oh how I hate editing posts, so share with me then

[fleamailman]

("...a blanc mind with a headache is me today, but I'm watching the eurozone with interest, as there seems no backlash against the banks whatsoever, but that will be another post when I know why I'm feeling I'm missing something..." went the goblin)

repost form elsewhere

So that has me thinking, do writers really have the right to step into the cesspool of people's misery just for the sake of adding more "authenticity" to their works? Are there writers who have more license to access certain atrocities than others? Should there be respects given in some way or another, and how?

"...lots of hurdles to writing then but "by what right" has got to be one of the biggest now..." mentioned the goblin, adding "...and whatever one writes, someone is bound to raise an objection to it, where if one actually heeded each and every objection, nothing would flow from one's pen so to speak, so no, a writer has no more right than anyone else I suppose, just he's the one that ignores that fact and just writes regardless...", simply the goblin understood that where one didn't name names, and where one remained anonymous too, then the internet was the devil's playground for news both true and false, adding "...but mind you, what with the standard media coverage being some muted joke of omissions anyway, is it really any wonder that each one of us becomes our own journalist here..."


132 2430 43658

[Grace Gabriel]

So. Tuesday evening then, and Grace bumbled onto the thread feeling none too clever. "I've got the shivers folks - and tortilla chips for eyelids", she reported, "short and sweet from me then". Grace had been sipping honey tea for the last twenty minutes, and reading all of Jats' posts. "Thanks for being so prolific today", she told him, "I had a rough one - but my surreptitious visits to the thread brought a smile. Invisible support when it was most needed". Grace made a few deft clicks with the mouse, and lined up her picture and music link. "Both for you then Jats", she smiled.

http://youtu.be/UQ0oCmDXrVk

[Jats]

...glad you are over the worst then, and would have posted more had I not got sidetracked in the garden after it had finally stopped raining then. A hot bath for you then milady and a tune that follows on to yours nicely to sing you to sleep...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iRK6U...layer_embedded

[fleamailman]

("...get better, ah but then again your post are interesting when your ill too, so get better eventually..." suggested the goblin with your reader's welfare in mind here, adding "...yes, often it's those near death experiences that make the post such avid reading after all...")

repost from elsewhere, another thread pointing out the goblin's grammar again

"...love this thread..." went the goblin, explaining "...and if there's one thing that I really do well, it's everything wrong then...", but that was just the goblin's way of making others feel better about their writing ability he imagined, concluding "...and besides, who ever heard of a goblin who wrote perfectly anyway...", where somewhere too, the goblin remembered seeing a signboard above the marketplace in the ruin of pompeii, reading buyer be aware, of what is bought there that is, so the goblin just offered the same clause of reader be aware towards whatever he wrote too, since they didn't have to read it nor wade through its grammatical syntax


132 2433 43733

[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere

Some of the questions I would love to have answered is, *Where does everyone live? *What are your dreams, goals or aspirations?*Are any of you in Australia?*What is your background?*Do you draw, paint, make pottery, design gates, carve, act or have other artistic talents?

the goblin was anonymous by choice, but he lived in geneva, saying "...yes, I too, have heard of those legends of some fabled land mass beyond known civilization here, where none but the most foolhardy fought daily an unforgiving sun and umpteen dangerous creatures like snakes, ants and spiders to reach the beach for a a beer and some surf amongst sharks, crocodiles and jellyfish...", not that the goblin knew the truth of it now, the evidence remained scanty of course, as he then turned to the other questions, saying "...yes, three goals here, a writer's way with words, an illustrator's eye, and an internetself...", where the goblin confessed that he could only do posts but that those posts he did were somewhat artistic he felt


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[Jats]

"...what a day, I'm bloody knackered..." Jats flops on the sofa fresh out of the shower "...and even with the rolling hills and the valley with the little stream running through it as my background today I have no profound thoughts to share, even as I stood taking a break watching the birds and the sheep busying themselves I was just too busy with thinking what I was doing, or doing next to be wistful, or fixing the damned rotivator that was being unusually unpredictable, though all done, just mother nature to do her bit next, and then Jess & Lawrence will have a new even more spectacular view out of their kitchen window now, just in time for their golden wedding anniversary celebrations in August, and I hope for many years to come too..." smiles Jats placing a big fat cheque on the corner of the coffee table thinking this saving the planet lark is getting quite profitable finally

[Loz]

Today more than others Loz is missing the physicality of a hard days work, back in the mountains, a full day on the snow, followed by a busy night in the bar; her muscles aching and her body sleepy until her heads rests on the pillow and everything is dark. Mind racing from at day at the office, the fatigue is there but not the delight of worked muscles and a throbbing body, as she lays down to rest the sentences that swirl in her mind like a bad hang-over waiting to regurgiate, and no matter how fast she pedals the damn static-bike, it's not taking her anywhere.

