Think of me as a (master) Troll-King.

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posted on Feb, 2 2010 @ 02:09 PM
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Originally posted by mamabeth
reply to post by Mr Mask
 


I think Cabaret Voltaire has him pegged correctly,he's a baiter.


Please, don't give him "another title" on a public internet forum!

He may just hold it high and see it as some sort of "glamorous prize" won in some "fictional battle" that he created to sooth his tender "at-home-ego".

We wouldn't want to give him that much joy before making him perform a trick or two to earn it.

Sadly, he has written a small novel here and has done little to introduce himself other then "pointing out his past reputation on websites he has since been banned from".

Gee...what a wonderful addition to ATS.




posted on Feb, 2 2010 @ 02:53 PM
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reply to post by Mr Mask
 


We could do ourselves a favor and just ignore him from now on.That
should let the wind out of his sails.But, it is so much fun to play with
trolls,especially if you keep your cool while they lose theirs.



posted on Feb, 2 2010 @ 05:46 PM
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My third address to the members of ATS. (Not Part II. Not in {cache memory}).

"Rolled" by Daniel Moszkowicz can be regarded as a wand or marker to point too, from my travels prior to arriving here:

...In the Learned Elder's speech a supernatural rhythm and cadence could be heard, and it caused a sudden fever to break over a young male in the crowd. Which consequently caused him to vomit and crap his pants as he sat in his place of privilege in the audience, listening and deciphering in the words of the speaker grand plans for the future.
He thought to himself that this experience is like theatre. Like the most powerful theatre he had ever witnessed. Like the kind of theatre which deserved a majestic place for its staging, and not this concrete bunker of sorts; not this grand cave. For it was like the theatre from another world. Like the kind of show which was first performed in a distant and well-lit place. Like the kind of show first performed in a distant place and which was lit-up by a master lighting technician.
In fact, as the young male though along these lines, he realized that this was theatre with a whole team of master collaboraters and contributors invloved with it. And, it was only at this moment that he realized that even he himself was part of the performance. For as the words full-of-poison reached his mind, he continued to sweat and stink, and the sweat and fluids escaping him held the toxins being purged from his body in this effective process.
He was like an interface to this particular show. A bit player without the bits or faculty to make more sense of all that he was hearing, but at least equipped with a kind of filter. Nevertheless, the information seemed to wash over him in a filthy, smelly mess of a staggered-kind of deluge.
He wanted desperately to join-the-dots of this perilous failure he was witnessing, but found that he himself was a failure for his troubles in trying. He needed Whitman in full-voice, glory, and in close proximity; but with this 'idealized figure' on a different continent there would be little help or assistance to make things better than they were presently - and so he just lost more fluids, became physically skinnier, and continued to smell like a bag of crap under the oppressive heat of one-hundred-percent humidity.
At the conclusion of the performance he awoke to the fact that many people seated near him had moved away to stand and sit in more pleasant locations. Locations which ?at this stage - would change with his movement into them. He didn't dare move lest he cause more offence and inconvenience. What a person they must think he is to have performed like this, and in this manner.
He shook his head slightly. Like in disappointment. And like emerging from another failed state of recognition.
And so as he sat in his hard chair he thought that all that was left for him to do now, was to reassemble the jumble of ?the few - words which stayed with him from this performance he experienced and felt like he played an unwilling part in. A jumble of words which he suddenly realized, formed a riddle in this order. A riddle which needed to be solved, however. In the same way he NEEDED to remove his soiled clothes to be able to smell himself like he was before tonight's construction.
He smiled to himself and shook his head differently from just earlier; a production is what it was, not the similar sounding ?and defining ?other word.

