After several years of writing and displaying many stories and tales under my rights of ownership, and under the martial compulsion of my energetic sprite I am bound to expose some facts to keep my self in the clear. All this essay was compiled, revised, edited and approved by Elf himself. That fact liberate me from any critical opinion from those who disagree with the supposed fact stated here.
You are warned. Any reading past this line is your entire responsibility.
When it rains the stories get wet, and then the sentences of one side are mixed with the sentences on the other side of the matter that support the text. The best instance is a wet newspaper page.
Even if it may seem creepy, this situation is not, like most things, without its good side. In some cases untold playful stories are found in these entertaining thoughts splashed everywhere, in other opportunities impossible concepts are reflected that cannot exists in the ordered universe of Literature.
And sometimes, I rest in the hope that, somehow, there remains asserted the veracity of that ideal inconsistency which raises the possibility that if we let a monkey or a primate with a keyboard, it may, in the course of time, create sonnets as valuable as those of the Immortal Bard.
I must admit that nothing like this last observation have occurred to me yet (adverb, which seems to display the subtle hope that it really can happen, but the odds are pretty meagre, given my total lack of knowledge about "sonnetic" structure, but I base my confidence, perhaps, in my sharing of this unawareness with the monkey), and if it occurs I would be the first to cry "plagiarism".
Hardly feeling my face blush, I speak of "my" stories as if I could claim any rights over them. Of course, in any human court there would not exist the slightest doubt of such property rights, but if we let the facts speak for themselves, many of the stories told by me are the product of conscious or unconscious germination of my most beautiful nature, and at the same time my heaviest misfortune, which was given to me by the Fates: Elf.
I have come to expect, more like a justification than an actual belief, that several of the topics that do not relate in any way to Elf are my creation, but I've had tangential evidence that many of the "suggested" ideas in my mind can not be entirely attributed to a dubious thought process of mine needed to give life to an interesting text.
In short, since I first entered my mind with the malicious intent to start the engine that makes it work, I found a pair of pointed ears that locked as in brackets, the most curious entity, in the sense of strange being, with amazing ideas that I can not, in all honesty pretend they are my property. Although, if I keep the same honesty, I must say that it is so long that Elf "pollute" my ideas, that I do not know what thought comes from whom.
In the early days, believing that there was some imbalance in the dovetail joint of my neurons, and following the advice of several people I trusted, I consulted a therapist who immediately diagnosed, in full against the activities of, and disagreeing totally with, Elf, the development of a mental disorder from a mismatch, or alteration of cognitive and affective processes of development and could be considered abnormal when compared the subject (that is, my humble self) to the social reference group where the individual was coming from, given the inability of the patient (again my humble self, even if it seems too egocentric) to recognize reality, or adapt to normal life.
The comment of Elf after reading the doctor's diagnosis was: Bah!!
This way to react of my elf told me that somewhere there must be some mistake. I based this argument on the recognized logorrhea that ails Elf, and the lack of emphasis to despise the work of a professional. It must be something so self-evident that exempted the imp from incisive arguments so cherished by him.
The next step was, after paying the professional fee, in contrast with Elf's opinion since he considered it a flagrant offence, but accepting Elf's suggestion, to change the power of the lamp that lit the small file that I have as mind. As soon as I did that, my present changed radically, as the file looked bigger and better lit, I began to find small groups of words that suggest a story, or let me end with a juicy discussion with the dwarf.
Needless to say I did that change of light power a custom, with the outcome of finding more and more stuff to clutter the simple and free life of people by meddling in it. Largely using unhealthy and very complicated stories full of unwelcome situations that forced the defenceless and innocent reader to wring their axons in an attempt to follow the reasoning proposed by these improbable yarns.
For the same reason stated above, unable to maintain the pressure that these stories or injunctions, which were generated in my daily life, put on my psyche, I began to write them to download the psychological pressure. In this way began the adventure of my daily education, as I was informed by Elf in his first oratory exchange with me, that is, improve and make a good person with the unpromising material that was entrusted to him, otherwise said: me, myself, I, yours truly. Not my intention to make important these pronouns, but seems to be something ready to emerge in the passage of this issue intermittently.
After years spent in selected interaction with the hopelessly embedded mental intruder, the consequence is a sly symbiosis that has only served to arouse greater doubts about the rationale behind the idea of the mediation of this strange being in my internal affairs, but there is no way to support the version that there is the slightest doubt about its real existence, nor that its appearance was due to "the development of a mental disorder from a mismatch, or alteration of cognitive and affective processes of development, etc. etc.", or either that the interaction with my own resources were not true, due to the astonishing and disturbing fact of his ability to effectively parody my whole self.
Faced with this situation that lessened my personality I decided openly confront the goblin with questions that make clear the reason for his ignominious task.
Given the complexity of such a task the result obtained in this work must necessarily be the subject of another essay, which convert all this gibberish in a pompous preface.
I have tried to preserve the logical meaning of the work presented here in an attempt not to give life to an unrepentant rigmarole, and although in a second reading I guess I found the goal achieved, I can not be sure, given the inevitable intervention of our known, intrusive visitor and permanent resident in my being.
I beg you to preserve your place as readers to join me in the journey that awaits me in front of the Cyclops, Scyllas and Caribdys that I would find, but do not hesitate to tell to whoever might be interested what will be going on in the future because I want to be completely honest and give you all, my dear readers, the opportunity to flee in a stampede of other tirade like this, as long as you have persevered reading and got here, which would surprised me very much since I left this reading for the last several paragraphs behind this one.
Having arrived on autopilot at this point and in total ignorance of how to make an effective close down of this ranting, I opt for an inelegant, but effective ending.
I remain as the servant of all ... etc, etc..
The music is a fragment of "Symphony No. 25 in G minor" by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
© 2014 Od Liam.