P.s. get well soon Grace!

[fleamailman]

("...very nice post Loz, you certainly are coming into your own..." mentioned the goblin relating to it easily)

repost from elsewhere, new

"...if the author any good he'll turn up on forumland and get himself known by his post too, where simply, an author who can't entice the reader to his or her posts has no hope whatsoever of getting readers to read their books today via forumland...", mentioned the goblin liking xxxxx's take and posts instead, as if the posts were the acid test of the author now, where username became authorname, and where hitcount became his or her following now, so the goblin just ventures one thing more, saying "...actually, a lot of authors don't see themselves in their posts upon these forums today, so their posts are a sorry reflection of their other works lacking both narration illustration and punch, yet if one were to put oneself in the reader's shoes here, wouldn't one soon see that those ads/links/recommendations cut no ice at all since readers, like yourself too, are here to read the posts and interact with the author...", "...so it's that maxim of take care of the posts and the books will take care of themselves now is it goblin..." asked slot's smiling voice once more as he pointed his finger to his big open mouth again, something the goblin had understood as the slot's ever constant hunger as he hit the post button in a knowing compliance


xxxx 2437 43873

[Grace Gabriel]

(Thanks Loz! x)

"Man flu", Grace admitted - face as dry as a stale croissant, and limbs feigning assault course fatigue. She hadn't strayed far from the sofa all day. She had dozed for hours - never catching the bastard who kept blasting her tongue with a hair dryer whilst she slept. Even making a cup of tea was beyond her, so she had nested in her duvet bivouac with a carton of apple juice, and a family pack of Kit Kats. "Feel a bit better", she ventured, somewhat preoccupied with scratching a red rash on her legs, and trying to mentally process the disaster of no milk in the house. The little man appeared in his flourescent green dinosaur jammies scratching his head in that Laurel & Hardy way. "Can't sleep Mummy", he said, apologetically. Grace hauled him on her lap and planted a dog-breath kiss on his cheek. "Shall we take a little moon drive to the shops then?", she suggested, relieved that powdered coffee creamer could come off the evening menu. "Cool!", he beamed, padding off, "It's good that its dark Mum 'cos you look really horrid" came the retreating voice along the passageway....

[Jats]

brilliant...a repost, or two is all I can manage, I'm shattered...

A man who doesn't mind taking directions from a woman is rare. Most think that there is one technique that will suit every single woman on the planet! And some are genuinely offended and defensive if a woman does try and give them directions. The word prick comes to mind when I think of guys like that!

"...well then..." ponders Jats while enjoying lunch at home "...I am an unusual man, rare indeed, without question, still no artificial aids for me, preferring as ever to head north or south, or east, or west, and the signs are there for the rest, that's what they are there for, and then, when I get close, near enough, I pull over, slide down my window, turn down the radio and ask kindly for directions please, a little help, a few gentle words with pointing fingers and a smile, and thanks, to get me to my final destination. It never fails, and I guess it is one technique, it just depends on choosing to ask the right person, older women are usually best..."

[Grace Gabriel]

"Disconbobulated", Grace wrote, dubious of the spelling, and disappointed in her 'Pocket Collins Gem' for not mentioning it. Grace was all for the fruity use of four letters, but wanted to be catered for on the odd occasions when a wholesome fifteen sprang to mind. Regardless of her body pleading for cool sheets and darkness, her brain had leapt onto that nocturnal, squeeking hampster wheel (fuelled by several black coffees through the absence of milk) and now she had a strong need to communicate. "No, I don't fancy bed", she admitted, wary of being consumed by her own thoughts in the darkness....

[Jats]

...this repost will have to do instead then, I'm off to sle...

