Tuesday, November 24, 2015

how will this pan out? search and wish, so loud

Tuesdays are prime for wandering, because I'm a massive fan of the 25LT sales group. While the initial group of designers started out with a decided Gorean bent, they've since expanded to anything that can be considered roleplay or fantasy based, and now have several merchants that offer things suitable for medieval wear, Gorean RP, and rustic home decor. I've been very pleased with how they've grown.

How'ver, since it did start out as a more Gorean-themed sales event, there's a lot of kajira, Free Women and warlords who wander, as well. So--while I am liable at any point to pull profiles if I'm curious--I tend to emphasis it on Tuesdays, because I'm the curious sort and it's convenient.

Of course, I don't always get the answers I expect, and...frankly, that's part of the fun.

From a random profile:
Unseelie Code:
Change is good
Glamour is free
Honor is a lie
Passion before duty

Changelings are creatures of dream, a fae soul trapped in mortal flesh, easily able to shift between a mortal seeming and their fairy mien. Born of two worlds, they live in the mundane, but truly exist in a world of fantasy, mists, and dreams.

Changelings experience the world as a magical, mystical place filled with amazing and exciting things. They are travelers of the dream realm, masters of illusion, empaths and manipulators of emotions. They feed on the musings and emotions of others to inspire and power their magic.
So, I went off to read the link, and...it strikes me as more White Wolf/Changeling: the Dreaming general roleplay, than anything, but I am intrigued that--without specifically knowing about this page of 'kith breakdowns'--I had initially set myself up in Lumindor as a changeling phouka.

From the page:
Pooka (POO-kuh):
The shapechanging tricksters. All pooka are tied to a specific type of animal, and in their fae miens will have aspects of that animal (whiskers, scales, feathers, ears, tails, etc.). They are able to shapechange into that animal, if unobserved. They are also great listeners, and can often persuade people in conversation to tell them some of their most protected secrets. They have a problem telling the truth though. The truth simply isn't interesting to a pooka, and they feel that they must always improve on it in some way.
Ah, improooovements. Well, I won't say I've ever been committed to portraying any one fixed "truth", and I do like to think--whether true or not--that my sense of honor and personal bent towards honesty are firmer than this description...I have in the past and likely will continue telling truths that don't necessarily mesh with the rest of the tellers out there, simply because I see things so differently at times.

What largely influenced me, setting up my little fae for Lumindor, was the Phouka from Emma Bull's War for the Oaks, as well as both Irish and Welsh mythologies concerning the concept. At the time, running around Lumindor, I had my standard, very short, pale fae for Court functions, a black-furred Tiny rabbit avatar, and a black anthropomorphic horse (and later, with some given relational controversy, a dappled grey four-legged horse). At the time I kept looking for a black four-legged goat avatar, as well--I would've settled for an anthropomorphic goat, even--but at the time, I never found one.

Still, me being me, other things crept in, and felt natural to express. Antlers, or other forms of horns; wings; and cat ears, tails and whiskers. These aren't precisely part of the phouka mythology, but...they felt right, so I didn't overthink it.

And by the time I joined Caledon, wearing these little extra details had become second nature. Even now, I feel more comfortable in a set of horns, or cat ears and tail, than I ever do in purely human guise.

I still refer to myself as fae when asked. I still think of myself as Unseelie. I don't think I precisely match other Unseelie on the grid--the Unseelie in Laurell K. Hamilton's Merry books would say there's too much Seelie in my makeup--but I'm always amused to find someone else drawn to the Winter Court.

Something else from that same gentle's profile I fell in love with:
➊. If I like it, it's mine.
➋. If I saw it first, it's mine.
➌. If it's in my hand, it's mine.
➍. If it looks like mine, it's mine.
➎. If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.
➏. If I can take it away from you, it's mine.
➐. If there's more than one, ALL of them are mine.
➑. If you have something and you put it down, it automatically becomes mine.
➒. If it's mine, it must NEVER appear to be yours in any way.
➓. If I get bored with it or it breaks, it's yours.
Ah, cat rules. I recognize these.

My cats on the grid aren't quite this grabby, but on occasion, these behaviors have surfaced, for all I do my best to play the lady, and not the gutter-kitten.

Profile-pondering is fun.