---

Great is an adjective for some of you at ATS, whilst for me this same adjective is a term.
The true purpose of a real or true troll, or what I have determined to be a Troll-King by bringing the following enlightened meaning to a former worthy combatant on a site I was banished from in the past - is to play the game so concisely described and set-out by Hermann Hesse, in his 1943 book, titled; "Das Glasperlenspiel" or, "THE GLASS BEAD GAME". When there is real play, I stress real play, like the real play so clearly and concisely evident in ATS M0r1arty member's lengthy response to me, and identified as occurring by ATS member Jim Scott in what he accurately described as my "work" - something special occurs. For it is no longer about what internet-description-trolls would do, but what men and women of true substance would do, how Troll-King's/Queen's would perform; with Hesse smiling somewhere not too distant, perhaps? Proudly he smiles, no doubt, if he is?
If two people can play like this and those previous than others can do, also. They can learn and in time form an understanding which suggests that if we can all bring this level of "art form" in our communication with people we encounter in our dealings within society, we can grow to attain a level of respect for each other which will bring about a new age of harmony and peace, I feel. Certainly it will make for a little easier and less frustrating living.
Can you imagine that a host of Field Marshalls and/or Foreign Ministers from all the countries in the world who have such talented folk to put-forward as their representatives, would choose to meet together somewhere - which could accomodate them all, comfortably - and play the Game with their use of all the world's knowledge, instead of playing with young soldier's lives?
I'm not saying this hasn't got an element of naive thinking to it, and I'm not saying I know how this particular arena may look like, but I am saying that these intricacies could be formulated and set in place when a basic assembly of a framework for the Game was to be initially assembled by every contributing member at ATS, for instance, from this or a later point. Or from the study of all the points which have come before and all which will follow. For all contests unfold to a point. And if the point is valid and has merits because the attributed meaning is solid and robust in nature - as umpired by a Moderator for instance - a "shot" or 'point-score' is identified and added to the relevant column for the person having achieved a successful retort.
I myself - for instance - have already formulated names to successful retorts such as "Spinshot" which you would be aware in my successful retort to ATS member Empire on this thread; and then perhaps in his "Spinshot-reverse" in laying claim to work he had already undertaken in his previous post, and therefore already being in a position which gave him the opportunity of pointing successfully perhaps, (Umpire please) that I was 'second guessing' and therefore my retort was reversed in terms of actual scoring, hence being cancelled-out.
I did what I had to do to reach the point I so well targeted and all of you opened up for me, by making a visit with your own words and your own brand of using them. For example, ATS member EagleTalonZ impressed me suitably with his retort to member Empire when he openly admitted to having had a good laughing experience on the occassion when his brother had made a successful 'point-score' against him.
If we are not having fun and enjoying what we are doing, perhaps it's better to take time to rediscover what it is that got us started in the first place. We may at times cover the same ground amongst ourselves, but as long as we're having fun, what we do will always be enjoyable. I suspect that even though ATS member EagleTalonZ knows his brother's game quite well, he keeps going back for more as he is having fun, in this form of bonding.
So, a "baiter"? A "Venus Flytrap"? How can this be when I cannot exist without you and you cannot exist without me? If no one came over to say 'welcome', where would I be, now, I wonder? We are a kind of team you and I, the combatant before his opposition, and vice-versa, and whilst we should treat each other with the dignity and respect which comes with a strong friendship, we should always argue like enemies. Some understand this more than others, but no one is lesser for their level of understanding, so long as he/she is open to reason. And since ATS is a 'conspiracy' website where members join because of their innate nature for questioning a disclosed position or an item in the news shaping their lives or the lives they hold dear to them - the rich and original tapestry which covers them can be pointed too as already evident by their membership, I would conclude.
Flames break out and burn. There is spotting and crowning and such, but eventually the flames die-down and smoulder, and finally extinguish. However, in this Game - which unfolded in this format, yet again, with my imposing appearance - the eternal flame can always be used as a signal to point too. Jerusalem is lost! Anyone ever heard that said, before?
So the term Troll-King refers to a once-was troll who realized that he could be a leader, and elevate himself to a throne fit for his new title, and manner of conducting himself. A leader of trolls like none other and never before... (The following by Daniel Moszkowicz
:

