The chameleon enters stage right and takes a bow "Well you have had Flea, with his inimitable style, and wonderful pictures, then lets see what you make of me... so, just a place for Random Stuff, if you can't find the right thread for it, stick it in here, we will be here, with a few jokes, some tales, a smattering of poetry and philosophy....".




" ... just random see, and where anything is possible"

A repost from elsewhere then, to start things off when one or two were complaining about the "youth of today"

"And that is as it should be, when you are young, little thought of tomorrow, meagre consequence of next, just now, living for today, and yes, I could have been much more secure, perhaps, financially, if as a consequence, of staying in my own town, with the school yard friends, that I visit now and again, in their same routine, yet when I do, I know that I have seen things with these eyes that they would never believe, done things that they could not comprehend, for some of us have to burn brighter, even though it quickens the end, brings it closer, so, a different contentment for me then, for when it's time to die, perhaps, I am more ready then, no if only's, things left to try, but, still, not just yet" 

Although that was usually it, to start with, the chameleon had poked around a little more and This site is dead caught the eye "Well" he thought "...that's up to you then" and "...perhaps no more"

Another repost from elsewhere

"Well this thread has taken on a morbid bent..." says the chameleon raising an eyebrow "... but I have thought about it and looked into it, how I want to be disposed of, and seeing as the possibility of my body lying under a shield on the deck of a viking ship floating out to sea as archers fire torched arrows from the cliffs to set me ablaze on my journey to Valhalla is out of the question (I did enquire, however the local council objected, something about health & safety on canal highways)... I am going for a simpler approach then, at a burial field, by chance, not far from me, a simple ceremony where I will be buried under a tree, in a carboard box. An Ash I think, no cold headstone or plaque for me, just Dad's Tree and if they wish, they can come and give it a hug, or sit beneath it for a while, as I feed it from below, so, perhaps then, in some way I will live for a hundred years more, before I fall once more, and then I hope I burn just as bright".

"ok then one more, even though it is late an I am weary, in case it is required"

Quote:

...is it just me, or are your posts getting easier to read now...

"It's just you" he answers unusually succinctly, only to prattle on and ruin it "...although my favourate reposnse to a Random post is still "Are you sponsored by the comma?" and you have answered this question yourself, previously, how it takes a while with some writers, paricularly the classics, to get into their prose, not that in any way I would compare myself, but it's like the great Bard himself, that if you read it with your normal voice it often doesn't make any sense at all, yet if you read it with an English west country accent, suddenly it becomes clear, like if you say "beer can" in an English accent you are saying "Bacon" in a Jamaican accent...try it, there is a rhythm to it, a beat, so finally Baggy, you are getting it, as it was for me with yours, often having to read a post several times, even needing stimulants on occasion, to see it with a different perspective, and then it became second nature, often clarified when reading them with someone else who would protest "what the hell is he on about?", where to me, by then, it had become automatic... although both styles can be restrictive, dangerously addictive and instantly abhorrent, the latter I sometimes enjoy the most, particularly ones with twee sensibilities" the chameleon chuckles remembering a few verbal battles "...either way then, it stands out from the rest, and women always love a rogue and a poet, furthermore, if you have read this for the second or third time..." smiles the chameleon "...you might have seen how it changed before your very eyes, just one more clue to live writing then".

The spirit moved through cracks in the walls and appeared in her misted form. her seemingly fake hands came together in a dust spewing clap of silence. she moved around without much meaning, just watching, with nothing quite to say yet.

The chameleon felt a shiver, as if someone, or something had entered the room, he checked for any signs "No nothing, must have been just wind"

Another random repost from elsewhere then...

"We never say the good things enough do we, it's a human trait, why enthuse, when derision, or even better, nothing, will do, that stony criticism of silence, the best one, oh some are really good at that, why is it we can't encourage, praise, appreciate, applaud what someone can do, especially if it's something they are better at than you, surely no one, in this day and age, treats children otherwise, yet find it harder to do the same in "real life" with the grown ups, especially the family, so, we stick with the sarcasm, the put down, and then are perplexed, shaking our heads in resignation, at what we have created".


 

("...glad to see you here then JATS..." said the goblin, pressed for time to reply fully but he would reply tonight, adding "...good luck with this one then, the girls are very bright...")

I am not bright but since you said random things I have a reply!

:3 do you eat cereal with fruit?

"no repost from elsewhere here, just a respost from my mind." she silently thought to her self. "And as for being a writer is quit random but it is duely panned, for every writer truth or fiction, writes their tale in the stories they tell. Why it may seem quit confusing, but wait theres more," takes a pause to wonder what the world would think. "A writers tale is never done not even when you lay frozen to never be distrubed. This may come a surprise you say that even far after your mortal death what you leave behind takes on a life its own. Am i crazy or am i sane? That is the question people ask when they say your name. For i thought i saw his face just the other day, but it cant be but it is." stops again to ponder and listen to the keys, the sound of pen on paper or they sound of technology. Is it such a hard thing to comprehend? Now one must learn to learn to be wiser then the most wise. so i bid you god-day and a pleasant afternoon. As you go on your journey and remmeber the words.....
if one returns to another then light is to light and thought is to thought

("...I like that one a lot..." said the goblin, going back to read it a second time)

"Lovely post Jes, the writers are emerging then" smiles the chameleon, as he returns from the window where he was looking out at the gentle fall of the fresh snow glistening in the light of the new moon, a little smugly with the warmth of his home made log burner on his back, and exhausted from being JATS, not from the labours of the day, but from the stress of preventing my lot from killing themselves, and those around them with exhuberent stupidity, "still it could be worse, they could be trying to do it on purpose" he thinks, with a calmer perspective now, as he picks a repost for Jes "not through sheer laziness, oh, no as Flea states, and as you will discover should you too one day decide to go on tour, instead of confining yourselves to this comfort zone, that live writing requires contstant changing and acceptance of self"

the repost then

"How many times do we see that term Normal bandied about, "I'm normal me" and "Why can't I find someone normal, just like me", it just rings alarm bells with me, anyone proclaiming to be "normal" ..."he seemed so normal" says the neighbour, to the reporter, "a lovely man" as she talks about the arrest of the latest lunatic... give me quirky, the abnormal, someone with similar idiosyncrasies, everybody trying to be normal, to fit in with society, filled with angst, despair, at not quite being there, just be "almost normal", be you, that will do".

Normalcy doesn't exist..." whispers the spirit so softly it sounds like a light breeze. "yet it is what is craved...by fearing people...who so hauntingly wish to be normal, to live normally, to be like everyone else..."

"Ah now I see you" smiles the chameleon as the spirit starts to take on form "... you shouldn't hide in the shadows so much, no, not you, most of all " ...although he knows too well the handy trick of blending into the background once in a while, but some just go too far and completely disappear"

"Oh take that again Hussain, I blinked"