Tag Archives: Writing

The Adventures of Opopa: The unbearable unlikelyness of being

24 Aug

Chapter 3

The Unbearable Unlikelyness of Being


On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway;
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself,
“This could be Heaven or this could be Hell”
Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor,
I thought I heard them say…

Opopa was lost for words, a rare occasion but not as rare an event as a rabbit that was not lost for words but rather one that simply refused to shut up. The other drinkers in the Bird and Baby seemed oblivious to the verbose rabbit. None turned an ear to listen at least. Sid the barstool, inanimate as it was, was unable to fathom the rabbit either, it sensed a sentience but also a strangeness, but as soon as it was obvious it would not be ordering beverages, it lost interest and instead maintained full inert attentiveness on Opopa; there looked like no chance he was going anywhere soon even without subliminal telepathic messaging, so it could lazily soak in the warmth of a padded bum on its head and simply relax, a heavenly state for any barstool.

The brown rabbit was a bit of a wind bag, and had been speaking for some time. Opopa was listening with a growing sense of being out of his depth. He was sinking slowly into a quagmire of words. He did not have the vocabulary to fully understand the rabbit, who threw out names and concepts simply alien to this simple hobbit burglar. The weight of conversation with the blabber mouthed rabbit was too much for him, he resorted to nodding erm’ing and ah’ing and hoping the rabbit wouldn’t notice. He had learnt to guess appropriate times to down more beer and in emergencies he would hold up an arm in mock surrender to halt conversation and wave down the barkeep for more ale. The rabbit would pause and idly scratch his ear with its hind foot or survey the crowded bar alertly as if for danger; when Opopa was suitably beveraged up it would continue.

There were moments when comprehension reared its head and Opopa would suddenly soar back to life, interrupting the rabbits flow with an interjection or comment.

Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (Such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the Hotel California
Any time of year (Any time of year)
You can find it here


“Did you just say that you can’t know reality?”

The rabbit glowered back, “No I said, ‘Kant held that our sensory observations (knowable, catalogable, shared) do not necessarily reflect, and certainly do not exhaust, ’Real’ reality which is unknowable, but ‘True’ in the most profound sense.’

Opopa, lost but feeling it impolite to er’m or ah’m after interjecting in the first place decided a knowing “Oh!” would be appropriate…

The Rabbit continued “You can’t have heard of Kant?”

“Of course…”




Opopa gave in, “Kant?”

“Yes you see, you are just an object not a thing-in-itself? You have no free will, Kant allowed for free will among things-in-themselves while admitting that causality clearly operates in the observed world…”

Opopa while not fully understanding felt this upsetting on some level, “I am the maker of my own destiny.” He declared.

Her mind is Tiffany-twisted, she got the Mercedes bends
She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys she calls friends
How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat.
Some dance to remember, some dance to forget.


Opopa brain was dancing around so much, that the bar was bending before him… maybe it was not the bar bending but him-self!

“Look Hobbit you do not exist!”

“Look Rabbit!” Standing up and waving his arms around, “I obviously do!”

“Well, true…” Pausing for thought, Opopa sits down, Sid lets out an inaudible sigh of relief…

The Rabbit again continues, “You exist and you don’t, you are in an actual state of being and not being, you are and ‘are’ simultaneously ‘are not’, you exist as an idea: in words, code and thought. You are not a sentient being-in-itself other than as an idea of a sentient hobbit but as such to progress in game and in story needs to exist to persist. You are in a quantum state of being, if we check on you of course you are NOT, yet if we follow you and your actions in this story, you attain a state of solidity we assign to you and in such a state you do indeed exist as a thing-in-themselves or else this is just a pointless exercise in pontification on nothingness. To continue we need you to be more than nothing. A fine adventure that would be…!”

So I called up the Captain,
“Please bring me my wine”
He said, “We haven’t had that spirit here since nineteen sixty nine”
And still those voices are calling from far away,
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them say…


Opopa completely and utterly baffled, waves down the bar keep and asks for some wine, who apologizes for not having any, strangely, gives Opopa a free beer!

