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

[fleamailman]

("...I always write repost from elsewhere..." started the goblin, continuing "...but in reality, it's a redo of a redo of a redo of a redo here, so this one is still not quite right but here it is again...")

repost from elsewhere, the "what triggers your writing" thread

the goblin didn't have triggers as such, but instead found it to be a balance then, one between that which was within, and that which was expected from him on his outside, saying "...yes, for example at times I need the pull of the audience here, whereas at other times, I need to be alone where that audience is forgotten...", where even now the goblin was looking out through the bistro's wide windows across the brilliant white snow beyond, as if the dark of the bistro's interior almost underlined the contrast within the goblin's mind too, he just continued, remarking "...so I feel like a go-between in a shared life I suppose, between an inner self and this outer world, I appease both, I share one with the other here collecting ideas from either yet not knowing from which that idea will come, nor really knowing for which side I write for either...", just the goblin's mind nurtured those ideas then, needing much time and many rewrites to hew them onto paper, just a go-between in a shared existence where his ideas were slowly turned into posts to be set free on forumland only to be forgotten, save for a copy perhaps that he might kept should he wish to try it again, "...so I'm not really a trigger type person, more it's a general nurturing process that is aided by such props as one's coffee these edit threads and an altogether satisfactory but unadventurous dailylife..." confessed the goblin in his slowly passing life


36 2700 51476

[maidahl]

maidahl wondered if the goblin enjoyed anime and if the above post was from Howl's Moving Castle. It looked strangely familiar. The post inspired her to wander the castle grounds in search of adventure. She stumbled upon a cottage in a far off land name Esilki, where the Gruins live. She stopped by the shack for refreshments and found a delightful old lady and a little boy. Thus, she wrote a story about them, but that is for another day. Instead of boring you with the whole story, she will tell you she enjoyed herself thoroughly, what with home-made snickerdoodles and fresh milk to dip! Quite a reception.

[fleamailman]

("...love anime..." replied the goblin who had seen many now, adding "...yes there are times when I'll rush through a series, and then month might pass before I like at anime again...")

repost from elsewhere

"...your majesty.." replied the goblin suspecting that he could only really speak when spoken to here, also, that he shouldn't look king george in the eye either, continuing "...if I may be permitted then, in that well, we all understand the need to root out subversion amongst your subjects, and your colonies merit no exception here, but honesty this new proposal now, allowing your agents to make their searches with self authorized warrants without prior approval nor deliberation, that then forces those who have been searched never to disclose that fact to anyone, be that legal representatives, family, or whomsoever then, on pain of a prison term of up to five years too..." the goblin paused for breath, then continued "...moreover, that contained within that same proposal now, the crown being allowed to hold someone indefinitely here, without redress to any legal representation whatsoever, nor even told the reason why they're being detained then, your majesty, quite simply your subjects would rise up against you if you ever enacted this, where I'm sure you'd rightly lose hold of those new world colonies...", the king asked his prime minister if this was so, that this proposal existed, quite perturbed that the goblin knew this much about affairs of state, and then in a slight german accent asked "...it seems you are well versed in our affairs goblin, so now, how would you go about it then...", "...um well..." to which the goblin picked off a bit of wax from the candle to buy time to put clearly then, and then explained "...no, your majesty I confess that it cannot be done in this day and age like that, but if it's any consolation to you, I've seen the future now, where there will be another george who will catch your colonists off-guard, by simply compiling in a three hundred page bill with exactly these same clauses, calling it the patriot act whereupon submitting it of their parliament giving their legislators a mere fifteen minutes to read it, knowing full well that no one could of course, whereupon they will just pass it into law, whence a history of tyrannical rule will have gone full circle so to speak here, and their rebellion would have been entirely pointless...", which was when the goblin woke up from this dream here, while outside it was still dark, and yet, looking out across the rooftops of the great city now, somehow the goblin just wondered if he alone was the only one awake amongst the hundreds who still seemed to sleep on now


139 2702 51521

[Nadja]

Rain is back with a vengeance in the city of my birth. Thank the weather gods for that. The place feels like home again. Now once again I can slip out and slip away and evaporate like the rain mist or drown in a city puddle.

[Jats]

...yes another day of rain, another month of "since records began", and lots of posts, though I'm still playing catch up here two pages back, you've all gone prolific...

"Blending in," Lucky wants to say to Jats, "is much like being bland, a fine quality."