"...couldn't agree more xxx, that third person stuff gets on my tits..." replies Jats scratching his bollox staring out at another sunny day "...glad I don't do that, no I have never referred to myself when speaking then, as I am now, talking just as I would face to face, though it matters not the way I am saying stuff, what usually pisses most people off is what I am saying then, specially when I am right, with no distractions for them to latch on to to help save a failing argument, or face then..." Jats puts the kettle on once more wondering if that's why books are hated so now, everything having to be in first person plain and simple, or even worse txt speak followed by an emoticon, otherwise it just being too difficult for some to follow a simple story now "...and anyway, I think we have covered this before, in fact I have a whole thread, or ten, or fifty all about it, cus see I like the power of words myself..." and the chameleon grabs a link to help out

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hzgzim5m7oU

[Grace Gabriel]

"Ah Jats, I envy you", Grace sighed, imagining the leaden feeling of overstretched muscles, weathered cheeks and pure oxygen overdose. "Sleep well then", she wrote, guessing he would land on his bed like a felled tree and know nothing until morning when the alarm clock dragged him back up to the surface. Grace grabbed an armful of battered paperbacks and decided to read herself to sleep. "You see Flea - they'll always be that need for the old fashioned book to curl up in bed with. In fact, I can fall asleep with my face dribble-glued to its pages, and not even get billed for the connection".


http://youtu.be/5zey8567bcg

[Jats]

Jats wakes slowly and painfully, flicks the kettle on and then the knee brace as he hobbles back to the sofa to inspect the rest of the damage to his battered body "...ah no, no bedtime books for me, for if there had been I would have been up half the night having to finish it voraciously, for see, sometimes like today and yesterday I have to be prodded awake for an early start though in the main I can wake as I please, but I tend not to pick up a book much these days, far too addictive..." replies Jats gulping his second cup of tea already while throwing on the same old trousers and some fleeces then making another cup seeing that the drizzling rain will mean once this early chore is over he can return to the sanctuary of the little cottage by the canal and leave all these manic ealrybird humans to it while he waits for the weather to be far more suitable "...no the only page turning stories I crave for now are the ones that I am in, especially if I am the hero then..." unexplains Jats remembering to brush his teeth, ready now to fight on for another day

[fleamailman]

("...great posts, I'm pinching that last pic too..." mentioned the goblin)

repost from elsewhere, new, repost from the "how was your day/week" thread, finished

"...well, usual stuff..." started the goblin, continuing "...the captain has asked me to fetch the laundry from the cleaners and to buy toilet paper too, but the bistro was on the way so I'm pondering it all over in my mind to a coffee knowing that as much as her laundry and that toilet paper were of dire consequence to the tranquillity of one's domestic bliss, first I felt that I really ought to rescue forumland from all those trolls of their forum, the writertypes on this one, and from mommies elsewhere, yes it's a thankless task I know but I suppose someone has to do it, but I imagine you do see just how dysfunctional all these forums become when their members are left to their own devices upon them..."


xxxx 2444 44067

[Jats]

...and this follows on nicely then Flea, a repost from another thread, in case it's missed, but with a picture here...

Originally Posted by JMcNChicago

My novel, A Life Without Grace, is available as a free Kindle download on Amazon.com May 14 - 18.

Family...one you can make, the other makes you.

A LIFE WITHOUT GRACE dissects a tense few days in the life of Grayson Eilers, a successful baby-boomer. Grayson, a freelance speechwriter, receives an urgent message from his sister that their mother has suffered a severe heart attack. She is alive, but her condition remains critical. For more than three decades, Grayson has compartmentalized his life, distancing himself physically and emotionally from the modest origins that his mother, his sister and his two brothers represent, while dedicating himself to his new family: his wife and two children. After a terse conversation with his sister, Grayson, feeling angry and helpless, accepts his inevitable moral imperative: returning to Omaha to confront family members with whom he has never shared any commonality. He arrives in Omaha on the eve of a spring snowstorm that delays the arrival of his wife and his two children, leaving Grayson isolated to cope with the cascade of both predictable and unexpected emotions inherent in his stressful reunion with his estranged family.