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Scenes from a Chat: Embarrassing edition

[17:09] Pxxxxxxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: nice rocker outfit at Joy Style MM board 21/170 Gentlemen, if your lover is able to describe her climax in vivid, florid detail? She is not actually having one. The ladies need their hands too.
[17:09] Pxxxxxxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: hey that was not supposed to happen

I bet.

[17:10] Pxxxxxxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: oh no
[17:10] gxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx laughs
[17:10] gxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: that escalated quickly


[17:10] axxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: Well, things sure got interesting all of a sudden.
[17:10] Pxxxxxxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: *blushes red hot*
[17:10] mxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: lol
[17:10] rxxxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: is that on the MM, lol

Ah, copy-paste, our friend, our most fiendish enemy...

[17:11] Pxxxx Hxxxxxxxx: you didnt drop Lm
[17:11] gxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx giggles
[17:11] Pxxxxxxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: I tried to add the LM but that ins't what happened
[17:12] sxxxxxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: lol love it
[17:12] Axxxxx Exxx giggles

Alas, Miss P's composure...we knew it well...

[17:12] Pxxxxxxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: I can't seem to copy and paste a LM into the chat line!
[17:13] Pxxxxxxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: I give up! *runs and hides*
[17:13] Gxxxx Axxxxxxxxx: No you can't, you have to get the slurl from the map (copy location to clipboard), then paste that into chat
[17:13] Pxxxxxxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: oh

Always a good tip.

[17:15] zxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: woot you did it
[17:15] Pxxxxxxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: I got it now
[17:15] Pxxxxxxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: omg

Go you!

Saturday, November 21, 2015

so hey, let's be friends, I'm dying to see how this one ends

My heart is a weapon of war
My voice is my weapon of choice
An eye for an eye,
A heart for a heart,
A soul for a soul.

I am fighting baser instincts, I am fighting the urge to lash out, I am fighting the urge to cause great suffering in my storm-lashed wake. What is stopping me is not that I am unable to reach out and cause the pain some parts of me desperately desire. Because that knowledge is there, I could pursue it, I could follow it through the wire and wreak ruinous havoc..if I allowed myself the release of it.

I am telling myself, this is not my path. This is not my place. And it would be the wrong thing to do.

We fight for the dream,
We fight to the death,
We fight for control.

I spent two hours earlier, writing my way up to 341,271 words on the monolithic monster. I finally had to walk away, disport myself elsewhere with other things. Too much time spent writing 'never' and rewriting 'forever' and now, now, all I want to do is clench my hands into fists and strike back.

All the best that we can hope for is revenge
A hostile takeover,
An absolute rebellion to the end.

It's not the words, it's more the emotions behind them. At the time, I was sure all parties involved knew exactly what we were saying. And 'never', well, it's an abstract, isn't it? No one can say 'never' and truly mean it, because we are finite creatures. But we know what we mean when we say it. We mean "I will be there." We mean "I'm not leaving." We mean "We will always have each other.".

This is our battle cry
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
I’m giving you a head start,
You’re going to need it,
’Cause I fight like a girl

People change, people grow, others don't, it's the way of flesh and hearts. Parting is inevitable, sooner or later--if nothing else, there is death waiting in the wings, to claim us all. Nothing lasts. It was never intended to last. By design, by intention, by sheer atomic reality--pick your interpretation, it's all the same.

I’ll get my revenge on the world or a least 49% of the people in it
And if I end up with blood on my hands,
Well, I know that you’ll understand,
’Cause I fight like a girl.

But what is becoming clear, the inescapable, razor reality of what I'm doing with this intense reexamination of my past--is that the past memories don't fit. And I'm not talking just mine, which are transitory at best. My memory issues are rather legendary, among family, friends and random acquaintances alike.

No, I'm saying what was said does not match what has happened. People leave. It's a constant--people leave. Sometimes for the very best of reasons, and I'm not saying I didn't bring enough of those to the table for anyone. But over and over, it was said, it was restated, enough to engrave it deep--that the one to whom I'm bound would never go silent. Lover, friend, or even distant moral support--there was a mention of alliance to my cause, to be very oblique.

He said he would always be there.

And I'm finding that at this point, I'm back to taking his continued absence as a rather personal affront.