"...indeed..." agrees the chameleon still nestling here undetected amongst these writer types, for who's to say he hasn't pulled it off then with a readership most authors would gladly conform even further for "...yet, it depends..." interrupts Jats "...for one will slowly become what one pretends to be if one is not careful then, bland, insipid, gentle and agreeable which is perfect for this kind of democracy of ours then, but not for me..." as the chameleon grins widely again knowing he can easily mingle with the best of them when the need arises, ah yes the chameleon loves the bland, his hackles rising even now just thinking of walking amongst them in his suited disguise, joining in with their conversations, mimicking their mannerisms sucking them in to be trusted to get what's wanted and then to disappear again "...no bland and anonymous are very different indeed..." adds Jats here laying on his sofa busy doing nothing

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m1E9MiUECXU

[fleamailman]

("...that one was a pleasure to follow Jats..." went the goblin whose mind was firmly on dull tonight, saying "...oh well, when bright write, when dull edit I suppose...")

repost from elsewhere

by now the goblin knew subjectively that writing wasn't what most non writers imagined it to be here whereas most writers too, probably found out too late that it isn't what they had bargained for either, explaining "...isn't there always a risk of self deception here, that once one has built up some shared life with a muse, once one had succeeded in whatever goal one had envisaged with her, that one can then simply dump her, unshare one's life, and somehow crawl back to that superficial surface living like before, but no that's not the way it goes is it, for all this sharing, much like keeping a dream diary, or like those who see ghosts then, is something where the practice reinforces the sharedness...", where perhaps the goblin too, had been one of those fools who hadn't bothered to look closely enough at the small print of the muse's pact then, the part that actually read warning, last sanity check: you can't get her back into her bottle once you let her out, are you quite sure you want to sign the pact with a muse now


36

[Loz]

"Finally", says Loz, enjoying the rain, a sentiment she's sure she shares with Nadja; the storm swirling around her like a release of pent up energy, leaving Loz as calm as a summer sea inside. Boots squelching, she slows her pace, rain pounding against her head and dripping from her nose. She looks up at stormy skies, the hand of her inner self that thrashes into the old village, throwing dust and pushing at tree's so Loz doesn't have to. Once the destruction is over, she returns to the sofa with a long a breath and gives Jats a big squelchy hug just to make him wet too. "Found you," she shouts like a triumphant child, having just won a game of hide and seek.

[maidahl]

maidahl notes that Loz has reminded her of her childhood, playing tag in the fields, and hide and seek in the local parks, and reminisces of the good old days when she had "water in guns, and a soda for wine". She realizes she would give anything to go back to her youth and revisit some experiences. However, she had to be a grown up last night and bring a gift for her friend's dinner. Maidahl's friend was under 21, and her parents were home. I'm sure this wasn't suspicious at all. maidahl brought her:BOOKS!

[Jats]

...you gods with your superpowers, got the goods on me she haas...just in case, a last post then...

"...yes that pub of yours reminds me of so many hanging on for their lives here in every town, no longer the heartbeat of the communities..." as Jats recalls overhearing a conversation in one between a young girl and her Nana that he'll tag on below now "...yes always listen to your Nana, and not your Mom then, though whatever you do don't listen to the grumpy old fucker in the corner...he's mad you know..." chuckles Jats on remembering that little gem again picking up his guitar now and singing along 'So what do you say? You can't give me the dreams that are mine anyway, half the world away, half the world away, half the world away, I've been lost I've been found but I don't feel down...'..."

Jean: you stick to your guns. I do admire that. I had a friend like you, just after I finished school, Peggy Hartley she were called. We used to pal about together. Oh I was always the soft one, always crying over one lad or another who'd let me down. But Peggy- she were like you. One step out of line and she sent them packing. She were very strong willed. I do admire that- good on you girl
Melanie: Thanks. What happened to Peggy nana?
Jean: oh. She died a spinster a couple of years ago. Ooh it were very sad.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M351M...eature=related

[maidahl]

maidahl smiled, happy to be amongst fellow guitar players. She decided to spend the rest of the day playing her acoustic in peace. She was interrupted by the neighbors, who were screaming. maidahl remembered long ago, when her mother told her, "Remember, Laura, words? They hurt." And maidahl decided today to pass the message along to her friends with an inspirational picture that pretty much had to be the saddest thing she'd ever seen. Every time she looks at it, she vows to be a better person. The feeling disappates though, when her friends steal her closets, empty her fridge, tag the mirrors on occasion, or wreck the house. She cusses them out, reducing them to tears once when they left her N64 in the pool. It was her prized possession. Now, she is left bereft, playing only PC games. One day, she will replace the machine, but for now, she will look upon the face that moves her to improve and multiply her compassion and empathic actions, making tomorrow a better day for those she interacts with. In the future, she will purchase a Playstation and about ten games. In the interim, she has decided to go cuss out her brother for soaking the couch with gin. Oops. Time to look at the picture again, she thinks.

