Showing posts with label Wellsian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wellsian. Show all posts

29 April, 2009

why do you want to sit alone in gothic gloom

Anyone remember Cup of Brown Joy? (As if I need to ask.) Well, Elemental wandered in to the post I did last year on the song and the rapper/producer who made it.

According to him, you can now get the album, Rebel Without Applause on Tea Sea Records--which includes "Cup of Brown Joy"--and that page is just fun to wander anyway--there are more artists on the label, and lots of samples, and apparently even a recipe section! Whee!

He says the rest of the album is not very "steampunky" at all, but he's very happy with it, and he hopes we will be, too.

You can also listen in on Elemental's MySpace page for more up-to-date information. And if anyone happens through Brighton, drop him an email--he runs a quirky little Victoriana show there called "Come Into My Parlor". Damn, that nearly sounds fun enough to visit Brighton! (Considering your humble correspondent is in the US, that is rather a long trip.)

After the last post, I am feeling the definite need to get away from the adult content topic. Not because I don't want to cover it, not because some part of me still feels I am somehow invested, but because after today, two things have become inescapably clear. First, that the line between avatar and typist is not so much eroding, as buckling completely and falling aside; and second, now that I'm finally at the place where I face my own prejudices on sexuality and (what is generally considered to be) perversion, I'm having to confront a lot of other issues.

None of which, frankly, I really want to talk about to casual blog-wanderers.

But I did want to make one thing very clear. It's not that I've seen a lot of backlash from this, but reading through the last post, I thought I should state some things formally.

First--I am foursquare against violence to women. Rape is not a good thing. Sexual or physical assault is not a good thing. Torture and murder? Not good things, and I'm not in support of any of them.

There are two things that stop this from being a womens' issue (for me) in SL: first, you can take no action in SL without consent--and while, yes, there are ways to 'force' the issue (spamming some new lass with port requests followed by handing over an item with instructions to put it on is one that still, on occasion, works; there's also, somewhere out there, rumors of a 'date rape' virtual drug that blocks out the visual input from the client, leaving only sounds), by and large, at some point the question will be asked, and it's our responsibility to say yes or no.

The second point is, in my opinion, even more vital: the grid is virtual. There are people doing things in SL they would never do in the real, for an insane variety of reasons. Some just treat it as harmless fun. Some have deeper issues, and are either reacting to those, or actively working on those, again for a variety of reasons.

Whether or not extreme sexual content and violence should be seen in video games or virtual worlds has been endlessly debated--not only this past month, but for the past ten years. There are no clear, solid answers. And whether or not places like Stepford should exist in SL, well, that's not a question for us, that's a question for the Lindens. No one, not even me, is asking everyone to support them; I'm just making the point that fantasy, even dark, disturbing fantasy, is one thing; actually doing things in reality is an entirely different thing.

And doing something we've fantasized about--be that the ability to garden outdoors, clear down to, well, Stepford--that's not a bad thing.

As long as you're not doing things that would harm you on the other side of the screen. (Which yeah, for me, includes being outdoors on a sunny day.)

Amanda Linden also has a Twitter feed where she's listing off business innovations in SL--it may be a good working guideline for what the Lindens at large are thinking, and why.

In the meantime, I want to talk about the paranormal movement in Victorian times, Madame Blatavsky, and intolerance in Caledon.

Spiritualism was huge at the time, one of the few things that transcended cultural and economic barriers. Just about everyone, including those who had the benefit of higher education, believed in some aspect of it, and most of them were willing to defend spiritualism in scientific terms--even if, on occasion, those terms fell short. One of the oddities of the movement, in fact, was that--rather in reverse of other cultural movements--it rose from lower levels to higher; the more educated and cultured the social class was, the more intensely they believed--and defended!--spiritualism.

In another interesting twist, spiritualism arrived in Victorian England after beginning in America, at the behest of well-known mediums who hit the scene in 1848, Margaret and Kate Fox. Later joined by their older sister Leah as manager, they hit stage after stage from New York to London, performing the calling of the beloved dead, and perfecting the art of "table rapping", wherein all hands are visible on the table, yet it 'knocks' with unearthly sound.

Whether or not the Fox sisters were "real" mediums is still under debate--there's evidence for both sides of the argument. But whatever history would or would not prove them to be, what they represented was seemingly "scientific" evidence of life beyond this one. And spiritualism was off.