The rabbit undeterred continues, “Jung thought ‘As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of hobbit existence is to kindle a light of meaning in the darkness of mere being.’ And Marx said, ‘It depends not on consciousness, but on being; not on thought, but on life; it depends on the individual’s empirical development and manifestation of life, which in turn depends on the conditions existing in the world.’ But before we wander too far down that weighty branch of metaphysics that is ontology – about what can or cannot exist, we better take a break before this old game engine snaps… You exist enough for me to be here talking to you.”

“I am Opopa!” Opopa states as if answering a question.

“Good point!” and continues, “A proper name strictly has no meaning when there is no object to which it refers. This view relies on the argument that the semantic function of a proper name is to tell us which object bears the name, and thus to identify some object. But no object can be identified if none exists. Thus, a proper name must have a bearer if it is to be meaningful. And you bear the name Opopa, so all is meaningful.”

Opopa, groaning, drinks more beer.

Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (Such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
They livin’ it up at the Hotel California
What a nice surprise (what a nice surprise)
Bring your alibis


The rabbit continues… “Opopa, you are a literary device, an avatar and a character in a narrative, a twisted narrative generated by an obvious twisted mind, a tsunami of un-thought out and unclear ideas let loose on your poor self. Buffeted by as yet unknown twists of fate which are the result of more than one creative source… adrift you are in the heavy seas of the unknown, your destiny bound fast to what has yet to be played out or written down.”

Fastening onto a pillar of belief, Opopa asks, “Isn’t Eru the creator?”

“Aha! True the supreme deity of Arda. Hmm… Was the single creator above the Valar! But Tolkien created Arda, Middle Earth. Words becoming reality, Codemasters created a digital Arda, Turbine blew more life into it that persists to this day. This digital existence is interacted with by thousands and their creations gain weight, so the nothingness is expanding…”

“The absurd notion that you, Opopa do not exist is juxtaposed against the proposition that obviously you do exist. The universe will never truly care for hobbits the way we seem to want it to. The atheist view of this statement is that people create stories, or gods, which in their minds transcend reality to fill this void and attempt to satisfy their need. It is impossible to know your creator, or to understand His purpose. But we do not give up trying…”

“Do not give in, Camus described suicide as the most appropriate and rational reaction to the absurd — but admitted that this is not a very rewarding or worthwhile reaction and it would cut short the narrative! It is not as simple as Descartes stated ‘I think, therefore I am.’

“Indeed it is the feeling of being suspended over a void, and looking into that void. It is how one adjusts themselves towards death, and their knowledge of their own death, falling into that void. For Heidegger, existentialism is the study of how someone gives meaning to their finite life with the understanding that their time is limited; let’s face death hobbit, for surely to die is to prove ones existence.”

“Do not be trapped within this cave, the bird n baby, being deluded by a demon, what may not be real is not necessarily an illusion. (Sid wobbled internally at this point, thinking that his manipulations had been exposed…) The world of simulations increasingly will take on a life of its own. Listen to me, do not remain ignorant of those that control you, do not persist in a state of false consciousness. Follow me further into the Matrix, let me be your Morpheus, let me introduce you, Opopa, new to the real world, by welcoming you to ‘the desert of the real. Who is this Morpheus? Does he exist? Does anything I have just said make any sense? Never mind, don’t think about it too much, just follow the rabbit on this adventure, and this rabbit says to follow Bingo.”

“But! But.. but you will lead me down a rabbit hole or worse…”

“Opopa dear friend, you already are down the rabbit hole, the adventure is afoot… a magical wooden foot in your case! You are in a wonderful land, the unlikeliness of you a mere hobbit bringing light back into the darkening world should not deter you. Follow me!”

“Why should I? I don’t even know your name?”

“I am Tobi!”

“To be?”

“Now that really is the question…, ‘To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether ’tis Nobler in the mind to suffer the Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune, or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles, and by opposing end them: to die, to sleep no more; and by a sleep, to say we end the Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks that Flesh is heir to? ‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep, to sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there’s the rub, for in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause.’”