"...hasn't this been done..." wonders Jats scratching his head trying to jog the memory "...Seymour Hoffman was in it, or am I thinking of something else, or someone else, anyway I'm sure yours is good too, maybe better than the one I'm thinking of, which will come to me later, randomly and probably inappropriately..." chuckles Jats here at how a new author can't even give his stuff away for free these days and then perishes the thought of a life without our own Grace here, who's book Jats would definitely read then having been gripped already by it, without even seeing it, not even an intro even

[Jats]

...glad I took your advice to not give up on those quiet forums now then Flea, as after reposting my conversation with Grace on bedtime reading I got this, from a Mod, and so my reply then here too...

oolongcha ponders at this latest post by Jats. At length:
"Well," he says, sipping at one of the more expensive supermarket's own brand of tea, "books have been a constant companion. I have the myopia from childhood that serves as a reminder. However, those precious moments before turning out the light on the night or, indeed, early hours of the morning, before falling into the arms of Hypnos are usually given to the written word, printed on a page. This," says oolongcha meaningfully, "is a critical point - no glare of a screen from one of those phones, pads, or computers; no power needed. No waiting for something to upload, download, power up, power down. These moments, then, " he continues, "help punctuate the moment from wakefullness to sleep: it takes the mind to someplace else completely different, a disctraction from daily concerns." Oolongcha pauses. "True, on occasion the book takes a little too firm a hold, and perhaps an hour is stolen from under the nose of that sometimes coy goddess; but often, it's a nugget of a thought to take into the darkness when the light flicks off, or a hint of something, somewhere else, if only..."

"...well this is a first..." smiles Jats just back now and needing to eat "...a moderator who not only reads, but writes too, which is a rarity even on so called writers sites, and now I knew I was right not to give up on this forum then..." as Jats puts the kettle on and stuffs some chocolate in the gob to fill the empty stomach temporarily "...yes I understand, though, as I said it's not for me for the reasons stated as it won't be a stolen hour, or two, it will be up all night until it's finished, I lost a week reading Tolken in my youth, but it was worth it, then, no in the main it's because I am far too busy writing now where I can escape daily life any time I like and not just at bedtime, or on a rare lazy day off when there is nothing to do, for on forum-land you can go anywhere you want to, at any time, and be anything you want to be, hero, or villain, or both, for despite any reservations that I might share with you on these pervasive, troublesome, modern gadgets, they are here and can be very useful tools to not kill the book, or replace it, but to lead someone back, or to it even, if you have written one, because yes, people still want to read something more than is the norm on forum-land and even though I know some wonderful livewriters on forumland now (as I am not the only one you know there are more and counting), shall I tell you who's posts I enjoy the most, why mine of course, even if they are shit sometimes in comparison, and why? Because writing offers far more freedom than reading, as you have just discovered in that post where for once on forumland you were free, almost lost in that world you escape to at night..." Jats slurps the dregs of his tea "...now imagine writing as any persona of your choosing and anonymously too, where as a mod then you can appreciate how useful that could be, and seeing as you are stuck to the screen modding you might as well do something for self while you are here then, for what have you got to lose..."

[fleamailman]

("...very true post that..." went the goblin back to read it a second time, adding "...it's so nice to be able to point to others, saying "why, if you don't believe me then just at their posts, and what's more they're getting known by it too"...")

repost from elsewhere

Fleamailman, if you dont mind me asking, where do all of these reposts come from?

"...they're just a residue of those posts that one makes vis a vis forumland here.." explained the goblin "...for example this post too will follow that same process then, in that I will first store it, and later repost it across many elsewheres in some air/edit/backup context, knowing that the airing got me feedback, whereas the editing improved it, and backing it up was due to the fickle nature of our forumland here...", in fact, the goblin was often doing his air/edit/backup of some post of a forum that no longer existed, then joking he ventured "...maybe by reposting I become a door to door blogger then, rather than someone who just waits to be read in one place..."


133

[Grace Gabriel]

And Grace showed up, looking somewhat drained. The flu had gone south, and she had just ridden the rapids on her porcelain craft, clinging to the sink for support and the toilet roll holder for leverage. She eased herself down in front of the screen, cradling a midrift that had been mercilessly rung out and pinned taut over her hip bones like a drying animal hide. She had counted bathroom tiles. Clung to every word of the shampoo ingredients like a love letter. Examined the toothpaste tube - squeezed to a corkscrew - with total empathy. "I don't think I can write tonight", she apologised, shakey and weak from her rectal liposuction, "and quite frankly, if I do write - it'll only be shit".

[Jats]

...a door to door blogger then...