...In the fading light of a forest clearing, a party of trolls were busy setting up camp around a flickering fire.
Leinad Ziwokzom, Troll-King of Aetistahc, and Commander of this band of trolls stood tall as he surveyed the actions of his trolls going about their duties of setting up camp. The preparation for the evening's enveloping cold and darkness commenced in an unhurried earnestness earlier, and continued throughout the rapidly encroaching gloom from the surrounding forest.
Something caught Leinad's attention and his face changed from keen observation to a look of recognition. He walked over to a portly troll tending the crackling fire, crouched down beside him and said, "Only a low cooking fire tonight, Giarc." He indicated to the sky by running his hand in a rippling motion over his head, and continued, "We don't want too much smoke accumulating beneath this low cloud."
Giarc Sniktaw, the band's cook, glanced up at the hanging cloud overhead from beneath his bushy eyebrows as Leinad added, "Any thick smoke will get trapped by this heavy blanket of cloud and it may slowly float down to the road on this persistent, no wind."
"They won't be much happy about that Highness, they would've liked to warm themselves beside a strong fire tonight after yesterday's cold camp," Giarc said, absently stroking his knobby chin.
"We can't risk it, we're far too close to an important and busy road. Our position may be discovered far too easily with a blazing sucinrepoc-fire, roaring away."
"In that case, it may be prudent to give them an extra steak and some spiced wine, we have enough for double rations, and it will keep their spirits high," Giarc suggested.
"Very good then, but not too much wine, we don't want them nursing headaches tomorrow," Leinad said.
The cook agreed with the King and Commander, and set about preparing the evening meal, his delight clearly evident on his face and in his dainty actions about the cooking utensils and ingredients. Without saying another word Leinad rose to his feet and returned back to the spot where his backpack was layed flat on the ground. He knelt down to open his bag and removed a leather-covered case secured with a simple piece of string. He unwrapped the case by untying the simple string, opened it, and sifted through a stack of papers inside, before pulling out a sheet depicting a map. He chose to view the map by lantern light, instead of the glare and dancing flames of the fire. He appeared busy, but continued to scan the area, watching his band most of the time.
In the middle of the clearing trolls began erecting a large party tent. A half dozen trolls joined them to begin the process of construction by unfurling canvas, raising wooden poles, stretching rope, and hammering metal prongs into the ground to secure the whole thing into place. Once completed, the four contiguous tents resembled that of a large kingdom-style travelling pavilion the human folk preferred to use on their expeditions into the wilderness, with three seperate quarters attached to a large central tent.
On the far side of the clearing two trolls appeared from within the forest carrying a stack of branches in both arms. They conversed to each other as they passed a group sharpening blades similar in size and shape to the scimitar: The preferred blade of all trolls. Upon reaching the fireplace they placed the branches of wood in two neat piles beside the cook. Giarc stopped seasoning a tray of bullock steaks and spoke with the two trolls, afterwhich both trolls nodded their heads and left without any great change in their mood. The cook must have passed on the orders to them, for instead of going out into the forest for more wood, they split up and went from one group to another, repeating the news of a low fire, double rations, and spiced wine for tonight's camp.
A group of trolls unpacking travel packs were approached first and seemed to take it well for they didn't appear deflated by learning of the news; in fact they remained seemingly unfazed. Another group organising pack contents didn't even show a hint of discontent or disagreemnet. They may not have been happy to hear of the campfire restriction, but they weren't visibly complaining to each other.
Good.
Leinad knew full well that they would react positively to any order he gave them. He observed them out of habit, not necessity, for there had never been any conflict or dissention in his powerful and strong combat band of trolls. Never in all the time as King and Commander of this band did he sense in any one of his trolls a defiant streak or jesture toward him, and he didn't expect to see one now. Leinad's confident expectation of his troll's positive reaction was confirmed in each troll learning of the spreading news with not one troll appearing dejected or disconcerted.
Leinad didn't need to observe them for their reactions, but he enjoyed reading body language. From the early days of the band's inception he quickly realised that he could form an understanding of the atmosphere and mood of his band by observing his trolls closely. Their individual responses and interactions with each other was an accurate gauge of the collective mood of the band. He respected his trolls highly, and eventually found that this close scrutiny had a great benefit in helping him to understand them, their needs, their limits, and their ultimate threshold.
They were good and hardy trolls, a tight bunch selected for their loyalty and trust as much as for their ability and strength. After some time together they formed a strong rope of comraderie which harnessed them all together - each troll's demeanor reflecting the one in front, in a line that started with the example of the King and Commander in charge.
They would be ready for tomorrow's combat with the weary and visitatorial humans. They would pull their swords from their scabbards with the sound of vanquishment for all that stood before them. For all that stood before them stood before their great prize.
They were trolls and they would bring glory to their kind for all eternity. Who wouldn't want to be a part of such a band, and be a party to their ways of driving out the humans from their world forever?
A troll just beyond the clearing - having learnt of tonight's order - let out an eerie low cry of joy like a howling wolf, and like bringing a sense of delight to another night of hardship. The band was so close to victory, and that thing unspoken but thought by all the trolls in the band. They were willing to lend their voice to it even when learning of another hard night in camp together.
Leinad smiled to himself.
Good.
His band, his trolls of Aetistahc were ready alright; they were taking delight in what he had brought them, and what they would bring for themselves and their kind by their own hand of glory.
He felt like joining the following cry which has just lifted, for it was followed by the cry from another troll, and another, and another - in that chain he knew existed between all trolls on this troll world.
What a great achievement.
What a great achievement to know he had brought this trollship to these trolls. He looked at Giarc, and was grateful to the humble cook for his initial inspiration in forming this band. What a way to bring about the end to all the humans on his homeworld. He shook his head in admiration at the grand plan. Then he looked down at the map before him and thought on his plan a little more.
It must be foolproof, he thought. For while trolls were excellent combatants, they were generally not all that intelligent.
Ha-ha!
Then Leinad's thoughts turned to his own personal stage. Would any survivors be willing to still think highly of him after learning that some were to be mere sacrifice - a stratagem before the next grand stage?
Ha-ha!
These were exciting pockets of time ahead of them, indeed.