We are under attack
What is the body count?
I’ve lost track

At this point, I am wanting to scream, throw things, rail at the perceived injustice, as much as I want to reach out, demand answers, with the expectation of getting them. And what stops my hand from moving, what holds me in place, shaking with the need not to be restrained, is simple: even if I did, there is no guarantee I would get answers. There is no guarantee that there would even be communication of any kind.

After all, there hasn't been so far.

If nobody’s mentioned how this will end,
Then I’ll be the first
there are more of US than there are of you,
So show me your worst

And all that these lashings of impotent rage are doing is upsetting me, quite thoroughly. It's certainly not bothering that one who's stopped talking in the first place. It won't necessarily bother anyone else, because these are the nails still driven into my heart; I can't discuss them without removing them, and I'm not sure I'm up to healing the damage that would cause, just yet.

There is no such thing as justice,
All the best that we can hope for is revenge
A hostile takeover,
An absolute rebellion to the end.

And is all this sudden upswelling of rage just another way to dodge responsibility? Toss aside my own culpability, or the choices I clung to because I wanted to fix things less than I wanted not to make the decision? It's easier to be irrationally angry than it is to accept that a large part of what went wrong was because I made mistakes?

I’m giving you a head start,
You’re going to need it,
’Cause I fight like a girl

After all, we're only human...or mostly...and it is so, so easy to rationalize. "Yes, but, he said--" "Well, yes, I did that, but you don't know what she did first--" "It was just a question, it's not like I meant anything by it--"

And on. And on. And on and bloody on, back to Nod and whatever came before. Love and loss have always been inexorably intertwined, because without understanding another's heart wholly, there will always be blank spaces in comprehension. And even if there was a way to completely integrate our experiences with another's, it still wouldn't work because without being the same person, we can't completely understand that person. There will always be gaps. There will always be room for error.

It’s so easy to kill,
This I learned by watching you
If I have to, I will,
It’s not pretty but it’s true

I am now at the point in reviewing, rereading, rewriting, where I can see the seeds of forthcoming destruction. Greater pain awaits, and I know it; at this point I even know when it's going to hit, though that's no guarantee that it won't hurt just as much going through it a second time. What I still can't figure out is why. How much of it was my fault. If any of it was preventable. If I made the right decisions after being torn apart.

No mercy, it’s a bit too late,
The game is on

Extreme pain, extreme situations, mean extreme measures taken. Sometimes they become extraordinary, exemplary decisions. Sometimes it's just another way to bleed, another way to shatter, and we end up making all new mistakes in quicker ways. Or the same mistakes over again, because we haven't learned not to make them yet.

Don't run, don't hide, don't wait
‘Cause if we’ve got no honor,
Then we’ve got no shame,
If it’s in self-defense,
Then we will take no blame

And even if we don't, the aftermath of any parting is guaranteed to derange. Because 'always' just became 'never'; 'I will always love you' becomes 'I never want to see you again'. And even if, at some later point, there is rapprochement, there is, however strained and uneasy, a meeting of hearts or minds again...it will never be what it was.

I’ll get my revenge on the world or at least 49% of the people in it
And if I end up with blood on my hands
Well, I know, that you’ll understand,
’Cause I fight like a girl.

But...above and beyond all the excuses, petty and noble; above and besides being this angry over an implosion I myself largely started; I have to hold to what is true and good. And if nothing else, if no other reason stays my hand from causing worse pain...well, Sumie wouldn't want me to. She would tell me that, were she still around, and...I can't very well ignore that just because she's gone.

So no dealing pain. No striking back. No yelling, no screaming, because...she would want me to cause less pain in the world, not more. Which, when I set up the new cottage, was rather why I set out her picture. To say hello again; as honor and tribute; and, yes, to remember her example.

So I have to do better. I have to be better. I have to adapt to what I cannot accept, and try not to injure anyone in the process. Because as much as every relationship fails due to everyone involved in it...if I'm part of it, my hand is always on the final knife.

This time...well, I may have used it once already, but...I don't have to pick it up again.

(Nearly all images captured on the Azshra roleplaying sim. (It's very pretty, but it does rate as Adult, for good reason...be aware. And wary, if you go. And the song, of course, is Emilie Autumn's Fight Like a Girl...because in the end, most of us do.)

