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  #5761  
Old 07-06-2017, 04:42 PM
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So. Fast approaching 2.00 am then. Less than two hours before the birds lift their beaks to serenade another dawn. A sultry night - the sky flickering with distant lightning like a fluorescent strip in the throes of dying. Grace was padding about the house, pausing in front of open doors and windows, sipping a gin and tonic. She skipped lightly up the staircase for yet another bedroom patrol. Little Man was finally back off to sleep again -skin glistening like glazed pastry - a torch spotlighting tiny stalacmites in his ear canal. His book, as always, stuck to his cheek. Grace moved the post-lights-out contraband and rolled him into the cooler terrain of virgin cotton. She raked his damp hair from his forehead with her fingertips and ruffled the top sheet like a ballerina's tutu around his waist. Grace reversed out carefully with a handful of discarded clothes tucked under her arm - ice cubes clinking in her glass. The house was in darkness apart from a glowing white oblong on her desk and a candle on the coffee table. Anything else would generate more unwanted heat. The silence was unnatural. The usual owl hoots, bat squeaks and rasping fox calls were silenced by oppressive velvet blackness that crackled with voltage and smothered the valley with the gloved hand of a murderer. Grace sat down at her desk and rattled on the keyboard in search of music. The first few strums of John Denver's guitar was accompanied by a deep roll of thunder and the room and hillside lit up like a service station forecourt. So Grace ended her post, turned the volume up on the speaker, and sat back to watch the greatest show on earth - raising her gin and tonic to the beauty of it all.

https://youtu.be/vJzcpUKKxzM

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Last edited by Grace Gabriel; 07-06-2017 at 07:13 PM..
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  #5762  
Old 07-06-2017, 05:13 PM
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Ah, lovely. I love John Denver. Yeah, I know, not cool butó

Hey, when can we read a bit of the Jesus story? I'm stoked as fuck for that.
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  #5763  
Old 07-14-2017, 04:50 AM
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repost from elsewhere,

and with that the goblin wrote out aloud his defiance, or at least that was what it sounded like inside to him, where work had drained him for his pains, no not just today but all throughout the summer it seemed, saying "...sorry slot, just too much too many and too often too, ah no, nothing is ever owed here between us really, but now I'm angry at dailylife for its theft...", it felt good to write again, so selfish even, while the slot just smiled back knowing that goblin could never ever really be normal like those who didn't have some pact with a muse were, smiling "...naah, nothing ever changes does it goblin, it's just you or that dailylife there, where you have to live your life though your pen lest your life lives you through its concerns, simply you stopped to learn you can't stop, well isn't that a lesson in itself there...", but the goblin still felt deeply the anguish of his loss though


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Last edited by fleamailman; 07-17-2017 at 02:14 AM..
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  #5764  
Old 07-17-2017, 01:28 AM
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repost from elsewhere, usual type stuff

and with that the goblin just felt his past returned again as he thought back upon the times before, they were before his father's death of course, his disappointment at his ingenerosity at the end, but what of it, the goblin had moved as it were, or not where it returned to him, whereupon the goblin went "...nice to hear your voice in my head again, where I do hope things are better for you now...", in fact, the goblin was in the middle of the busy season, not that he wrote anything worth reading within this whirlwind of endless work work work, no it was more just the fact that he still kept at it in spite of it, writing he meant, then adding "...personally though I don't know which is worse now, being betrayed or not having much expectation to begin with, I mean I'm glad it turned out to be trump then, seeing the evil advocated by those who were rallied against him, yet he doesn't seem to bring things to a close, instead the spectre of accidental global war remains so constant in its continuation...", simply the goblin hated the mainstream media for its obvious agenda, yet he had to follow the news to foretell its outcome but the media spin span his head and made him so sick of it


Last edited by fleamailman; 07-17-2017 at 02:16 AM..
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Old 07-17-2017, 02:07 AM
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repost from elsewhere

"...yesterday's table conversation had been my wife relating about how one of her friends whose father upon seeing that it was terminal cancer had terminated things in a family do..." explained the goblin continuing "...simply he had called the family together one last time, and then amongst them all he had drunk the big sleep potion...", where of course what crossed the goblin's mind was what he would do had it been him there, sighing "...naah, I try not to think about it, but I doubt I could call my close family together like that, I mean I tried so hard not to show my children their grandmother when she was not herself, and thus when I'm not myself, for I would not do it otherwise, I doubt that I would want them to see as I am but more I would them to remember me as to what I was before...", it was just another one of those things that passes through one's orbit causing one to look up at the sky once more then back to whatever one was doing before


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  #5766  
Old 07-17-2017, 04:47 AM
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So. Monday afternoon then, with the temperature ever-climbing. Grace shed her layers of business chic the minute she'd donkey-kicked the front door shut. Her high heels were launched down the corridor with two swift Jackie Chan kicks. She savagely wound her hair to a fat corkscrew and skewered her mane on top of her head with the plastic bulldog clip that Little Man affectionately refers to as "The Jaws Of Death". She pulled on a long white vest conveniently draped on the armchair - it could pass as a dress as long as she didn't sit down. Grace flung herself into her favourite chair and swivelled so her legs hung over the arm - forcing the flow of blood away from her hot, pulsating toes that all exhibited the glow factor of E.T's dialling finger. A quiet hour lay ahead of her before Little Man's home-coming and the house would once again start echoing with banging doors, thundering feet and a constant stream of random and theatrically-animated consciousness. Grace weighed up the distance to the kitchen to put the kettle on - and decided against it. She set the alarm on her watch and snuggled back into the cool, cotton cushions for a power nap. The house wrapped its welcome around her as the kitchen radio softly played Armstrong's "Balcony Scene". Grace closed her eyes, breathed in the smell of home and effortlessly shed her day like a reptile easing out of it's cast-off skin.

https://youtu.be/Je3KyWWW8pA.
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Last edited by Grace Gabriel; 07-17-2017 at 05:02 AM..
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  #5767  
Old 07-17-2017, 05:07 AM
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Originally Posted by brianpatrick View Post
Ah, lovely. I love John Denver. Yeah, I know, not cool but—

Hey, when can we read a bit of the Jesus story? I'm stoked as fuck for that.
Some fairly twisted off-shoots almost ready for your consumption Bri. x
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