the hospital
and hoped someone inside would be able to take her.
A miniature train puffed around an expertly set-up railway.
Realistic sounds reminded her of the dreams of returning to her childhood in a
country village somewhere. Medication clouded her mind; her memories were
disappearing, inaccurate. Something in the sound of the train pleased her,
something nostalgic.
Two old men in grey suits stood talking in the corner. Green
paint shimmered on the walls and wood. She felt a voice call her, maybe she
heard it. She moved carefully, invisible to the shopkeepers, until she reached
a glass cabinet at the back of the small outlet. Three hideous porcelain dolls
coldly glared at her, seeing her soul. She could hear their voices growing
louder and louder. The hole in her face bled profusely as the unintelligible
words streamed through her mind, filling the room until nothing existed, but
the voices and a gaping wound in her face. All went black.
Barefoot she climbed the grey stones of her garden wall.
Blood streaks stained her tiny hands; she could almost feel the fear, almost.
At the top she gazed in horror at the pride of lions that filled her parents’
garden. Long locks of filthy sandy manes swayed as they roamed across the
ornamental bridges and through the brightly coloured bushes. She was scared.
Weakened finger nails scraped at her bleeding cheek. She felt compelled to
approach the fiercesome beasts. Hypnotically
she marched on, her girlish pigtails swaying in the breeze as dirt clung to her
red and grey uniform.
Paling hazel eyes met the beast’s stare, she was in awe of
the majestic beauty of the King. In the distance she could espy her parents’
thatched cottage. Furious gusts of wind steamed through the giant willow tree
beyond and sent ripples through the stagnant pond. The threat was imminent. The
lion approached accompanied by his mate, both edged cautiously growling in a
deep, low voice. She pulled herself awkwardly to her feet and backed away ever
so slowly. The King sensed her terror and warped with a hunger caused by the
absence of her keepers he leapt forward baring sharp fangs.
Marie woke with a start. Her left cheek bled and she tore at
it with broken nails. Her chaffed hands struggled to leave the sleeping bag and
the doorway provided little shelter. No one bothered vagrants here. There used
to be an unpleasant housing estate packed with an array of afflicted souls,
desperate souls willing to do anything to survive. The project had been closed
due to worsening crime levels, all residents moved on. Silence filled the smoggy, black night only
occasionally interrupted by old papers dancing in the wind. Marie once believed
in fairies and since her tortured soul was no longer treated with dignity,
since she could not acquire an address and as such failed to appoint a Doctor
she had started to see fairies dancing in the night sky.
The fairies reminded her of her childhood. She vaguely
remembered living on the outside of a small village. Perhaps a train chugged
through once in a while and merged with the sound of trickling water bubbling
through the garden pond. The illness had clouded her mind. Her parents died
leaving her an orphan, alone. She felt guilty, but could not recall why. Her
mind torn in two, she was incarcerated. She had married and married well, but
the nightmares started, the headaches and the paranoia. He could not cope and
simply stopped returning home. She envisaged him running away with a younger
woman.
The lethargy was unbearable. She could not even drag herself
to the bathroom or dress. Her skin festered with bedsores and her home became a
shrine to takeaway wrappers and leftovers. Loss was painful, she could not face
losing anything, not even a pizza wrapper. Her benefits just about covered the
takeaway. The rent remained unpaid and the electric was switched off. A
neighbour must have alerted the authorities.
The hospital stank of disinfectant and urine. It was filled
with dangerous souls tormented by their own pathology. She slunk around the
corridors avoiding all contact and struggled to engage in group session. She
wished that the world would change instead of her, that the world would accept
her sadness. The sadness ate away at her insides, hungrily, starved and
strangled by fading memories.
Inevitably she gave in, but only to give her a chance of
getting out. She attended group and individual therapies. Like an automaton she
said the words that the medical professionals needed to hear. She was released
from the depths of darkness to a living hell. The blister came. It bubbled and
burned.