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

no rest, I've stayed here too long, it's time to move on

Funny thing, love. There are times when I've wanted it, and never discovered a single shred of proof it existed. Other times I've wanted anything but more love in my life, and could not escape it no matter how I tried.

Whether I will or not, my heart chooses for me, and I openly acknowledge it's made some staggeringly ill-thought-out choices, both for me and those my heart wished for. But then, heart is not mind; heart is merely want, and need, and far more than occasionally, the loss of all rational thought. It's desire over deliberation, craving over consideration. Always.

Let's tell the future
Let's see how it's been done
By numbers, by mirrors, by water
By dots made at random on paper

But with one other heart...There was a binding made, there was a binding accepted, before ever the controversy of collars and titles commenced. We knew we were linked without needing other affirmations. The first time was also the first binding, by blood and spirit, and it only grew deeper from there.

And I have done everything I could conceivably think of to separate myself from that binding. Meditation, affirmations, therapy, intoxication. Privation, and gluttony; ascetic reflection. Arcane rituals of severance, incense thick on the night air. Self-denial. Self-accusation. Rationalizations.

Nothing has worked.

(I am ever careful, even virtually, when drinking from another, because this is the risk I run in all worlds.)

It was more than a year from the date my mind had declared as the tenebrous "end point" before I accepted another offer. I spent a full, traditional year mourning for the loss of him, and ever wondering if it was just that he moved on, or that he, in fact, actually died. And it was another year past that before I began to feel tentatively secure in the offer another heart had given me. Before I felt free enough from that binding to move through the strands of it remaining, and reach out once more.

(Though, in large part, it doesn't matter; what was damaged between me and that offering heart may never fully heal. We may never be what we were to each other, and...accepting that has been...damaging in itself. I don't fault the binding for that; I fault how things happened the first time that heart and I parted.)

By salt, by dice, by meal, by mice
By dough of cakes, by sacrificial fire
By fountains, by fishes, writing in ashes
Birds, herbs, smoke from the altar

And the writing, the writing, it goes on, it doesn't stop. When does it stop, will it stop? I want to say it feels uncontrolled, but the truth is--I could walk away from this at any time. Save for...maybe not. Maybe I can no less walk from this project, than I can disconnect from him.

When he told me 'forever'...I think he meant it, or, at least, some inaccessible part of me means to hold to it. Which leaves me in a peculiar quandary. If I cannot refute him, where does that leave me? If I cannot unbind the binding with my own powers, will I hear his echo in my heart forever? I want to hate him, I do, but...that...whatever inside says he is not mine to hate, only to love.

But how can love flourish in a vacuum? I think time has proven that it withers, that it shrinks, but the binding upon me, at least, does not let it fully evaporate. I am stuck with the dregs, and some nights, they are bitter indeed.

A suspended ring or the mode of laughing
Pebbles drawn from a heap
One of these things will tell you something

My hands are red with my own heart's blood, sectioned, on display...but only my eyes will ever view the resulting work. There are too many secrets, too much of me and him both, in the pages for me ever, ever to publish. This does not lessen its impact, however. And I'm feeling the impact--every word typed is every emotion felt again, is every situation relived, and afterwards, reexamined for contradiction or flaw.

I feel the revelation of future pain coming, from the perspective of the past, but I may well have no greater understanding why, once it arrives. And perhaps, I never will. Which is galling in itself, but yet another impossible thing I must find a way to accept.

Somehow. I cannot spent two more years pining for the lost one. He got lost on his own.

By nails reflecting the rays of the sun
By walking in a circle, by red hot iron
By passages in books
A balanced hatchet

Maybe, after all this time, it's too late to evict. Maybe it's time I think of his constant ghost as less binding force, and more...simple irritant. Several more years will smooth all rough edges of memory, and I will have a pearl to look back upon, instead of shards of glass in silk. Much less injurious for my heart to beat around, at any rate. Survivable, at the very least.

After all, it doesn't seem as if I have much choice.

Let's tell the future
Let's see how it's been done

(Lyrics are taken from Predictions from the album Days of Open Hand by Suzanne Vega.)

Monday, November 16, 2015

and I gunned for your love right through the sun

137,627 words into the epic unpublishable mess. I "won" NaNoWriMo on November 10th and just kept going. I don't know how long it will take to finish. I don't know how much of myself I'm going to have left at the end.

