Emotions on paper Forum "...come chat with me then..."..

"...well, the problem is all rather simple really..." started the goblin noting how the average american only managed to read about a book a year whereas almost everyone seemed online instead albeit in one form or another, so the question then became how to adapt one's writing style to this new online readership here, whereupon the goblin smiled the words "...well I guess if the readers won't approach those authors for all their invitations to read their books, then it must be the authors themselves who find their way to the readers through their posts, thus the books starts from the post then, and the plot if any from those texts therein...", and with that the goblin put a cupped hand up to his ear to hear whatever voices were out there now

a few days later and still there was only silence for all he overtures and invitations, not that that in itself ever deterred the goblin though, no he knew the readers would show up eventually and amongst them would be those who replied back too, where being read meant nothing to someone anonymous while being replied to meant getting something to sink one's teeth into, smiling "...I guess that most authors here would like to have their works read though, but not me then, alas I don't have any books, instead I'm just happy to be chatting with you like this, why, because if there's a discrepancy between someone's works and their posts, or again if that author is just too aloof to chat with me even, then I know whom not to read and can focus more upon those whom are kind of "here for their readers" here, someone like you perhaps, or not as we will see...", and with that the goblin once more hailed across the ether for anyone bold enough to address him, smiling  "...roll up, roll up, step this way and be known for what you write in your posts aplenty, for more folks read posts than most anything else where all you have to do is entice them towards you letting your posts become like your ambassadors as it were..."

a reply to the written word was a beautiful thing she thought, hello flea

"...you came, I'm so glad you did too..." replied the goblin happy for the company then, before adding "...no, this place has a different atmosphere to where we were before, folks seem older and I've been here years now, and met many posters too...", and with that goblin's day seemed made, his night was about to catch up with him again though, whispering "...thanks for the post again, it means much to me..."

Words were her undoing she felt, a silk tie to the captive corset. What a tease, yes she had a thing, a fling going with words, she wove them together these days, it pleasured and pained her greatly. She owed him the hint of her own release of the nakedness laid bare beneath. Oh, how he had grasped that bow with his arrow and pulled! She would write him that letter one day to let him know, but where to start.

the goblin thanked selfsame and for her post and then remembered a child who upon being asked why he listening to the story on the radio had replied "because I see it better on the radio", where somehow the goblin too in reading selfsame's post had imagined all types of feminine beauty there, before smiling "...even your posts are imaginative where I've often read much into them then...", where the goblin often wondered how many authors saw their posts as their actual writings now, yet these days more readers actually read posts than they do most anything else, whereupon the goblin smiled again adding "...it's through the posts to the readers I say, I mean who'll ever begrudge reading a few lines of a short post now, but those posts build up in the mind of the reader into that book eventually, simply it's just a matter of firing theirs imagination with one's plot here..."



 

The woman came in with her other-half, slowly they mounted the top of the stairs, she wanted to entice him into buying a pair of 'lounge trousers', the couple bickered fondly in slow motion, a conversation clearly audible yet taking place completely within their conjoined head space - she cajoled - he resisted, it wasn't what he wanted, 'you can slip into them when you come in from the garden' she reasoned aloud, he pursed his lips tightly. The exotic silk nightie on the other rail danced a floaty number as they breezed away.

where the goblin for his part had been chatting with a woman who had dumped her boyfriend upon realizing that he would be entitled to half her house if they stayed together longer than a year and then separated under english law, whereupon the goblin just said "...in switzerland though it's not such a strange thing to agree to an "each retains their own assets" contract before going into a marriage, but it's clearly a sign of just how insecure things have become today isn't it...", where in fact the goblin imagined that things would have to get even more blatantly bad before they improved, sighing "...naah, the true birthrate is masked by that immigration still, though among the indigenous people of each european country the birthrate is an unequivocal "no vote" in confidence towards a system that is not investing in its future then...", and somewhere form the back of the goblin's mind came that line again in communism it's their finances that fall apart whereas in capitalism its their demographics thenac

The phone rang this evening, a frail old lady whispered, "come home, you need to come home!" somewhat perplexed selfsame suggested she had the wrong number, the old lady repeated "I need my daughter to come home, I'm going to bed!" "What number are you wanting?" selfsame shouted, thinking - outside context problem here, silence "which number are you ringing?" she bellowed slowly with even greater zest, the children giggled and a sudden lucidity shot forth from the elderly crone, "ok" said the woman "I'll give her your message!". On replacing the handset she rang the number, an equally frail old man answered, "I'm sorry to bother, but a distressed old lady wants you to know that her daughter must come home because she's going to bed - I do hope this makes sense to you", "ah yes, yes" he faltered, "yes it does - thank you! goodbye!"