“Wow I went all Shakespeare on ya!”

Opopa, “I got 2 sharp daggers and my spear ain’t shaky!”

“Come hobbit drink up, follow me, Tobi…”

To be…


Hotel California’ – The Eagles

Authors Note: I am messing with words and ideas of people of far greater intellect than myself and the original words and ideas I have to admit are sometimes way beyond my comprehension! So should I desist in the endeavor? Hell no! Where is the fun in that?

LOTRO: The Adventures Of Opopa 1

24 Jul

Chapter 1


‘Mama was queen of the mambo, papa was king of the Congo
Deep down in the jungle, I started bangin’ my first bongo
Every monkey’d like to be in my place instead of me
‘Cause I’m the king of bongo, baby, I’m the king of bongo bong’

Opopa was as surprised as the rest of the Bird and Baby when he lurched from his barstool, it had been his home and resting place for over a year, it even had a name, Sid … a slight foreshortening of, “Oh shut’ap n sid’own!”, uttered loudly many a time by fellow drinkers at Opopa. Sid started to cool as Opopa’s fatty arse left its resting place and walked off. It was a happy stool in that it knew that it would soon be warmed up again by said buttocks, these little occasional trips were an infrequent but regular occurrence. Sid would prove to be disappointed, as much as an inanimate bar stool can be, in that Opopa shocked everyone by leaving by the main door, a waft of fresh air and sunlight crept into the bird and baby but was quickly overcome by the fumes of ale, weed smoke and the general gloom generated from small overcrowded bars full of customers. The regulars were a mixed bag as always, mostly jolly hobbits whiling their lives away with an occasional adventurer from rarer parts, a noticeable increase of their like of late, odd times indeed. Everyone expected Opopa to reappear, embarrassed, more red in the face than normal, having taken the wrong door to the ‘facilities’, it had happened before. All were further shocked when they gathered after a small passage of time spent staring at the door expectantly, that he had either passed out or gone off. A momentary moments silence was shared among the drinkers, glasses raised and then normality once again interceded and the Bird and Baby went back to normal.

Sid continued to cool, he did what all bar stools do in this situation which was send subliminal signals out to all n sundry that, ‘Drinking was good.’, ‘The bar was where to get drinks.’ and that, ‘Although one drink is good, two or more is better!’ and finally ‘While you’re standing waiting at the bar why don’t you pull up a barstool and rest those aching footsies.’ When the unsuspecting barstool has reeled in a victim it then reinforces its hold with messages that reinforce comfort and remind the user of the proximity to the bar, indeed that, ‘Others are more likely to spill or even steal your drink the further away from the bar you are.’

This is obviously a triple symbiotic relationship for all concerned, the punter, the stool and of course, the publican who can sell more drinks which explains there very existence as they are always so bloody uncomfortable, realized always after the fact; the barstool would have done well, would it could, to evolve softer wood. Some barstools counter this by wearing a hat, but many think that they interfere with the telepathic signals.

‘I went to the big town where there is a lot of sound
From the jungle to the city
Looking for a bigger crown
So I play my boogie for the people of big city’

Opopa breathed in the fresh air and sobered up quickly. The sun was shining in the persistent shire spring, it was warm and dazzling. His thieving instincts had kicked in all of a sudden; somewhere there was loot up for grabs. Not the free loot that appeared daily in the form of hobbit presents which had maintained him in the laconic lifestyle he had been having. Loot, loot that had never been, loot that never ever before had been! New Loot, the world had never, ever, ever, seen. And it was coming soon, and coming to Michel Delving. Opopa knew this, one legged at birth and fitted with a small peg leg throughout his life; you could not tell outwardly that it was so. Internally he knew he was hopping when others saw him walking. He hoped that others would not use a saw and see him hop. Life is a see-saw of possibilities sometimes.  Anyway, this wood had somehow imparted its latent telepathic powers into Opopa who had become a burglar of repute, a repute of idleness, not so much for skill or daring-do, but he was always there for a free hand out!