---

On a personal note in relation to my interests: I am a 35yo "struggling" writer residing in Sydney, Australia; which is code nowadays for wanting to write professionally. I like to play chess. I like to ride my bicycles. I enjoy reading all types of books and journals, including; 'Heroic Fantasy in the great tradition of the true epic'. I also like to play role-playing games. Not the computer variety you might be familiar with, but rather the tabletop type which requires various multi-sided dice, an expansive imagination, and a high-level of articulation to play successfully. On ATS, I would be interested in entering 'Politics' and 'New World Order' threads, to name just two. However, I wouldn't exclude myself from any one discussion thread should I identify an opportunity to present valued, considered opinion to bolster, detract, and/or inspire.

"Riddled" by Daniel Moszkowicz can also be regarded as a wand or marker to point too, from my travels prior to arriving here:

..."Arghh!" He cried in frustration without any evident sign on his face, but lifting both hands up in the air.
"You... you are a damn... and I hate you for being who you are! Whoever you are!" He paused before adding futilely, "Know that?"
Then he ran a hand through his smooth blonde hair as if removing the invisible patina of frustration formed on his palm from his generated anger at the voice infecting his mind.
"Why can't you just be someone else? Someone more happy? Someone more happy and optimistic about these things I have ventured upon on my own?"
The voice putting forward the questions - the voice of his conscious mind - knew he wasn't going to get an answer anytime soon. He had hoped he might trap the undisclosed, random caller into an answer which would reorder or rework the synapses of his mind to better organize the stream of working order to the flow of traffic in this particular metropolis. But that was always going to be hopeful. It was always going to be just a dream. Just another free dream.
And so, with plenty of dreams on the horizon, but with no construction taking place to build the future he was trying to construct for a way forward and out of this place with no meaning, he simply repeated the words which he had chosen as the mantra to his lonely existence in the sphere of the collective unconscious: 'Resist Science.'

---

I will begin to conclude this mammoth address with the dying words of the character Kurtz, after he has undergone a revelation in the darkness of the African jungle, in Joseph Conrad's novella titled, "Heart of Darkness", when he says; "the horror, the horror".

To this I would attach the following, by continuing on from T.S. Eliot's epigraph in his 1925 poem titled, "The Hollow Men"; 'Mistah Kurtz - he dead,' -- and continuing further along in this vein, by disclosing the words of character Hank Altman when he stirs drunkenly in a wilderness hut containing two sets of traditional couples, in an unproduced play-for-the-theatre I wrote titled, "The Hut Within Reach"; "'It's all true. Damn it. It's all true and it's not, I tell you. It's more horrendous than we could have ever imagined. Do you not hear? Mistah Kurtz, he dead, yes, but he now part of darkness and his own dying words like we could never have imagined. Look for long enough into what is really a cloaked chasm of detail and a whole different magic appears which will make you doubt what you think you know about the...your...' His thought flitters away and he appears confused."