"...stresswise it was a really bad day yesterday, where I suspect too that it'll be a worse day today, and then it'll be another after that and so on..." ventured the goblin still trying to be aloof to it all, adding "...when it gets this bad to the point where I'm not writing these posts it's when I'm stressed out like really, where normally a little stress is like a drug that makes me feel alive in the anguish of it all, probably explaining why many soldiers just can't adjust back to the dullness of civy street after all that stress of having being in the war zone I mean...", the goblin's mind went back to the whole point of the dearhunter film then, where someone who is subjected to risk grows addicted to that risk therein, where stress becomes the normal then, and where there that lure of possible defeat and possible success makes it all the more worth it

"...well, I have a nice day ahead of me, and something to write about too now, not that I know how to compose it though, only that I know what it is for sure, which is half the battle won I guess..." related the goblin hoping the twins was finding time for herself amongst her battles too, then adding "... yes sometimes one has to be real selfish if only to keep going, that is just playing it one day at a time then, where at its simplest it's make it to the end of that day there and one has won the day no matter what happened within it, why, because one is still there and that day isn't..."

The man had spent forty years collecting musings to excite the artistic palate in whoever. His quest was an attempt to present the workings of our creative essence, that thing that separated man from beast. His professional network was a truly global affair well before the days of internet parle and his life long mission, this book of sorts, was the private ridicule of many a distinguished colleague, friend and apprentice. Finally the day came when he had to choose between the comfortable familiarity of his working world - a community he held dear, who held him dearer still, and that resounding desire to create and edit something unique that mattered greatly on a deeply personal level to him alone. In his own words - he jumped - it was what stood him apart.

"...good to see that you can now post pictures too..." smiled the goblin thanking the twins and thinking upon her text then before trying to relate "...actually I hid this goblin self from my family, plus I remember promising my wife years back that my being online would never encroach nor endanger the family in dailylife, actully I didn't have to keep that promise I knew but instead I settled upon this anonymity here not knowing that it would evolve me into something far more honest about my inner workings than had I identified myself from the start then, the truth being my externals, just what I've lived under all these years just dailylife dictates then, meaning my age, this status I have, if successful or not, and all this good or bad or whatever about me too, externals of dailylife again, whereas here I have none of those props to fall back upon now, for they're quite unproveable to you here aren't they, no all that I am at this point are just these words upon your screen to you, and these thoughts in my head to me as I type them..."

... so the collector of musings had sidled up to her at the photocopier 'you have private thoughts' he had teasled - that obsessive observer of detail 'they make you smile - I see it!'. Ah, she had mused as she walked away smiling - these thoughts of yours laid bare and these reflections of mine to remain in my head to me!

"...a livewriter as a type depends far more upon those posters around him than an author would..." ventured the goblin thanking selfsame again for being selfsame throughout, adding "...where I can write/perform without an audience for sure but it doesn't give me that lift, nor is as much fun neither, as when in correspondence with someone directly like this, plus one never knows how the posts will be received if one doesn't just put oneself out there by them..." whereupon the goblin took a quick glance across the wet road of a now empty street that was ever what it was then, being the old man's reality as it were, sighing "...no, everyone wants the truth only to learn that they then don't wish to live in its mundane reality for long, so then instead they seek escape, only that each and every escape leads them right back into that reality of theirs once more...", thus selfsame was here instead while the goblin was enjoying her company still, where reality wouldn't miss them he guessed but reality always had a way to catch up with one it seemed

She loved this, she loved what he did, the craftsmanship - yeah, his logic was sound, sure he might have moments of doubt, utter despair, he might be plagued by the ghosts of his human frailty, be opinionated, goad the naive and ignorant, rile the masses and get it all wrong on occasion yet here she could always argue and fight and mess up or spout prosaically, poetically even with an uncanny eloquence. It was forever this freedom then and he would not kill her for it.

the goblin had caught up with the post again, only to note the heat of the midday sun was fit only for englishman, sighing "...well if it's like this here in chamonix then I care not to think what it'll be like in geneva upon my return...", in fact, the goblin saw things as only getting worse from here on in, no he was all for britain leaving the european union, not because of the migrant problem, which is what they all that ourdearmedia wanted everyone to focus upon, but more simply because it was hard enough getting one's voice heard in a countrywide context harder still under a kingdom and nigh impossible across a continental body, explaining "...either way then, not how they'll blame their woes upon the outcome of the referendum now, and those woes are many indeed, and where time is running out for them too, no britain can't escape its compounded debt any more than europe can escape its debt neither, so whether "in" or "out" then those debts will suck europe dry, thus a war comes to their rescue, meaning their rescue of course...", meanwhile the heat much like those debts then just sucks apace

The most precious thing that happened these days with her adult son was when she dropped him at the station - car usually full of giggling girlie sisters and having said a stiff-upper-lip farewell to moments later leap stealthily from the car and sprint hard at him diving rugby style for his most solid of necks and broad shoulders - every time despite him loaded with an assortment of paraphernalia - no matter what angle or element of surprise she took he always stood firm, rock like, laughing softly as his mother clasped round his neck dangles feet from the ground for that one last moment. 

("...one of  your posts best yet..." went the goblin)

brexit was worrying the goblin still but it's not so much for what brexit stood for but more for how it has caused uncertainty in the markets while showing up a debt that then posed the question of  who had to pay for this debt then, sighing "...oh yes, the pound and the euro might be two currencies apart, yet the cost of running the EU was still something shared across those boarders...", where prior to this brexit no one seemed to care as the whole question could be fudged, not now though, not anymore then