I expected depression. I expected pain. I expected random flashes of anger, I expected hopelessness, I expected inchoate loss as I remembered days of love and days of grieving. I expected all of these things, I thought I was prepared.

I didn't expect to miss you this much.

After all, you've been gone from my life long enough that I'd forgotten many of our conversations. Oh, the general feelings, the general mood, I've retained, but the actual words said, the moments shared, those had slipped my mind. I'm finding memory's razor is sharp, sharp as winter sea air, sharp as scalpel sin.

What I'm saying is that I expected it to hurt, but I didn't expect to feel you so keenly once more. Simultaneously present and missing, close and impossibly distant, and it's striking me as profoundly unfair all over again.

I am broken. I know that. I have spent too long, especially of late, surviving in the interstitial spaces of my own head. I know I need those around me who not only see my good points, but see and accept my broken places. You did that.

You once told me that there was nothing I could not share with you, no secret, no urge, no memory, no nightmare, that you would not accept. That I could tell you anything, absolutely anything, and you would love me still.

I relied on that.

Then you left.

And it's been years. Years of healing, years of processing, years of seclusion, years of putting myself together after I tore my life apart for you. There are things I lost that I will never get back, and I had made my peace with it...until this.

And I'm still writing. And I'm still discovering. And now I'm wondering how close my memories of you are going to get before I can leave you behind, once again, where you should be, as you are nowhere to be found.

"You drove me to the fire
and left me there to burn..."

Now I just wait for the fire to burn down, and it's going to take some time, because all I have in memory's spaces are accelerants and tinder. Gods help us all.

But I get through this, my lost love. I survive. More symbols carved into my bones, into my flesh, more scars, more pain behind my eyes...but you didn't kill me when you left, and your memory won't kill me now. I'll get through this. But it's going to hurt like a wicked bitch until I do.

And I'm wondering how many words it's going to take before I'm done.

Thursday, November 12, 2015

I made you now, I erase you now

'Can I play with madness?'
The prophet stared at his crystal ball
'Can I play with madness?'
There's no vision there at all

While the official winning validations do not begin until November 20th, for all intents and purposes, I have "won" another year of NaNoWriMo. My verified word count stands, as of half past two this afternoon, at 104,233 words.

I'm not truly considering it a win.

it can't always be
what you want it to be
it can't always be
what you want it to be

In terms of word count, I definitely made it, and more besides. By the 20th, I may have added on even more words, because this tide seems unstoppable. So many years I spent hiding, trying not to think, trying not to feel, and this project has brought everything back in spades. I do mean that literally--I'm as much grave-digging as I am perusing the past, disinterring at least the corpses of the memories of old loves if not their literal bones, from living ground.

Shout when you wanna get off the ride
Shout when you wanna get off the ride
'Cause you crossed my mind, you crossed my mind
I'm a penny in a diamond mine

At this point, having excavated what I've excavated so far, alone, some things are becoming quite clear. Beyond my basic tendency not to learn from mistakes, I'm discovering facets of my personality I did a great deal to erase, that I'm finding I want back. Will reclaiming them make my life more difficult? Probably, but they're bits of me that have left me feeling, not inaccurately, hollow, and I don't have to live that way.

More, though, the bigger questions I'm thinking over are of the nature of love itself. Or my love life, which may be a vastly different thing. I'm now looking at everyone I've fallen for in world, and doing my best--after the abandonment of time, parity, and relationship--to ask myself one simple question: If I had that relationship to do over again, knowing what I do now...would I?

so let it fly by
let's say it loves you
let it slide, slide
is that how I met you?

My answer prior to this has always been yes. Regrets, absolutely, I have them; sometimes I pile them up with old quilts and tuck myself in at night. But, case by case, would I do the same thing now?

you had a warning
you didn't want it
you can't come crawling back now

And...maybe I am learning, maybe I'm not, but I'm finding there are definitely people I would avoid, had I had foreknowledge. No indication of who, so don't ask--I've also learned by reading through the early days of the blog that either I'm obscure to the point of total mystery, or practically stamping name and location on my forehead. It's enough that I know who they are, and I would have made both our lives easier if I had just never gotten involved.