Sometimes he was too early!


Opopa checked the mail box in the Auction House again, and again. It was still empty!  Confused Opopa walked back to the Bird and Baby. Sid had been taken but it was not hard for Opopa the burglar to steal it back. Sipping his beer he slid back into his normal daily routine of doing nothing much. At some point he absent-mindedly mumbled, “Bingo, what kind of name is that for a hobbit…”

‘But they don’t go crazy when I’m bangin’ in my boogie
I’m the, king of the bongo, king of the bongo bong
Hear me when I come
King of the bongo, king of the bongo bong’

The next day the same sense of forelooting incentivized Opopa to return to the postbox and would ya ‘Adam n Eve it’ there was a letter. A letter from a Bingo Boffin…


‘Request for assistance!

Hullo there, and well-met! I hope this missive is not intruding upon anything important. And if by unhappy chance it I, then I am sure you will disregard it and take no offence. But it is my very sincere hope that it does not intrude, and instead is met with some degree of interest and curiosity in the matter I propose. For, you see, I have need of some help worth a small matter, and…

Well I say ‘small’ matter, but I do not know how long it might take. It could end up being quite a ‘big’ matter as these things go! But we will not know until it is quite underway. Will we?’

If you are interested in learning more, I ask that you please seek me out at my comfortable hobbit-hole just north of the town hole, in Michel Delving. Being the principal town of the Shire.

Yours in need and looking forward to your positive reply

Mr. Bing Boffin, Michel-Delving’

After shaking the envelope a few times, just in case he had missed something, a small gem or other small precious item would be nice! Opopa was intrigued. He decided to follow this up. ‘Once the path to loot had been started it must be followed to its conclusion.’ a personal motto of his, which also contained a hidden ending clause of, ‘…unless it passes close to a bar’. And that ‘closeness’ was applied very subjectively, and often, by Opopa.

Opopa’s extrasensory senses guided him north, a virtual arrow pointing the way to Bingo. It was almost as if he had a visible mental map, yeah just up and right in his field of vision, it even showed monsters as red dots at times. Sometimes that was real useful and at other times it drove him quite dotty. There Bingo was, in the distance, outside a hobbit hole… flaming gold ring burning brightly in the sun, the usual indicator that his forelooting sense was active. Sometimes his powers overcompensated almost as if teasing him, yes he knew that was a door next to Bingo, why it should state in glowing white writing in his head was beyond him.


‘They say that I’m a clown
Making too much dirty sound
They say there is no place for little monkey in this town
Nobody’d like to be in my place instead of me’

Bingo looked like a normal hobbit his most stand out feature being his shiny bright hair; he was jolly and eager to start conversation with Opopa, not bothered by his raffish looks or slight odour of stale ale and weed smoke.

“A pleasant day to you, friend. If you have a moment or two to spare, do you think I might trouble you for a spell?”

‘Not bloody likely!’ thought Opopa, who knew nothing of spells, but Bingo continued before he could voice his concerns…

“My name is Bingo, of the Delving-field Boffins, and it is so rare to see new folk on the path that runs by my hole. It is a pleasure to meet you!”

“Well you did send me a letter, and I have been in these parts for quite some time, thereover in the Bird n Baby actually…”, Opopa points over in the direction of the pub…

Bingo continued oblivious to Opopa’s words, “I have been feeling a mite lonely these days, you see, and could use a festive occasion on the horizon to put a spring in my step and to occupy my thought. Perhaps a dinner-party would do the trick? Yes, that sounds capital! I will invite my neighbours, and you as well, of course!”

“Well I don’t know…a dinner party?” Opopa had run off with a nice silver candlestick in his pocket after the last dinner party he had been invited to, and he smiled inwardly at the thought of free good food, fine wines and home brewed ales, in fact he possibly started to salivate. He was getting a bit tired of the same pub grub and nice as the beer selection was at the Bird n Baby it was a little limited. Variety was of course the spice of life… “Yeah! Sure. But how can I help?”