Her memories were confused, mixed up and illogical. Night
winds howled across her chilling ears. Once there were sounds of sirens,
voices, bottles smashing, but now there was only the rattle of the paper
fairies bouncing on the breeze. Marie imagined that they were alight, sparkling
brightly, burning just like the searing, festering hole in her cheek.
Her aging arthritic bones shuffled slowly into the hospice.
Varicose veins stained her legs and her empty eyes sank below withered layers
of loose skin. The door slowly opened, she had not touched it. Robotic,
miniature zoo animals swarmed the corridors. Tiny toys, remnants of a
fragmented past busily lived their lives oblivious to her ear and pain. As she
forced her way along the corridors using the walls to give her balance and
guide her tiny lions yapped at her swollen ankles. The noise was drowned out by
the smog of her brain.
Briefly she lost her footing and stumbled. Her frayed vocal
calls emitted a soft gasping moan and she found her balance using the
white-washed walls. Sparsely furnished room after sparsely furnished room
passed her by, or she passed the rooms by. Like a struggling steam engine she
drifted forwards, sometimes she felt like she was floating and other times
falling or sinking. Her own room was cluttered with miniature beasts.
Obliviously she stepped over them and climbed listlessly into her bed.
The ticking of a clock beat in her mind. The sound slowed
until it was a soft pulse thrumming in her head. Her eyes closed and the beasts
dispersed. Feeling ebbed from her gangrenous feet and the blister on her face
split into a giant hole. Her shaking fingers touched the gape, poking at the
insides. The itching had stopped.
Light blasted the room, but her eyes stayed closed. She
didn’t need them anymore. The fairies or angels appeared and burned furiously
as her face had once done. Beams thronged through her soul and cleared the smog
from her mind, but then she saw new smog.
Skipping lightly over the garden wall Marie dashed across
the ornamental pond towards her parents’ thatched cottage. Her parents were
upstairs decorating the nursery and she could hear her baby sister gurgling and
intermittently crying in her crib upstairs. Marie loved her and had given her
three of her favourite dolls. Hastily she rushed into the lounge whipping her
jacket off, the one her mum had knitted her after their trip to the zoo. She
had fallen in love with the King of the lions and there he was everyday smiling
out at her from the knitted wool.
The jacket was slung as Marie wanted to rapidly change and
go out to meet her friends. In an instant she had dashed to her room, changed
and after a brief exchange with her loving parents belted out of the front
door. For an instant she looked back to see the lounge curtains blowing in the
soft breeze which had entered through a crack in the window.
Beyond the garden lay a disused railway and Marie and her
friends would pretend to be train drivers or posh passengers. Once at the
tracks Marie peered briefly back at the house and the fairies caught her eyes.
An amazing bright light, glowing and raging filled her eyes. Flames tore
ravenously through the building eating the curtains, clawing at the furniture
and ripping through the skin of the roof. Marie froze, for a second she could
hear tortured screams, the alarm of the fire engine and glass smashing. Then
there was nothing but fire, a huge majestic ball of fire. Smoggy smoke filled
up the air as the evening drew in.
The assumption was that some garment had carelessly been
thrown onto the open fire causing the deaths of three members of the family.