[maidahl]

maidahl is known in her area for having weird, pretty ugly hair. It's rainbow. She recently got a haircut. Poor barber man. maidahl is very particular about her vanities. The barber was a very tired, very old, very bored man. As they got to chatting, maidahl began to confide in him, telling him that she really, desperately wanted a dog, but had no place to keep one. Also, her brother is allergic, which, as maidahl will tell you, sucks @ss. So as they left, the very tired, very old, very bored barberman gave maidahl a dog in the only way she could receive such a gift. She thinks, and this is just between us guys, the man is quite a weirdo. But the gift was beautiful. Truly a masterpiece. maidahl named him (oops. maidahl wrote her first name here and had to edit), maidahl continues. She named him: Piece of. Just "Piece of". The rest is implicit, pretty obvious don't you think? maidahl is not satisfied and is anxiously waiting until she moves to NYC and buys herself a fox terrier, an alaskan malamute, a russel terrier, a cool siberian husky, or a bull terrier. She is still leaving the option open to adopt from the pound. She visits them often. However, she has Piece Of to admire for now.

[Grace Gabriel]

So. The dawn chorus then. Finally. Grace sipped tea with a sense of relief. It had been a torturous night of fitful sleep - the washing machine of her mind on spin cycle. When the birds sang, the drum stopped spinning. The birds pronounced it over - the birds always pronounced it over - and the horrors that played in her head would slink back to their crypt, in fear of the sun. And this was when she could sleep deeply now. The goblin would be awake, quietly pottering around making coffee. Logging on for a morning read. This always gave her a sense of comfort. The flushing toilet and gentle footsteps from childhood that told you to roll over and sleep - you're safe. Everything's fine.

[maidahl]

maidahl thinks to herself, Shouldn't everyone be as happy as she is right now? This bear makes her happy. His name is HappyLaffyBear. He goes around cheering us by rushing the news stations and wrecking live news feeds. Every man inside him probably has gone to jail and thinks life is not worth living. So they terrorize local cities and news organizations, not minding incarceration. Maidahl could care less about the men's fates. HappyLaffyBear is making her happy, happy, happy. Ahhh,sighs maidahl. The night air and bear make this night perrrfect.

[fleamailman]

("...early days yet everyone..." went the goblin appreciating both the depth and scope of the posts once more, saying "...forum readership is for real even if the rest of this is all our virtual reality here, so come spoil me with your posts livewriters, your progress is evident but your best is yet to come and these days are our days now...")

repost from elsewhere, "...how honest are you on the internet..." thread

the goblin too, had started out in his childhood as a child like any other perhaps, though when he had then discovered this forumland here he had soon become a child of this internet age instead, saying "...and besides, who is what then where none of any of this can be proved anyway, and where too, the choice is ever one between some known wendy or an anonymous peter pan on forumland, between growing old set in all those unprovable details, or being without details as in not who one is on the outside...", and yet the goblin appreciated the topic and did not write about his own anonymous stance to deter others form seeking their fame and fortune now, merely anonymity was more practical to him as his creation of an enduring persona, a persona that his dailylife might even envy him for in his ever remaining time within it, simply it was his answer then


139 2713 51671

[Jats]

as each livewriter is different and sees livewriting, in other words writing in posts, differently too

and the chameleon steals this from the goblins secret lair, not even sure if it has been posted yet having not worked out all of the goblins cryptic codes which is just as well thinks Jats as it works both ways then while munching on some cake now on this journey to self "...well it's hardly a secret now is it, what I think, and in a nutshell there you have it then..." as the chameleon goes off to search for another free speech post for another freedom of speech thread that has appeared elsewhere

[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere, the goblin shadow writing a reply to a thread where someone is asking for criticism