"...marvellous, I have nicked that lovely line and the picture already which just fitted neatly on to the end of my latest post...and poor Grace, you sure that's just flu..." wonders Jats getting worried now yet shaking his head in amazement having always felt that a film, or a book is not real until someone is taking a shit, or a piss then "...I hate being ill, it's the time when being single really sucks, with no one to fuss, or care for you, to bring that extra pillow, a cuppa, some soup and just being there caring quietly in hushed tones knowing that the slightest noise sounds like a jackhammer inside their head ..." and then Jats laughs quietly to himself remembering the lack of all that, the crashing and bashing and relentless bloody vacuuming and so reconsiders then "...no perhaps it is much worse if someone is there and doesn't give a fuck then..."

[Grace Gabriel]

" I think the doctors might be a good idea tomorrow", Grace admitted, "right now I could fry bacon on my head". Grace checked her face in the mirror, and took in the deep lines etched on her forehead. "Ok...I could griddle bacon on my forehead then" conceded the ageing Wendy to that bitch of a mirror. Grace pulled her knees up under her chin and perched on the edge of her chair like a gargoyle. " I feel like a Christmas cracker", she told Jats, "y'know - all the gritted teeth suspense of guessing which end of me is about to go off with a bang." Grace sipped her Indian Tonic Water and listened to her stomach respond like victorian plumbing. She was about to tell Jats she was happy to suffer all these indignities alone - then remembered she was broadcasting them on the internet. She shrugged. "Life just isn't all sunshine and daisy chains is it?", she finished, shuffling off towards the bathroom again on rubber legs.

[fleamailman]

(ascension and the bistro is packed where amongst the throngs of interruption and bothersome babble, the goblin is steadfast in his escape to here, saying "...personas to the rescue then, this is more dignified...")

repost from elsewhwere

Do you believe critiquing others' work is important? Do you believe critiquing others helps you improve your own writing? Do you learn from others' critiques? Do you believe you can critique? Do you critique/review/comment in a constructive way, or at all? if not, Why? Thanks for your time and thoughts. Sync

"...well I suppose I do form an opinion on that which I read, if that is meant by critique here, and then reply where need be too, aka feeding then, or correspondence perhaps..." replied the goblin, continuing "...though I'm careful not to tell you humans how to write now, or how anything should be written either least you all turn into clones of one another...", no, what the goblin actually craved for was an individuality from posters based on their imperfections, saying "...you see, anyone could say anything but on forumland I am simply my own writer/reader/editor/illustrator/publisher/journalist/whatever, if only because I write/read/edit/illustrate/post/inquire/whatever for myself here, and where I could put on those meaningless writer's airs too, offer qualifications, or justifications then, but at the end of the day isn't it the hitcount to one's posts which either condones or condemns the efforts now, me I just write then, the rest has no significance whatsoever, for here you read of me directly and I am me by it..."


133 2451 44260

[Jats]

...did I steal that pic from you, or you from me, it's all a blur these days... meanwhile, I was playing swot the bot elsewhere, but he never came back after this one...

"why even the best of the trolls don't bother too neither knowing what happens next then, still, one more time then "

that's a very poorly constructed sentence for somebody who takes their online literary techniques with the utmost of tact

i pride myself in the fact that i can express myself with minimal effort and output

i read and understood your post in less than 30 seconds, though it was about 26 too many for my liking. most people one here don't give you the luxury of their attention for much longer than that, let alone take the time to think and respond accordingly.

you're a lizard on an island of birds jats

"...and yet in your critique you didn't check for spelling mistakes..." laughs the chameleon who loves pedents as they are so easy to suck up "...well I suggest you keep reading some more as you are clearly not understanding any of it at all, as this is random stuff, where there are no rules here, especially for the grammar nazis, who surely should be adhering to capital letters at the start of sentences with full stops at the end, you know, the basics, and shouldn't that be 'someone' there technically and not somebody, and 'on' not one too according to theirs and your rules then, where see I wouldn't care a jot really, though others might think you are a complete and utter fool with such misplaced pride that instead of your intention, which is clear, will just have them here laughing at you, not I here..." as the chameleon ruffles a few more feathers thinking this could get interesting, if indeed it was a fair fight then

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TYS_HtnknDY

[Loz]

Smelling worse that Grace's bathroom he knocks over the flower-filled vase as he stumbles through to kitchen, picking up another bottle and downing it to the very empty base before tossing it aside. The party guests have long since departed, and yet with a vomit-smelling burp he struggles with another lid. He shoves the vodka into his mothers hands. "Wopen it," he slurs. A frown of worry etches into her brow. She pleas for him to stop and yet at the same time her hands work the lid, prepping the ammunition. He snatches the bottle from her weak grip, and glugs it down. "You keep up like this and it will kill you," his mother says. "I hope it does," he replies, glaring at her, hoping to watch her break. At that time his words had been meant in rebellion, but ten years later when lying on a urine soaked floor, covered in his own vomit, no friends and no family, Loz has to wonder if the same words hold a little more meaning to him now.