The old woman’s face burned with tears as she drew her last
breath and headed towards the angelic flame. Sanguine Fervour You're welcome in! I've seen you....In my dreams, as in life, Echoing the velvet onyx abyss of your soulless heart and sweetly enshrouded with the eternal stench of history's charm. The doors, portcullis to my chamber, lay stark wide permitting pure precipitation to flood the ivory gateway in readiness for your empowering presence. I recline as the embers cool.... The oak clock clangs breaking the deftly silence of my creamy satin nest. The sound ceases filling my body with fear and anticipation. Momentary ambivalence, A desperate urge to fight the mesmeric stupor, to shut you out!But my desire enforces paralysis and there with aching trepidation I lay. Nubile and motionless the emerald flecks of my eyes meet your black stare, Your gaze pierces me as you materialise from nothingness; Tall, foreboding, pale with a mane of Earthly hair. As you approach your cognitive grip tightens, our psyches coalesce! I see your depravities; Death displaces desire and torture is thrust upon idolaters. Still, I want you! That is your power. I surrender my life to you even as your deathly, ice lips caress mine, Unable to overcome the sense of depravity triggered by that loathsome longing, I hesitate, in an acknowledgement of reticence your eyes. Your stunning, seductive eyes stare into mine. In deep swoon I am willed to relax, to fall into a waking reverie filled with a sense of peace, beset by your refuge. Then, in a climactic instant your canines penetrate my chastity draining my life's fluid and my world sinks into an obscure dusk......Sweet sleep excludes the brilliant sun. My only stirrings emanate from our minds merging. Locked behind the bars of your malevolence I see victims cruelly slain, Solely for knowing you and you watch me gazing in. An eternal parasite cursed; Darkness, solitude and damnation. An emptiness crying out for pity, the demon within judged for its deeds, Fuelling its anger and passions, driving a desire that may never be sated. My soul builds a resistance to the disease and I implore you for a reprieve with no compassion my sanctuary is denied and once again you appear. With a Tiger's strength I draw myself from that lust filled place of rest. Stumbling, dazed and weak my feet tread stone villa floors. Even in my escape I am drawn to you. Your whispers tremor through me as I desert on my steel stead. Your imploring tones willing my return, fighting with memories of the beloved you stole now just us alone in a crowded universe. Hastily I travel through the mountain pass, mere shapes silhouetted in the dark. My mind in turmoil and my body hungering for yours the cool night breeze pierces my skin, I lose control! In a flash of metal and light my mortal flesh is broken like porcelain, my skin ripped, my spirit weary bidding me to sleep through the trauma. I feel you holding me like the lover you can never be, moving me, time passes... You tend me with a callous cherishing,Healing your prey to make it fit once again for the hunt! And with gruesome degradation you feed me from your own veins and with grotesque wantonness I submit to your offering. Overawed by the eroticism, aphrodisia and sensuality. Your silent, false promise that you will shield me forever. In that moment of bliss I give myself to you! You make the pain stop! You satisfy your own thirst! Frozen air sneaks through the derelict boards. I wake in an abode that has haunted my dreams, slumped coldly on chilled steps, The crimson warmth of days passed replaced by damp rot and sombre shade. Solitude perforates my empyrean blood. Loss of my kin has broken my fire, A life once so learned, travelled and communal destroyed. You are all I have, my vengeance quelled by an unnatural proclivity, To be yours eternally, To be loved and subjugated equally, but your heart does not beat! I am here at your will, forced to choose as you wish punished with desolation and debility, Infected by your fluids, which dominate my clay. Timorously I call your name and there aloof at the window crevice, You materialise as if there you had always been, I beg for release from your enchantment, To forget this agonising cry from the depths of my being, Your numb stare repudiates my appeal. My choices are narrowed; annihilation or eternal perdition, Everlasting surrender to your sovereignty, Lacerated through your necessary infidelity. An assassin afflicted with immortality's curse and yet with these apprehensions you still captivate me. Unable to bear being abandoned in this weakened state I come to you. I rise as you wish, I stroke your dreadful shell succumbing to your carnality, Your claws clasp my soft curls and the kiss you offer blazes. Gnarled nails trail my throat, easing the silken slip strings from my shoulders, ivory points encircle my lips, cheeks, hair and throat, The puncture stings with libidinous relief ebbing with each gulp. My senses heighten, I energise and in a moment of clarity I draw from you, Night escapes leaving the scarlet sun dawning slowly, Before the last trickle of humanity evades me I break away.... Away from aeons of emotional emptiness, I throw myself at the mercy of the burning sun, Exquisite burning relieves me of mortality and immortality, You howl, you love, we should have been one. With regret for what could have been I return to dust......... |