"...well what I found hard there was, that there would be something in inverted commas that then it turned out not be actual speech, because instead it was just someone's thoughts, so the speech and thoughts came across jumbled together..." mentioned the goblin who used inverted commas only for thinking, or for quotes, concepts, etc., whereas for speech he used something else, saying "...don't know, what do I use for speech then...", the narrator looked back at the goblin looking dumbfounded, thinking "ellipsises, that stupid dots system you cretin goblin piece of..., forget it, btw could I become someone else's narrator here please, well at least someone slightly more normal now", "...anyway, where was I then, oh yes, actually I can't remember what those grammar-naz*s call it now, you know something written between "... ...", there's a name of it somewhere...", at which point the narrator is trying to disown the goblin once more, thinking "cretin, I just don't understand how these writer's forums put up with him even, can't they hold some sort of sanity test or something, place a minimum mental requirement benchmark on registering, oh and another thing I'm not some dumb harlequin narrator here, besides, why is it always him that gets to talk anyway, you bet I could say something better than that goblin there", at which point the goblin was just wondering what picture, adding "...yes, my way of writing does seem bit odd but it has its method...", where the narrator simply thought "oh no, I've never met him in my life, honest"


139 2715 51742

[maidahl]

As maidahl pondered the meaning of life, she wondered how many people would find her particular train of thoughts genius. She knew she herself found herself to be quite filled with ingenius profundities now and again. She was quite happy that night; her friend and several contacts from work had joined her local hotel for a dinner party. She was in the mood for serious writing and deep thinking. Then came a crash. Stupid of maidahl for thinking some men are not buttheads. This particular man butted his head and joined the rest of the male species in being a big butthead. Tonight, maidahl curls up on a couch by a fire, contemplating what kind of thoughts the big butthead thinks. Are they meaningful? Deep as the sea? Maidahl decides not to bother with stream-of-consciousness stuff. She gets enough on some writing forum or other. Ahhck. No suspension of disbelief. Whatever, says maidahl. I'll work on it, she adds lamely.

[fleamailman]

("...it's coming together maidahl..." went the goblin liking it's style)

repost from elsewhere

by now, the goblin couldn't remember how long he had been writing under this persona now, nor when he had first started posting even, where these forums had simply risen and toppled one by one and where their members had drifted in and away again, saying "...no, to be perfectly honest with you, I don't think it even matters to me now, yet a few years back forumland was like thousands of threads with nothing to read between them, whereas today I can borrow ceasar's line here where I found timber, I left marble, knowing that he was one amongst many ceasars who built rome in fact, and yet our rome is under construction still, and what do I care if they claim that we build on sand here, for isn't it enough to know that one posted one's all while one still could..."


139 2717 51831

[Jats]

"...I've forgotten what I came in to write about now, those posts having sent my mind reeling, yes nothing better than to sit back and give your gob a rest for a bit, enjoy someone else doing the talking..." comments Jats back from squeezing in a couple of hours in between the rain noticing it teeming down now through the window, and so, after updating the diary with more circles and hoops, accepts these shackles with a resigned smile seeing the sun breaking out through the clouds and escapes back into forumland then "...yes it fascinates me Maidhal..." his mind having been snatched then, though still finding that beautiful name tricky to grab hold of "...all that male butting going on, and coming over all David Attenborough when coming across it, like watching a real life documentary then..." Jats laughs at his unintended pun "...it always happens, always will, as I was reminded of when overhearing my eldest chatting to his mate and complaining that 'whenever Woosty comes and there's girls around he acts like a dick and ruins it' which made me think he's handling that one quite nicely all on his own then and he'll probably be fine with 'colleagues' too soon..." and so Jats mind drifts back now then to many of his own, all gone now, lost in the ether of daily life, of hotel rooms, works do's, conferences, and overnight trips, Jats chuckles remembering bits and so adds "...yes I'm hooked Maidhal, I want to read your next thousand posts already, all in one go..." as Jats is already thinking Maidhal could handle some of the best and worst forumland has to offer

[Loz]

Maidhal's picture reminded Loz of last night. "Panda dive!" she shouted as she flopped on to the bed. Her husband propped himself up on one elbow, looked down at her disapprovingly. "That was pathetic," he said. "And ... ? I said Panda dive. Since when have Panda's been known for the dextrous divey-awesomenessnyess?" At which Loz rolled over in a fake huff, and stuck out her bum with a wiggle; her usual request for a cuddle. And she loves how some things, you don't have to ask for; snuggles and posts, they seem to be right there just when she needs them.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FzRH3iTQPrk

[Jats]

[maidahl]