The core of spiritualism was the belief that the dead could communicate through mediums, seers into both realms trained, or simply born, to communicate with the departed. These individuals would go into "trance" states, and could then answer and ask questions given to them. There were many different ways to do this: the most common ones involved levitating household objects, eerie music and lights, distant echoing voices, and even full-on apparitions, occasionally comprised of a substance that became known as "ectoplasm".

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Past this point, "spirit boards" were invented, automatic writing made an appearance, and on occasion things got much more dramatic as spiritualism waxed and waned (the rise of Apostolic Christianity paired spiritualism with religion, for one, and the Civil War in America brought hundreds of adherents to the cause), but at the time it began, from 1848, until just after the turn of the century, spiritualism was a strong driving force in two countries at least.

For some, it was a pleasant pastime--draw the curtains, light the lamp, invite your favorite medium over for tea and table-tapping. For others, like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Harry Houdini, it was serious business (if for different reasons).

"Theosophy is the name Blavatsky gave to that portion of knowledge that she brought from the masters to the world. It comes from the term 'Theosophia' used by the Neoplatonists to mean literally 'knowledge of the divine'."

William Butler Yeats was one of many who met the famed "Madame" Blatavsky and joined her Theosophist movement, which persists to this day as, literally, theological philosophy--integrating Hindu and Jewish mystical beliefs, Greek myths and philosophies, Egyptian and Gnostic Christian ritual and magic, and the early scientific principles of death and dying. Theosophists believed then--and believe to this day--that all world religion can be understood in a larger framework; similar to Stephen King's mention of the 'communal myth-pool' in Danse Macabre: that all religion draws from the same group of themes, same cast of characters, same archetypal imagery--simply refitted to adapt to the culture of the believers.

"Madame Helena Blatavsky, who founded Theosophy in 1875, viewed the Gnostics as the precursors of modern occult movements and hailed them for preserving an inner teaching lost to Christian orthodoxy."

Carl Jung was a follower; his twelve archetypes, though developed utilizing his own perceptions, were influenced by Blatavsky's work on collective religious mythology. The entire "New Age" movement--as flaky as it gets at times--was started by a revival of Theosophic beliefs. It's still somewhat hazy--for me, at least--whether Freemasonry influenced Theosophy, or whether Freemasons embraced the writings of Madame Blatavsky, but they are definitely linked. And, intermingled in sometimes unusual ways, the Rosicrucians--with their emphasis on personal understanding and Egyptian history--play into it, again either as another information source Blatavsky drew upon, or as a spiritual movement influenced by Theosophy.

But it all started in a humble little part of Manhattan, in the waning years of the spiritualist movement, that "Madame" Helena Petrovna Blatavsky used to set up shop. Born in 1831, dying in 1891, she didn't do that much that was different from the standard round of mediums at the time--the table-tapping, the luminous ghostly presences in the background, the eerie music playing where no source of music was seen. And she had her share of detractors, more than most--and there are those to this day that said she was the consummate example of the "fake seer".

However, little of that matters, in terms of what she wrote. What Blatavsky ended up doing, and quite well, indeed--was provide a conversational framework, that so many follow to this day--a way to comprehend core beliefs of any faith, and identify their roots--all the way back to Babylon and Egypt.

This is quite the fun article on Freemasons, if you're interested. And go through the Encyclopedic Theosophical Glossary, if you want; it's eye-opening and very nearly exhaustive.

All right, so--what does this have to do with intolerance in Caledon?

This is the tricky bit. You see, Caledon is a wildly diverse place. We have Duchesses and Dukes, Baronesses and builders. We have egalitarian treatment of both genders. We have the Bashful Peacock, Caledon's premier--and mayhap only--club for gentlemen and ladies who prefer the company of gentlemen and ladies.

(For anyone outside Caledon reading this? That does mean what you think it means.)

And we have religions. Oh, my, do we have religions. We have Walpurgisnacht (for the Wulfenbachians) and May Eve (for Caledon nature worshippers) both coming up tonight, and on any given Sunday you can find Miss Elspeth Woolley and other devoted souls in St. Patrick's Cathedral in Magellan Kinvara. There's an even wider diversity of belief amongst actual residents, from the serious all the way down to Miss Poindexter's Church of Rosedale.

Up until recently, I held out hope that--while scuffles have broken out in the past--we were, more or less, able to deal with the major issues, and keep moving forward as a nation.

I may no longer agree with this.

