How To Live Write Like A Goblin on The Ghost of The Past

Last week I found a post by the Goblin that really touched me. It’s remarkable how with each post I find by this persona it is as if he deliberately is trying to make me find myself. Or rather, to make me think and wonder about emotions, situations, actions and consequences, on life and how I handle things. In a way it feels as if he’s posting for me, that’s how personal it feels, while I know he can’t be posting for me. Or she, for all I know it could be a sixty year old woman, living in Nova Scotia, but I quite like the idea of a middle-aged man who is slightly overweight, and the black sheep of old money. Fiddles away his time drinking coffee and typing in a bistro somewhere in Geneva while pretending to be working.

Anyway, enough about me and my fantasies. I’ve found a post by him (let’s just keep the illusion alive that this truly is a man, for he claims that he writes his life, hence the Live Writing) about a subject many people have either been through, or know someone who has.


day turns to night, the droning darkness hides shapes and shadows of things past feels the goblin as he looks out across the lightly lit city of geneva, “…cold is king then…” he thinks aloud to himself alone with his thoughts “…and in the cold of night comes these ghosts, god I hate them as much as they must hate me too, they won’t die till I do, I know that, and my mother’s passing brings them back from where I thought I buried them inside…” the goblin’s mind went back to his first marriage then, of letting go a little girl’s hand and saying “…mummy and daddy are not happy…” and then the formalities of separate lives of an ex wife and a daughter of his first marriage at an ever acceptable distance, and each with new lives and partners, each understanding that “it was the only way”, “the right thing to do”, “one can’t live a lie can one”, etc.,” but the goblin also knew that no amount of understanding puts this ghost to rest, “…time hadn’t then…” and he was struggling to say what he saw now “…so a death in the family puts family members back facing one another again…” said the goblin “…just our unspoken ghost will be sitting between us three I imagine, while we pretend to be nice to one another…”


7 thoughts on “How To Live Write Like A Goblin on The Ghost of The Past

  1. (“…those words once spoken cannot be unspoken, only I can guard my anonymity to keep it honest and open…” mentioned the goblin thanking the mouse for her choice once more, then adding “…just pain to open the eyes I guess…”, whereupon the goblin smiled “…on with our journey to self in posts while it lasts now, yes I’m here whenever someone needs me, where some say that I’m rather good at listening too, just feeding off the readers then…”)

    • (“…yes, the ghost of divorce is just there in those unguarded moments…” replied the goblin thanking williamkendall1 again, continuing “…it eats at one till one buries it somewhere deep within oneself to whatever passing words one chooses, only to see it reappear when it has been woken by whatever, yes the [i]could have been[/i] of it is what haunts on the most I suppose, where yesterday is like today now, and where today is as tomorrow in its turn, and tomorrow, well that will be as yesterday was for sure…” , just [i]externals age where internals fester[/i] was what the goblin was relating here)

    • (“…ah no, it’s like both long ago and merely yesterday too…” replied the goblin all these years later from a objective standpoint, yet subjectively, or internally then, it was still around, still there then, the present continuous, adding “…no, mum’s actual death was a pulled punch, a coup de grace even, considering that she had drowned to dementia long before that point, where the death itself just made her whole again to me…”, just writers had their ghosts where humans have their memories, where at times the goblin hated his pen for the difference it made between the two)

      • (“…true, and hence it becomes a ghost by it…” proposed the goblin, ever pleased with Mari Collier’s company now, then continuing “…but no, not as something to be mourned as if one could eventually walk away from its resting place, but instead as something to be lived with still, a ghost then, just as there when thought upon, or appearing out of some association with an external in an unguarded moment…”, yes the goblin’s ghosts were legion by now, whereupon the goblin looked at what he’d written and went “…here lies the residue of my thoughts as typed out a upon this screen here, oh yes, all this I can type away from me now setting it adrift upon the ether as an external, and yet that which I have experienced while writing this down has engraved itself within me at this point, the visions, the thoughts, etc., all then, [b]for what you write writes you back[b] doesn’t it, where a journey to self results, no I’m not mad nor is this a madness then, but it’s hardly what one would define as a sanity neither…”)

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