As things slowly get back to ‘normal’ the goblin returns to this blog too. I’ve found him willing to let me use whatever he writes on my blog and I shall take him up on that one. So here’s to new beginnings and musings by a live writer I know as Fleamailman or The Goblin.
to the goblin there was only one score that mattered, that of have I caught it with my pen then, in fact, it was just his way of fishing for thoughts, and as if to underline it, the late bistro played good music to a full house of lively chatting drinkers, while one lone figure sat in the corner typing away, looking up and then typing away again before finally posting something to forumland, so simply either the goblin was “there albeit mentally detached from his dailylife” or “here on forumland albeit still attached that dailylife of his”, something he called a shared life, though most people would call it a writer’s distraction then, or worse, simply daydreaming now
After a hiatus due to my circumstances the resident Goblin is back. Today he takes us through his motions.
the goblin had been admiring the wet weather, like a toad on a toadstool, simply that today too promised to be dull at best, as he readies himself for the same old tour to the mountains under those now all too familiar ominous rainclouds again, the goblin, lifting his spirits to the occasion, starts singing “…I’ll be going through the motions when it rains, I’ll be going through the motions when it rains, I’ll be going though the motions, going though the motions, going though the motions, I’ll am going though the motions when she pours…” to an onlooking day, who is not really impressed, while the goblin’s “song against the weather” continues throughout, somehow leaving the only real question as to who would break first, “…ah, but I have the advantage of the internet here, where you are still stuck in dailylife…” smirked the goblin against the grayness around him
Today the Goblin talks about what makes him write these paragraphs.
the goblin was simple enough, saying “…well, much of what I write is based on the question what in my life is worth posting, where, if something is, I try to see if I can catch it in a text…”, and then the search was on to find some picture that would match whatever the text portrayed, saying “…well yes, rather like a clothes statement I suppose…”, and finally he would post it while keeping a copy to see who he was by it, simply his journey to self was this then, but he felt too, that his awareness of that self was growing with the ongoing practice now
Monday has come again and so has the Goblin. Today he muses about choice.
the goblin felt awake now, as if all before had been a dream, and yet, he was once more faced a little white slot that said “…why not feed me to find yourself goblin, take that journey to self here…”, but the goblin knew that one’s journey to self was ever some point on the horizon that one never really reached until the end came, “…yes like “find the end of the rainbow” is what you really mean slot isn’t it, so you think I’m yet another donkey willing to follow your carrot once more…” whereupon the slot replied, “…well perhaps goblin, but in life there are only two carrots now, their’s and your’s, and surely you’ve followed their carrot long enough, haven’t you goblin, and besides there’s no rainbow’s end with their carrot either, there’s just “more” on offer, and how well you know that too, but if you know that now, then which carrot you choose shows you to yourself doesn’t it..”
Monday again and the Goblin returns. This time he talks about time, madness, and memories.
the goblin’s madness continued with his saying “…some things are like peter pan’s statue, they mark the passage of one’s life, it’s like it was there when, as a small child, one aimlessly passes the statue not knowing why someone has brought you there at all, feeling cheated from watching the television perhaps, later one might do a school visit then or try to impress some potential partner with a boat ride in summer or the colors of the park’s autumn or a quarrel in winter, etc., later you’re bringing your own bored children there too, till finally you just want to go back there alone one more time to recollect the passing times of one life once more…” the goblin paused for a second, then continued as if counting these statues to himself “…not all of my statues have survived and those broken under the passage of time I have long learned to avoid revisiting, but some, like the statue of peter pan in kensington gardens is exactly this then, as if, like that fictional character in the book, one shares wendy’s fate with ones own memories…”, perhaps the goblin wondered if these posts too would become like some statue of him then