After several awww-inducing posts,(maidahl squealed over the panda bears), maidahl went for a hike and met an alpaca that was pretty much the sweetest thing. It was desperate for hugs and candy love, more so than food or material possessions and wealth. maidahl wonders if humans should be more like this alpaca, whom she named St. Elizabeth, after the patron saint of automobilists, mainly because maidahl is very greedy about cars and feels she needs to show her fellow humans more love, especially the hobos on Lake Avenue instead of indulging in the delights of street racing. maidahl wonders if the goblin, Jats, and the gang would like to be bored with some history of a saint. Thus she recites from memory:"St. Elizabeth was born of the Aragonese royal family in 1271 A.D. She married the King of Portugal and had two children. After her husband died she received the Habit of the Third Order of Saint Francis. St. Elizabeth distributed all of her wealth to the poor. She died in 1336 after settling a long family dispute between her son and son-in-law. St. Elizabeth is the Patron Saint of Catholic Charities." She then decides that wasn't quite boring enough, although all thoughts of showing more empathy towards this earth of mankind are all gone, evaporated like spoken dreams, iterated in the secret chambers of one's spare bedroom of plush carpets, high ceilings, and a hanging crystal chandelier, like all Roman Catholics she knows who dream of changing the world and being special. maidahl decides to bore her fellows further, with some more background information about the patron saint of automobilists. Instead of focusing on the cuteness of St. Elizabeth's namesake alpaca, she draws attention to more history, narrating from memory: "While most children are off frolicking and making trouble, Elizabeth was married between the ages of thirteen and fourteen. Hermann I had died on December 31, 1216; so instead, she married his brother, Ludwig. The match proved to be a happy one. Ludwig loved her deeply and was a kind-hearted husband. He was generous and wary of misusing his power. His ultimate goal was the service of God, and therefore their philosophies and personal morals intertwined perfectly. Ludwig spent his reign, as he spent his life, acting for the will of God. As ruler, he traveled to Italy on behalf of the empire and emperor. In his absence, he left control of his finances and household to Elizabeth who in turn disseminated alms, including state robes and ornaments, to all parts of the territory. In addition, she built a twenty-eight-bed hospital below the Wartburg and visited the residents daily to attend to their wants. The following year, after a brief return to Germany, Ludwig left yet again, this time on a crusade to Palestine in conjunction with Emperor Frederick II. He died shortly after leaving for Palestine, on 11 September 1227 en route to the crusade for God against the infidels. Thus, Elizabeth was left with three children, a widow at the age of twenty. She was deeply upset at the loss of her beloved husband. Yet, she turned to God for aid and found it in the guidance of Caesarius of Speyer. With newfound hope, she built a monastery for the Franciscan order in 1225 at Eisenach." Now maidahl is satisfied. All people should be as bored as she is at 3am when insomnia keeps her kicking and wired.

[maidahl]

maidahl decides to follow up and make the boredom she caused a little better. This little kitten named Joseph is named after the patron saint of air travelers, because maidahl is flying from LA to the UK in a few days. maidahl realizes she is a very boring person ;she is wasting her brain cells on some random site or other, like this one, boozing her mind on reddit, but she decides Joseph (of Cupertino) is worth the time spent staring.

[maidahl]

maidahl wonders if she can break the laws of forumland despite the watchful eyes of the mods and fill the page with pictures of cuteness overflow. She decides not to contemplate the meaning of life, pauses for a banana milkshake break instead of going to her yoga class, and celebrates the fourth with a post of the smuggest b@stard known to mankind. She wonders if humans should air their dirty laundry like St. Venantius, named after the patron saint of falling. maidahl is continually blown by how many saints exists. She speculates luckyme could be the saint of wresting, Jats could become the patron saint of all things black and white, and the goblin could be the patron saint of...goblins. If only they died soon, some way tragic, preferably voluntary suicide on a cross, so they could be called martyrs. Meanwhile, here goes St. Venantius. maidahl feels she is on a roll.

[maidahl]

maidahl has decided she is tired of this particular venue of forumland, knowing she can't fill the everest of this page with her own brand of cuteness. She needs help! However, she concludes her stay in these parts of the woods with a final image of true best friends forever. Like all girls, maidahl slurps her shake, which is quite fabulous, she has had about a hundred some best friends over the years before thinking such a label is rather petty and stupid for such relationships she has had with most girls she chose for friends. She is appreciative of the girlfriends and guys she is friends with now and is left with a whole new perspective upon stumbling on ewe St. Genevieve (Genofeva), patron saint of fevers, and cute St. Gregory the Wonderworker, patron saint of food. maidahl particulars likes the idea of this last saint. She wonders if Grace Gabriel could become the patron saint of people lacking grace. If only Grace met a violent end, maidahl would make sure the Catholics would remember her. Ahh, if only.