“Could you run down to the Michel Delving market and assess some of the produce on display? Tell me what foods look particularly delicious, and that may give me the spark of inspiration for a course or three to serve at my party!” Bingo points behind over Opopa’s shoulder, “The market is to the south-east of my hobbit-hole.”

‘Why not?’ thought Opopa, and he turned around and headed off to the market.

‘Cause nobody go crazy when I’m bangin’ on my boogie
I’m the, king of the bongo, king of the bongo bong
Hear me when I come
King of the bongo, king of the bongo bong’

Well if variety was the spice of life, the market was close to death: there were some delicious greens, ripe apples and a small mountain of potatoes. With nothing else to inspect Opopa wandered over to a hobbit sat next to a pie, there was a golden forelooting ring above his head which another instinct always warned him away from, something to do with lots of work for small reward, but today he decided to get close to that hobbit and his pie! It sure did look tasty and smelt wonderful, but Hugo, who’s pie it was, refused to hand it over. Unless he was to return it to Holly Hornblower in Hobbington, it was something to do with being spoiled with bad berries. The Green Dragon is in Hobbington but it is fulla too many arty, poety types which interfere with the drinking too much for Opopa’s taste so he declined.


“Well that’s that” He exclaimed to no-one in particular and decided there was nothing else to see, his lootification inner sense informed him that four items inspected was quite sufficient for Bingo, which did give him slight misgivings about the upcoming dinner party fare.

‘Bangin’ on my bongo all that swing belongs to me
I’m so happy there’s nobody in my place instead of me
I’m a king without a crown hanging loose in a big town
But I’m the king of bongo baby, I’m the king of bongo bong’

He hadn’t noticed before that the Bounders statue had been worked upon yet again. He had contributed Bounder Tokens to that but in far from large amounts enough to be memorized on the actual plaque attached. And the gardens and bushes all looked rather nice. He spotted Polo hiding behind the statue. ‘Cor blimey!’ He thought. ‘That’s all this kid does all day, and why does he hide there in plain sight?’ He promptly demonstrated to himself that the new pink flower bushes made a much more superior hiding place. Polo smirked at Opopa but it was not that strange to Polo as he had seen drunk Opopa doing much stranger things!


Opopa picked off the last pink petals as he walked back to Bingo who looked pleased to see him so quickly returned. After Opopa had explained about the apples and the potatoes and the greens, Bingo was not down heartened and seemed more fired up than ever about his dinner and now suggested that some cookery books in Tuckborough be referenced… The lootification sense was still pulling strongly at his soul so he decided to persist in the endeavor to help Bingo.

Thoughts of a cold beer tried to distract him, the slight pull of Sid tried to exert itself, even from this distance, they had built up quite a rapport by now. “The loot is strong within this one.” Muttered Opopa to himself as he mounted up on his pony for his trip to the library…


‘King of the bongo, king of the bongo bong
Hear me when I come, baby
King of the bongo, king of the bongo bong’

Manu Chau – ‘Bongo Bong

The madness will continue…

LOTRO: The adventures of Opopa: Bingo, COVER

23 Jul



Opopa – One legged hobbit burglar (wooden leg, you could never tell if you didn’t know!)

Bingo Boffin –  a hobbit who wants to PARTY!

Sid – a barstool

An annoying Elf with no name…
A hobbit librarian…
A spoiled pie makes a guest appearance!

Chapter 1 starts tomorrow…


Lets go play BINGO!


LOTRO: Oliphaunt Chanting!

9 Apr



Grey as a mouse,
Big as a house,
Nose like a snake,
I make the earth shake,
As I tramp through the grass;
Trees crack as I pass.
With horns in my mouth
I walk in the South,
Flapping big ears.
Beyond count of years
I stump round and round,
Never lie on the ground,
Not even to die.
Oliphaunt am I,
Biggest of all,
Huge, old, and tall.
If ever you’d met me
You wouldn’t forget me.
If you never do,
You won’t think I’m true;
But old Oliphaunt am I,
And I never lie.