Perhaps if he (Hank Altman) had a computer and an internet connection giving him access to say a website like umm, ATS, he could join, open a thread say in err, "introductions" and find what he was trying to grasp by accepting all the manner of opinions and intelligent thoughts on the subject of this peculiar narrative by the impressive ATS members.

I must again thank you for your welcome. I have tried to be as methodical as I could in answering all posts you all chose to present, but unfortunately, I have failed to reply to some posts. Some intentionally, some unintentionally. If you regard that there is not enough for you in this third address I have presented and request a response from me to your post, please remind me by drawing my attention to my failure and the post you made and I overlooked. And, I will endeavour to compose a suitable response for you, at a time of my choosing.

Also, I apologise to the North American readers for the Australian spelling I used.

I have worked on this third address throughout the night and feel happy if a little tired, and whilst some of the material has been formed by me earlier - and in fact been included in pages on forums which were torn down with my banishment from those websites -- or even were torn down in lead up to my imminent banishment, or just my request for the rescinding of my membership -- - the arrangement is as I like it, and I dearly hope it inspires you in whatever way you choose to be inspired by it. In fact, as I look upon this body of work I am impressed by it a little, and see a kind of poetic justice in having finally thwarted those Moderators on those sites which banned me and my work, or working.

So, yeah, think of me as a (master) Troll-King. Think of me as the (master) Troll-King of Chatsitea, even. For you may be closer to realizing the truth of who I am in thinking thus of me.

Above top secret, indeed.

Ha-ha!

(Always a playful, jovial laugh, this one. Like a laugh representing the sentiment; I got you.)

Peace.



posted on Feb, 2 2010 @ 05:56 PM
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[edit on February 2nd 2010 by greeneyedleo]



posted on Feb, 2 2010 @ 05:56 PM
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reply to post by Daniel Moszkowicz
 


You have obviously put a lot of work into this post.

Paragraph's and Line breaks, man! Use them, they are your friend.

Until then, I'll pass...

Carry on.







[edit on 2-2-2010 by LadySkadi]



posted on Feb, 2 2010 @ 06:17 PM
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I want to be the first to ask you, "could you please just leave this website
at once" Comfortable?

All hail The mighgty troll king!

underbreath)
stink'in muda!

Seriously? Welcome , have fun.

WTF? the post above Skadi ? This is and the Mod

Oh We do have a live one!




[edit on 2-2-2010 by randyvs]



posted on Feb, 2 2010 @ 06:48 PM
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Again... Shakespeare.

" Brevity is the soul of wit".

Remember?

Perhaps you should try captivating an audience before expecting one to sit through such a length of unpublished work.

Good luck from here out.

We are all waiting for your relevant future postings.

Lets just hope they are not so painfully meandering as that last labor of yours.

One last time- "Welcome to ATS"

and- "See you on the playground"



[edit on 2-2-2010 by Mr Mask]



posted on Feb, 2 2010 @ 06:54 PM
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reply to post by Daniel Moszkowicz
 


Think for a moment that there are stories other than yours, and that there are dreams and ambitions perhaps greater than your own. Now sustain this thought indefinitely. Consider, now, why your life is worth living in comparison to the lives of these others -- the whole of humanity -- and reason in way that does not resemble an excuse or an appeal to emotion. If you cannot justify your existence, I implore you: do not exist.



posted on Feb, 2 2010 @ 06:57 PM
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reply to post by Mr Mask
 


Are you suggesting we need a '"where's the chase and how do I cut to it" skittle?

Cause that would be great ... and handy.


I'm exhausted after reading all that DM ... but it was good.

Have you met Cadbury?
You should.



posted on Feb, 2 2010 @ 07:02 PM
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As this is just an introduction forum, for introduction only. This intro has turned into some sort of chit chat and long since served it's purpose.The staff have decided to close this thread.

Thread closed

Moderator
Sauron





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