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Re: Get to know eachother.8 Years Ago"...a very good read, real talent indeed..." went the goblin thinking kerry had to be a natural then, someone who grasps the readers to her pen then, before the goblin restarted by saying "...so I guess what you write writes you back too, and all in a feedback loop between oneself, one's subconscious, one's pen, and then back to oneself once more...", not that the goblin knew for sure really, no only that his dreams seemed so much more vivid both in their detail and in the recollection for his present writing habit than prior then, all those years back now as it were, whereupon he just smiled anew asking "...so where does one go to read some more of that talent there...", while outside and way way above the goblin's apartment where he had been writing this down the moon just seemed a lopsided smile in the observing darkness, or was it an encouraging wink perhaps, ah yes those moons could be tricky in their deception he knew, yet maybe he didn't want to settle it one way or the other then, preferring instead to remain open about its possibilities
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Re: Get to know eachother.8 Years AgoFirst of all, it's really admirable what you've done, kerri. Fighting this faceless monster must be hard, and I can only imagine.
Second of all, from where do you aquire such talent? Honestly, it was fantastic. Like really, really good. I love the way your words flow. Of you would like, I'm sure alot od us would like to read more!
Third of all, you're really different, goblin. But I think that it's amazing that you are, cause it make you special. I also love your way with words.
Lastly, than you to everyone for joining! Maybe we can get some new threads going, and it can be about anything! Your writing, your feelings, fanfiction... whatever you're comfortable with! Thanks again,
-Cinth. ( easier to write out :)
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Re: Get to know eachother.8 Years Ago"...will you not stay to chat awhile with me Hyacinth..." smiled the goblin looking up at her now and hoping that she wasn't taken too aback be his continence though, then adding "...I mean don't those readers want to know whom they are reading before they take the plunge into that book there, whereas who'll ever begrudge me the short time it takes to read this post between us...", whereupon the goblin swayed his hand gently through the air like a wand to the words "...if you close your eyes here I wonder if you can remember the other usernames in this group you've created here if any, no me neither I guess, for they have yet see my world for what it is really, ah but may I ask instead if you'll forget having conversed with a goblin now...", ah yes, the goblin had used the trick of persona to get himself remembered by it, but that was just goblins for you, where they could be just like that at times
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Re: Get to know eachother.8 Years Agohi everyone! i'm new here. i joined this because i'm so much fond of writing and reading. it's like my passion and i know all those here also love writing. there could be no community as good as of people who know the magic hidden behind words and they know when and how to use them.
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Re: Get to know eachother.8 Years AgoOriginally posted by Catheline kole hi everyone! i'm new here. i joined this because i'm so much fond of writing and reading. it's like my passion and i know all those here also love writing. there could be no community as good as of people who know the magic hidden behind words and they know when and how to use them. "...great start..." went the goblin hoping that Catherline liked chatting though, relating "...no the writertypes here are ok I guess, only that I'd much prefer to read something by someone whom I've conversed with first than blindly spending my time on something by someone either unappreciative or aloof...", mind you the way the goblin wrote probably meant that his not reviewing the work was the best one could hope for under the circumstances, he restarted "...me, I like posts myself, I mean they're short interactive content in their way, plus no one will begrudge me the time it takes to read this far, have you read this far then, yay my first reader as it were, anyways, posts are like sketches and who ever heard of a painter could didn't do sketches now, so why don't writers do posts like sketches of the works then, ah yes the book starts from the post and the plot from that text therein...", meanwhile the last of the day's sunshine had paved the scenery in a golden hew where the goblin for his part slowly drank his coffee to the passing of relaxed thoughtful moments, for he much like that sun there was just letting the night's curtain fall upon what had been his busy day |
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Re: Get to know eachother.8 Years AgoI apologise, dear Goblin, for replying so late. It's just that my father's health isn't too good. I'm back now.