I've recently found out that Mr. Jayleden Miles, one of the founders of the Caledon Paranormal Society, and also the H.P. Blavatsky Memorial Branch of the Caledon Library (it opens May 1st, in Caledon Wellsian), has been called a Satanist for his efforts in celebrating this period of American and English history, and, while Theosophists and spiritualists both were called that--and worse--during the heyday of the movement, I like to think--in Caledon, at least--we're bigger than that.

Yes, yes, I know I'm wrong, I know many of us are petty vindictive people, but come on, it's a library!

Which means, if that doesn't say anything, that it's backed by Sir JJ Drinkwater. NO Caledon Library branch is built in a vacuum.

Which also means, if that still doesn't tell you anything, that it's backed by Desmond Shang.

You want to take on JJ in high dunder or Des even mildly irked? I sure don't, and I make life difficult for Des like it's my hobby.

So knock it off! Jayleden is no more a Satanist than I'm Darien Mason. GET OVER IT.

07 November, 2008

he's the man, the man with the Midas touch

Right before I drifted into limbo, I was sent a link to the 15 fps of Fame show, featuring designers inspired by Crimson Rezzable.

If you've never been, do look it up--the show gives you a look at the place, inside and out, and it's just astoundingly gothic, start to finish. Most of the designs I really like, and I like that they're picking up both established designers, and up-and-coming fashion sorts as well.

Most, if not all of these, are for sale...somewhere in Crimson Rezzable. (Your guess is as good as mine; they keep shifting things around!)

This is going to give me nightmares. Blame Mr. Nix Sands for that link, btw--if he hadn't thrown it up in CalChat, I never would have known! The terror, the TERROR!

In the meantime, Fuschia's Frocks, currently the secret lair of C.I.R.C.U.S. (Criminally IRresponsible Civil Unrest Society) held a party, to cover up the dastardly deed of...blowing Caledon to smithereens!

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(Mr. Equine McMillan arrives at the lair in his jetcar.)

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(The rocket prepares for launch.)

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(The rocket LAUNCHES!)

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(Aerial shot of CIRCUS' evil lair.)

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(The rocket picks its target...Oh, no! Victoria City!)

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(Rocket telemetry lost. Curse those do-gooders who wanted to save the Guvnah's mansion!...err, I mean, yay! We're saved!)

And some shots of the Rogues' Gallery:

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("Doctor" Nix Sands and his pet bunny.)

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(Professor Avalanche in his perfect henchman's outfit.)

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(Radio Riel's own Duchess Gabrielle takes a misstep into the shark-infested...wading pool...and is severed by lasers.)

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(Miss Begonia in a tux...)

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(Mr. Mossaveno Tenk in a tux...)

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(And DJ and Laird Brideswell, Elrik Merlin, in a tux.)

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(Thankfully, Miss Avariel Falcon came by to play Mata Hari to the existing parade of Bond good guys...)

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(With Miss Muse Carmona looking on, Edward comes by to play Q for us...)

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(...and Miss Saffia Widdershins handily supplied us with the dreaded Miss M--after being stripped in the nick of time of gold paint by Mr. Viking.)

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(Miss Terry Lightfoot looks slinky and sexy and far from innocent.)

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(If they ever had furs in a Bond film, Duchess Kiralette Kelley and Duke Podruly Peccable are impeccably dressed for a night out in Casino Royale.)

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(And every evil lair needs henchmen...in addition to Professor Avalanche and myself, Mr. Greegar Hellershanks and Frau Annechen Lowey swirled in stately procession across the lair floor.)

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(And Mr. JJ Drinkwater comes with a Licence to Kilt.)

Unfortunately, as with all evil plans...the loss of the rocket caused the CIRCUS lair's auto-defense systems to go just the merest bit buggy. First, we had Robot Pixies rezzing everywhere...

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...then after attack waves from ninjas, space zombies and shaggy rubber-toothed monsters, the lair itself imploded!

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I guess it just goes to show you--the pixie throws a great party.

Err, I mean, Evil Never Wins.

Or something like that. :)

24 May, 2008

I know the holes will still remain

First there was New York Times coverage. Then came another side of the story. Both, I think, are worth reading.

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And I don't normally do this, but I'm finding Akira Yamaoka's soundtracks to Silent Hill rather ideal as music-to-build-by. So if you care to, flip through the various links, and take what you want. You can also find fan information, interviews, screenshots, soundtracks and more from a host of other horror games.