[fleamailman]

("...you're quite mad maidahl, just what I want, more madness please..." went the goblin who had read every word and was happily distracted within it at this point, adding "...it's coming together, no I'm not going to comment and critic, instead I'll read whatever comes this way from anyone now, not for their sake, for mine, where simply authors become known by their posts...")

repost from elsewhere

"...ah no, I will never tag a thread for the thread's sake, instead each post has to be meant by me, because if one ever starts posting just to increase one's postcount then one becomes invisible to others through that deception there, more simply one's true opinion becomes blurred amongst the half hearted stuff one is posting..." replied then goblin who was hoping that nobody here just posted out some sense of obligation towards others here, adding "...got to be so selfish indeed, because being selfless on forumland is both unsustainable and dishonest..."


139 2725 51974

[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere, the subject of rebellion in egypt

"...just yet another one of those powers that be supported puppets is toppled, that's all..." mentioned the goblin, adding "...and serves them right too, thirty years of krikpatrick doctrine has meant that the west voicing its support for self determination here has been anything but to date, a humiliation to the west then, but that much is too obvious to go into here, tell me who said "if you sacrifice your liberty for security one ends up with neither", where egypt had been under the tight grip of the west's supported puppet only because it suited the west's interests to have it that way, another bought democracy no less...", the goblin then wanted to offer an equivalent now, saying "...put yourselves in their shoes then, would you really like thirty years of arabworld paid for imposed ronald ragan, just for the sake of the security of your region regardless of how many of your people died and got sent to prison for it, and now that one by one those fingers of the west's grip is being pulled apart here, why are they so worrying about security over self determination again, because the path from 1776 to 2011 has gone full circle full circle, moreover those who could use their pens on the internet here, in short everybody then, are still leaving this all up to the higher authority and its manipulating ourdearmedia to take care of things for them, with the result as seen, so where are the american sons of liberty now..."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sons_of_Liberty


139 2726 51986

[fleamailman]

repost from elsewhere, new, trying to explain

Nope, you're right, I still don't get it. But I appreciate it anyway...

"...hard to explain really..." replied the goblin, knowing that this forum was secluded and comfortable enough for him to continue quietly on it now, adding "...anyway, please don't judge me by the way ripped apart those resident trolls on TL, I'm not like that without undue provocation, I'm far more like the goblin one sees on writersbeat or publishedauthors, and it's on those writers forums that the real battle rages for forum readership now, so I edit my posts here, knowing that the livewriting scene is both for real and in its infancy too...", in fact, that goblin was just one of a small group of livewriters, adding "...simply my posts are proof of my pen, that's all..."


xxxx 2727 52012

[luckyme]

"Ah, Saints," muses Lucky. "what would they be if not for sinners?"

... what makes a human a Saint? Lucky wonders, while she sits, drinking her espresso and sees an elderly lady drop her groceries to help the young child that fell off his bicycle. There's a vagrant who just stole that suit's wallet and now hands out the money to his friends. They smile for they can fill their stomach, with food or beer. Is the human in the suit the Saint for carelessly providing opportunity? Or is the thief a Saint for sharing his new found wealth with the ones he cares about? What about the old lady? Or the humans who visit the females behind the windows, so scarcely clothed? Or the females who provide that moment of bliss? Or the woman left at home, who's man bought his bliss earlier and returns to his unsuspecting wife, to kiss her and make love to her. The edge off his need, taken care off by the female for hire. Is she a Saint? Or a sinner? And why do humans feel the need to judge in this way? Is not every human as valuable as the other? Do they not need them all? Sinners and Saint?

[Jats]

"...yeah what she said...the patron saint of black and white? I've puzzled on that all morning..." Jats has a quick cuppa then, enjoying the early start perversely, the cool morning air that reminded him of the seaside replaced now with the growing humidity knowing it's a race with the thunderstorms on their way up the country to get as much in today then "...I read the writers beat quarterly over breakfast, along with the nights posts, and it was nice to see illustrations with the writing, very well done with the editing and the editors comments all packaged up neatly, of course I didn't read them all, just looked for any persona that was known in my narrow view of forumland, and read those then..." says Jats back now, done for the day and even without any real sunshine this year so far has enjoyed staring at a burgeoning wild flower meadow while spending a lovely afternoon in a ditch "...but put me down for a sinner then too, despite all this giving back I'm doing for the humans and our planet..." as Jats puts the kettle on and then readies to sort out this client, nicely of course, that has given him a duff cheque indeed "...KILL THEM ALL..."