I must say, I rather like the way you have used unique-ness to be remembered, even though I am sure that unique-ness is not a word. It's engaging and yours.
I would love to converse, and get to know more about you. While at that, I might as well tell you a bit about myself.
I enjoy this. I guess that is the most important thing to remember. I enjoy writing, Goblin and everyone else so kind as to join this group. And yet, a thing to remember, my writing has fooled people. It has made people think I'm older than I am just because they believe that someone my age couldn't have lived through the things I have. I used to get annoyed, but now I realise that I'm not the only one. Our abilities to project our emotions into words are phenomenal.
I think that this is why I'm telling you my story, I think I'm telling you about the bullying and the people leaving and the scares of death knocking on my family's door so you know that it's ok. I think that I'm telling you this so that you understand that there are others and that you are not alone. I think I'm telling you this so you understand that I know what it's like to want to pour everything out in that piece of paper in front of you.
Goblin, I am hesitant to post this. To let all of you know this. But in a way, in the few messages you've shared you've inspired me. How? You've shown me that I shouldn't be afraid what people think.
So now, hoping to hear from you soon, I will press save.
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Re: Get to know eachother.8 Years Agoat which point the goblin grew a smile as if from one pointed ear to the other, before replying "...really I'm very selfish, I mean one has to be selfish lest it all becomes selfless then, where selfless is quite unsustainable longterm if simply because it isn't you really...", where having read Hyacinth's post the goblin too remembered that time he was helping dad to look after mum in her drowning dementia, explaining "...trouble is that it's not something one person alone can deal with, not if mum would roam at night and find ways to escape into the village in her paranoia, so dad being a doctor was in charge and I agreed to stay a few months during winter to cover the nights for him little realizing that she would live on one and half years more, I don't begrudge what happened, I'd do it again as there aren't many ways to say thank you like that, but I digress so, and you probably didn't read this far to hear such ramblings now...", whereupon the goblin drew a circle in the air to reveal a coffeetable and upon it only the finest filtered coffee and a whole plateload to homemade biscuits before handing a cup up to Hyacinth's awaiting hand, saying "...help yourself then, now you'll stay for tea won't you, I mean more readers read our posts than anything else where they do so lavish attention upon those whom they'll find interesting here, just take care of the posts and the readership will follow from there I guess..."
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Re: Get to know eachother.8 Years AgoAh, Goblin. I am truly honoured that you shared what you did with me. It's a strange feeling, isn't it? Knowing that there is someone else going through similar things as you. I must erasure you, first, that I have indeed read the whole reply. Who does not and merely skims through it (a piece of writing) cannot understand the true art of it , I think. Of course I will stay for tea a bit, and I hope to gain more knowledge of you while our chat continues. Alas, I must go now as it is nearing four am. And school does await me tomorrow. I will write back as I hope you do too.
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Re: Get to know eachother.8 Years Ago"...well we are what we aren't here, so what would you like to be and I'll go along with it I guess, just we can't prove anything now, where my role is to keep the old man there company, no he really is nothing to write home about plus he'd never dream of posting on forums like this, so the agreement goes that he never posts and I never appear in his dailylife, been years like that to date..." replied the goblin looking across at the old man somewhat boiled up in heat of geneva at this point, sighing "...no, even the depths of this bistro here is still too hot for me, while humans to all appearences somehow sit in the relentless sun outside chatting away still, me I chat a lot too but the old man prefers simply to sketch texts with his pen so to speak, his motto being "invisible in dailylife, anonymous on forumland"...", in fact, fortunately there hadn't been many clear blue skys this years, where the goblin being more used to deep damp caverns avoided the sun at all costs, before asking in return "...btw what picture do you think would match this text here, and have you figured out why us livewriters often add pictures to these posts yet..." |