J.R.R. Tolkien 



Oli Oli Oli!
Oi Oi Oi!
Oli Oli Oli!
Oi Oi Oi!
Oli Oli Oli!
Oi Oi Oi!

Football Chant – Great Britain (Oggy Oggy Oggy to be authentic)

(I suppose Chelsea fans could quite easily chant Oligarch instead of Oggy!)

Tsu Elephant Shorts I

Tsk,  Tsk!
Naughty pachyderm


Tsu Elephant Shorts II

Ivory trade: Ivorice, putting the ‘I’ into avarice!

Tsu Elephant Shorts III

Hear, hear!
Ear, ear!


Tsu Elephant Shorts IV

Elephant time is truncated time.

Hobbit chapter blog inspires poem…

5 Sep

Barrels in the Forest River,

Elves sleeping off wine,

Dwarves in a wine barrel,

Hobbit clings to wine barrel,

Both Dwarves and Hobbit whine a lot,

Barrels don’t complain,

All are wet.



Inspired by: http://annemariegazzolo.mymiddleearth.com/2013/09/05/the-hobbit-chapter-nine



30 Aug


Meats, pies, ales and wines
Bilbo hosts us well past nine
Drunk Gloin writes bad rhymes


Ales and wines, ails and whines
Too much of a good thing
All wine and dine


Great site: http://lotroplayers.mymiddleearth.com/

GO direct to this haiku page: http://lotroplayers.mymiddleearth.com/2013/08/29/a-dwarven-haiku-3/

and: http://lotroplayers.mymiddleearth.com/2013/08/15/a-dwarven-haiku/

Day 1 LOTRO RP: Late for the Party

29 Aug

Day 1

The Fellowship of the Secret Fire

Late for the Party

Sunngiffu had had a rough day…

Having escaped from bandits in Archet she had managed to find her way to Bree via Combe.

She had woken up in that cell, cold and naked, in the sense that her precious furs and leather had been removed from her, her daggers and bow as well. Her lucky rabbits foot was gone…well maybe it was not so lucky anymore and it was time for a new one.

Dressed in rags and assorted items of armour that she has since picked up, a real hotch potch…how she misses her warm fur cloak! The last bow she picked up is a definite improvement, stronger and less warped than that first bow scavenged from a bandit. For killing some piglets a farmer gave her a new short sword, basic but sharp and she also relieved a bandit of a nice dagger, too fine for him and passable for her.

Upon arriving in Combe she had sold some hides she had collected off wolves and boars that had dared to cross her path, she had not seen any trace of rabbits. With these silver and copper coins in her pocket she took a quick horse to Bree as at this moment Su wanted to think…to think she needed to drink and in Bree there was the Prancing Pony.

From the southern stable Su walked through Bree, past market traders and hurrying adventurers, some roaring by on horses other running as if their lives depended on it.

Twas a quiet night in the Pony which was strange, but then it was mid week and no bands were playing. The house minstrel was twanging only occasionally! A small group of impressively armoured adventurers were in front of the bar, Su squeezed by and quietly asked for a whiskey. 

She was instantly drawn into a polite conversation with two of the adventurers, a huge armoured captain sort and a fine and elegant lady, both sported huge glowing weapons. The ‘captain’ was drinking water to the amusement of others and the ‘lady’ a mug of tea , which after it had cooled was thrown behind the bar with surprising nonchalance…strange people. Su, after trying to drink her whiskey before having being handed itmade her excuses, oddly tongue tied as if chatting was difficult for her! She headed into the back where instead of sitting on one of the benches chose to sit on the floor next to one.

The conversation was quiet and muted, she heard speak of a group of adventurers having been in earlier who were up to something, trying to organize some event, or quest. Su’s instincts latched onto this talk and she instantly decided that she would wait here in the Pony in the hope one or more of this group returned…

That and she needed to think…and to think she needed to drink and in the Pony there was a lot to drink!