[Jats]

...and Jats is happy now he passed out in a girls garden with an empty whisky bottle as a sixteen year old then, but that's another post...

Jats sat on the tailgate of the truck sipping water taking a little breather while looking out at the thirty acres that he had all to himself today and scans the lush green fields beyond watching the buzzards circling above them effortlessly on a thermal while one Labrador sat at his feet and the other nuzzled him constantly for attention, not out of any real affection mind, more to do with the rest of the chocolate bar in Jats trouser pocket that was there intentionally, a little trick that Jats used to keep him at heel like an invisible bungee chord that stopped the little bleeder wandering off across the fields to the next estate in his constant craving for food, his Achilles paw then "...what a lovely day, no rain, and the chainsaw was out to fashion a few fallen tree trunks into shape that now make a nice chunky rustic fence with the offcuts going into my log burner later as a weekend of doing nothing much beckons..." thought Jats getting a call from a friend just now to work tomorrow afternoon too "...might as well then, nothing better to do..."

[fleamailman]

("...some vivid posts indeed, where I love the balance between us all..." mentioned the goblin who had indeed pinched Jats's picture back there, adding "...well that's because Jats has a keen eye in his work, something reflected in his choice of words and pics...")

repost from elsewhere

Democracy is the greatest farce ever. That must have been proven to everyone by now. If we elect a government for four or five years, during that time they have the ability to do what they like within the bounds of the constitution. At best, they act in the in interests of the majority that elected them, virtually disregarding everyone else. At worst, they destroy the country for their own good.

"...well yes, democracy is a farce agreed..." went the goblin, adding "...where dictatorship is for real then, but mind you, given the choice, wouldn't you prefer to to lied to, rather than being ordered about here..." , somehow the goblin's mind was first thinking about russia, where mr medvedev was president but mr putin was in charge, and then about america, where mr bush was president but obviously somebody else was in charge, concluding "...well there you have it then, the russians are more honest to their electorate than the americans are..."


133 2455 44364

[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere

the goblin felt good now, and appreciated xxxx's input, explaining "...the logic behind the lax writing style here is threefold then, in that first it hides my identity, then it shows some authenticity too, in that who would write like this, and lastly it does away with the context of me the writer and you the reader where a livewriter prefers to feed off the replies instead...", in fact, the goblin, faced with that stark choice between a declining bookworld, or waiting forever on some blogspot, had simply opted for neither then, deciding instead, to go to the readers directly across forumland here, seeing that the potential readership offered a bigger chance of rapport then than in either of those two more conventional routes, feeding was all to do with now it seemed, adding "...I am anonymous, simply all this will end as it started for me, from unknown to unknown, silence to silence, etc., but that was one's life all along, wasn't it just, just something ever unknown beyond it's present known, so feed me while you can humans, that's all I'm asking..."


133 2456 44380

[Jats]

"...is the goblin hungry again..." smiles Jats with one eye on the football now and ready to put the fire on, though not the cherry yet just unloaded from the truck that will pay for the oil then "...c'mon Chelsea...another day of mystery and delightful conversations, yes I might start working the odd Saturday, if the weathers nice, no traffic on the roads so buzzing round through the green lanes with only the odd tourist to negotiate in a Senna like trance when not undressing every jogger on the way...another good day I am afraid..." reports Jats getting worried, for a brief moment "...and Chelsea wins...lovely evening..."

http://wn.com/Lawrence_of_Arabia_-_Final_Scene

[Loz]

"Finally time to sleep," decides Loz, still awaiting the big drop after a mountain of tension built up faster than lava erupting from a explosive volcano. Instead a deep breath it is, as Loz waves nun-night to her imaginary friends for the evening, much more cheery to be diving into the depths of REM than something much more sinister.

[Jats]

...my pleasure...