Which leaves me...well, with a great many ghosts to exorcise. Not to the point yet where I can do that, so it's starting to feel crowded in here, but I'm not afraid of my own ghosts. There's nothing the past can do to me now that it hasn't done already.

["Can I Play With Madness?" is from Iron Maiden, still good after all these years. "(It Could Be) Love" was recorded by Camouflage Nights. The third stanza was from an unreleased Phender song, Slide. The fourth is "The Warning" by Neverending White Lights.]

Saturday, November 7, 2015

a mouthful of bees couldn't stop me

"If this will be
then let it be

There's something very curious about saved conversations. If I hold a letter, I can tell (reasonably speaking) how old it is. The feel of the paper will tell me, the look of the paper, the shade of the ink. Even the smell it holds may tell me things. All of these are possible with a physical object--a letter, a book, a scroll.

But data is different. Data is, to a certain extent, frozen in time. It's always fresh and always new for the most part. So opening up a saved conversation is much like having it again for the first time.

As a friend--relevant to the conversation, as it happens--once said, the wound bleeds anew when exposed again to the blade. And so it is with saved digital discussions.

"If this will be
then let it be a

So...why am I bringing this up? Because this year I had the bright idea to gather up all the remaining threads of an abandoned relationship, and analyze them through saved conversations. For NaNoWriMo.

Absolutely unpublishable, for a variety of reasons, but the chief one is that--at least right now--it feels like I'm digging into different parts of me, digging through skin and muscle to meat, seeking out anything that might have healed wrong, broken badly, or infected, and hoping to stop before I hit bone.

I know that's graphic, but that's really what it feels like. I already know that the pressure of editing whatever this is going to be is going to be too much for me. And at this point, I'm wondering if this was actually a good idea, that may lead to good things for me, or if it's just another way to sabotage myself under the guise of recovery.

At this point, I honestly couldn't say which it might be. Maybe it's both.

"A mouthful of bees
couldn't stop me
from whispering,
I don't know you."

So that's where I am. My brain dragged me out of bed only a few hours after I'd retired, and I ended up writing at a fever pace well into the afternoon. After starting, finally, on November 5th, I'm now at 15,841 words.

In two days. I'm not kidding.

"But if scars could sing
about the permanent things
they'd say it's damaged
but it was something."

But, I can already feel cracks in the foundation. Though maybe they're needed, this next time around. Because obviously, I didn't heal right the last time--if the years of isolation and hermitage have taught me nothing else, it's taught me that pulling back from the world was the wrong thing to do. Now, I need to figure out what the right thing to do will be. If there is one, single, "right" thing.

"If this will be anything
Then let it be over..."

I still plan to cover the Sinners' hunt. I've been given access to the Sinister Goth blog, and I'm contemplating what they need my voice for, over there. I'm working on writing more, interacting more, both on and off the screen. We'll see where all this goes.

But if anyone talks to me during this month, and I'm a little crazed around the edges...well, that's why. In case anyone wonders.

It's not too late to get involved in NaNoWriMo, if you're also feeling masochistic. There's a participation banner on the left side of the blog that links to their site. Get involved, if you wish. They eagerly accept donations--and they're a very good cause to donate to--but what they most desire is people who will write. That's all. They just want you to spend a month, and invent 50,000 words within it.

They just happened to pick November to do it in.

Good luck, whether you join in or not. Meanwhile, I'm back to excavating the past, and trying to understand why.

(The lyrics are taken from "Lament" from the group Mount Moriah. I'm finding them very interesting of late--all the musicians have backgrounds in heavier sounds, the jagged notes of punk, the heavy chrome of metal and hard rock. But when they create music together, they're drawn to American roots folk. So they turn out these lyrical pieces that are heavy on symbolism and acoustics, with an electronic edge.)

Monday, November 2, 2015

she noticed a whistling down in her chest

Today I'm showing the "All I Want" mesh sack dress from MishMash Fusion, along with the "Killer Inside" shoes for SLINK High feet. (I don't have SLINK feet, so...well, you'll see later.)

So, the one big problem I noticed was, once I'd found a place to take good pictures, I still had a problem with my hair. Not all hair does this, some hairstyles I went through getting to this one were worse, but it's still a problem, and I don't see an easy resolution for it.

But this is the outfit from the front, full-on. Hair alpha-ing notwithstanding.

There will be poses on this particular shape that will cut across the design. Be aware going in. It's not a deal-breaker.

I love this little detail. The low belt with the little chain addition is very well done.

There's another little stud detail around the scoop neck. I really adore the deep, burnished bronze the designer went with for both the studs and the belt buckle and chains.

I can't decide if this is a texture flaw, or if it's intended. Dresses off the grid have seams, or places where the texture doesn't seamlessly adjoin, so...is this just how the template behaved for texturing? Was it intended? I don't know.

It can fairly easily be covered with long hair, if it's an issue for anyone.

Here's the same little defect-or-design-edition from the side. Considering the main pattern is a spiral swirl, it may well be part of the original texturing, and be exactly as intended.

And from the lower back, where the design again meets in a seamless 'seam'.

And now to the shoes! So, as I don't have SLINK feet of any height, but still wanted to show the shoes that come with the outfit, my solution was to put on a leg/feet concealing alpha layer. So I'm actually kinda-sorta wearing these, just you can't actually see my feet, because they don't fit my feet well without the SLINKs.

These are pretty, though. It makes me want to hold onto them for when I do finally get the Lindens for a SLINK investment. And do you notice along the back, that little repeat of the bronze stud detail from the dress? Very well done.

(Other stuph:

(Sim for the dress: Grand Haven.
Stockings: Striped Stockings in Light green/Black, purchased from *katat0nik* back in...um...2008? At some point.
Shoes: Laced Ankle Boots from Christine's.
Hair: Soonsiki "Diamond" dyed with the Galaxy color HUD, group gift from March of this year; might be able to find the style at Besom, but not sure.
Eyes: Twinkle Twinkle eyes in Envy (Soul Windows line) from .::IM CaPPed::. which was an Advent calendar gift from last December.
Skin: Nomine's Peacock skin. Still miss having Nomine on the grid.

Shoes were shot in my skybox.)

Sunday, November 1, 2015

we set fire to the snow

Second up on the Sinners' Hunt tour, Sinfully Seddy's Medusa tank top, and Slither layered shirt for men. Here goes.

So first up, the "Envy Me" shirt without implants. Pretty standard tank, cut a little high for me, but pretty perfect for being on trend for the rest of SL.

There's a tiny bit of jag on the sides of this (it's system layer, not mesh), but that may well be in the template/shirt style used.

The wrinkles and folds both on the side, and most especially the back, are beautifully done.

And shown with Lolas Tangos, wherein we see that a centered design motif really needs some hefty adjustment to be seen properly both on and below the ample bosom.

Next up--and try not to laugh too much--this is what happens when I realize I no longer have any male accoutrements in my inventory. (Not because I lost them, but because I threw them away over a year ago, when I decided that whatever benefit was gained from walking around looking more androgynous, and thus less molestable, is invalidated because my name's Emilly, and I always feel weird walking around as Emilly Male, y'know?

So pretty much everything was acquired on the Marketplace, for...I think three Linden, overall? I had a unisex hairstyle from Truth, worked pretty well, and I did a minor amount of work on the shape, but everything else was pretty much just unpacked and put on.

But this is the "Slither" layered shirt, which is mesh, and seems pretty well done, though not exceptionally shaded.

Dear gods, this boy is pouty. So, I kind of forgot this was a mesh shirt, not because it was bad, but because it moved so much like it was just standard--id est, waking around, sitting, laying down, running, it moved with the avatar really well.

And while there's not much for shading, being pretty much just straight black and straight green, there are a good amount of lived-in wrinkles along the mesh template, which adds to that whole "I am comfortable wearing this" feeling. That's a good thing.

The Sinners' Hunt: Envy should be open now. You can find more information on the Sinners' Hunt blog. It runs until November 31st.

(Other stuph used in the shots:)
Sim: Various places around Mallory Cove on the Harmony Garden sim.

(For the Envy Me female shirt: Skin: #Uniquity from Uniquity Body Shop (acquired in October of 2015, though I can't remember if I was in-store to do so or used their Marketplace).
Hair: Genesis in Black from Besom (group gift).
Eyes: Dolly Red freebie eyes from !!X Factor!!, acquired back in 2011; they might be available at the Marketplace link, but unsure.
Makeup: Because the lips were very red-orange on the skin, used the Mythic Neutralizer, then the Prarocana Masque makeover layer, both from [mock].
Pants: Istanbul Latex pants in Green from SN@TCH.
Panties (shown in the back shot, mostly): Lacey Days in Black from Lumae (gift from 2014's Cleavage event)
Shoes (not shown): Eartha boots, also from SN@TCH.

(For the Slither male layered shirt:
Skin: Patrick Gift Vampire Skin, available as a dollarbie on the Marketplace. Comes with painted-on black boxers.
Shape: The Damien shape dollarbie available on the Marketplace.
Hair: Gabriel in Raven from Truth.
Eyes: Liquid Light mesh eyes in Olive from Mayfly.
Makeup: Guyliner 2K from [mock] (group gift).
Pants: Jeans from the Casa Eros dollarbie outfit on the Marketplace.
Shoes (not shown): Standard stompy boots from this link on the Marketplace, which is credited to Nebukadnedzar Zane on the Marketplace, to Titus Yoshikawa in the box, and labeled as a Ronjas boot originally. (And I'm pretty sure Ronjas, at least as a business, is no longer around).

Saturday, October 31, 2015

on her milk-white neck, the devil's mark

It had been two years since I walked through House Belasco. I'd avoided it most of October, because, well...I'd seen it before, right? But maybe things had changed. Maybe it had gotten better in the intervening time...or worse. Either way, I had to know for sure.

Did I mention this is an Adult haunt?

This is a very Adult haunt.

"No" is right. Also, not sitting down. Also, I adore that candle lamp. (It's from Candlelight Evenings Antique Furniture, which I must check out after wandering through here.)

[Insert from Editrix after publishing: This business...does not exist? Link takes me back to the house, even though the location is different from said house. I'll research.]

This is a very big table.

It also floats, though it's not shown levitating here.

I forgot how...active...the house sanctuary is.

As it turns out, I can't show that much from upstairs; things have gotten a tad more explicit. But that's not the interesting thing. The interesting thing is that I'd forgotten about Hell House at the time I first went through the haunt. Between then and now, Hell House (the movie) had arrived on Netflix, and I'd remembered how much I loved that film.

For example, this is what rests behind the "Spirit Cabinet" curtains on the first floor of Hell House.

And there's a shot in this commentary about the film that shows psychic Florence Tanner (actress Pamela Franklin) in that same pose.

In fact, a lot of this haunt, from the architecture of the house, to sound clips,, to what populates the rooms, really does reflect the film. Considering how intensely sexual the film--and original work--tend towards, I'm rather shocked I didn't pick up all the references; not only that, but the sounds of both pleasure and pain that are constantly playing throughout the house. I can't even say I was that distracted by my companion, though, in all honesty, two years ago I may simply have had sounds off entirely.

What I can say is, if you don't mind nudity, or overhearing cries of pleasure, Hell House is worth a jaunt. There is an extensive notecard, with behavior rules and environment rules both, which is worth reading through as well. And do take your time with this one--since it is so heavily scripted, both for sounds and effects, things may take some time to rez in!

And, as ever, with October drawing to a close--Happy Hallowe'en!

Friday, October 30, 2015

she's got a date at midnight with Nosferatu

[00:29] Corpse: Hello Emilly Orr. Thank you for visiting Silverado's Haunted House -Beware -Not responsible for any Heart attacks

Because this is so heart-stoppingly terrifying.

So I pretty much picked a place at random, and came to Silverado's Haunted House and Graveyard.

It's got some okay poses in the crypt part of the cemetary, but beyond that, it's mostly just fog and screamers.

Until I turned to leave, and met this fellow.
[00:39] Nightstalker: HALT Emilly , you are trespassing on hallowed ground !
[00:39] Nightstalker: Emilly , You Foolish Mortal !!! lol prepare to DIE !!!!!!!
[00:40] Nightstalker: lol Emilly enjoy your eternal rest
I refuse to take seriously any haunt that says "lol".

Save I'd already started walking off the lot, so...died on the sidewalk. Wups.

I'd say, this is another one solely for completionists. It's got some okay photo ops, and the death-by-Reaper is pretty neat, but beyond that...it's okay, but not stellar.

Two out of five skulls?