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back to contemplating safe spaces again
defining safety
defining protection
I leave my gates open
I plant poppies next to the gate
but I want to wrap barbed wire around the stems


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poppies have no protection
soporific influence at best
addiction and deception but
never capable of attack
roses have their thorns
thistles have their spines
poppies just have their petals and beauty


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wayward things, poppies
bend in every breeze
giving, forgiving
I have more metal in my heart
I forgive so rarely
I want to, I need to
but it doesn't happen
nearly as often as it should


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think on sharpening each stake
that lines the fencing
electrodes at every ten paces
tipping the sparking metal
with shining razorwire
but I'll do none of it
because it's more important
to be open
than to be protected


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it's more important
to receive
with empty hands to show no ill intent
than to guard
against interlopers
intruders
and those who mean harm


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at least for now
and much
as I might have it otherwise


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18 May, 2008

it's just another ordinary miracle today

It's not that usual when everything is beautiful
It's just another ordinary miracle today


The Bashful Peacock held a Prom. The theme was May Flowers, and for some reason, I was actually worried about attire. I perused the offerings of several Caledonian and non-Caledonian designers, before making my decision--bright cheerful colors for the Early Bird version, elegant monochrome for the evening--and then it was down to shoes and accessories.

Black pearls I had by happy accident, but what to wear with the pink satin dress? And the longer time went on, the more I decided I didn't particularly favor the bodice.

The sky knows when it's time to snow
You don't need to teach a seed to grow
It's just another ordinary miracle today


I ended up over at Adam & Eve's, looking over Damen's incredible shoes, so when Wonder Girl called to deliver me the JLU emergency signal--with any luck, to help with future mass-griefing accidents at Rivula and elsewhere--I thought nothing of bringing her in.

She agreed with me; the bodice had to go. But replace it with what? I searched frantically through my inventory, trying to find something that would properly pair with pink watered silk.

Life is like a gift, they say
Wrapped up for you every day
Open up and find a way
To give some of your own


I finally decided to make my own, and to hell with the consequences.

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To the first Bashful Peacock Prom, I wore the flex skirt and the underskirt from Victoria V's, and the glitch pants; I threw together the bodice, gloves, sash and jacket (with its large ametrine cabochon to hold it closed), and the stockings, and slipped into a pair of Damen's Volar pumps, which were surprisingly easy to dance in.

Isn't it remarkable?
Like every time a raindrop falls
It's just another ordinary miracle today


Her Grace the DJ-ing Duchess had a ball pulling together the set list; music from Proms from the twenties to the nineties, and beyond. And we happily danced, rejoicing in spring, and dance, and friendship.

Birds in winter have their fling
And always make it home by spring
It's just another ordinary miracle today


Then I fell off the grid for a bit, clawed my way back in, and reported to the Marzipan Teahouse, for beautifully vintage tunes provided by Lady Soliel Snook.

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It was the epitome of teahouse dances, once some technical difficulties had been resolved; elegant surroundings, polite dancing, and a small horde of women discussing hats and haberdashery.

As an interesting complement, Miss Reghan Straaf attended, and her timing was perfect--I had just passed out landmarks to Hatpins, her establishment in Caledon Downs, to four of the women there, and--as I was again wearing green--rummaged for and threw on the emerald Lady Persephone hat she'd tinted for me, a Herculean effort that she pulled off seemingly effortlessly.

She's so talented.

When you wake up every day
Please don't throw your dreams away
Hold them close to your heart
'Cause we are all a part
Of the ordinary miracle


Then it was another quick-change and into the monochrome of leopard spots, white and black silk, scattered with dark embroidered blooms. Simple (granted, 1940's vamps) black shoes, black stockings, and the aforementioned black pearls completed the look, and off I went to meet with Mr. Gilbert Sapwood to host the evening Prom at the Peacock.

I wish I had pictures of the second event. So many people came. It was nothing short of phenomenal. We relived past proms and touched on future joys, discussed the music, love and celebration, tossed the storyteller supreme offbeat requests which he capably and joyously played for us--it went, in a word, stunningly.

Ordinary miracle
Do you want to see a miracle?


For both events, the Prom committee had created a raised, tinted glass floor, over blooming tulips and wildflowers, and it was like dancing on air. There was a bit of a trick to figure it out, but once accomplished, it seemed the perfect thing.

It seems so exceptional
Things just work out after all
It's just another ordinary miracle today


Mayor Littleblackduck Lindsay showed up in very small squirrel form, and to be honest, watching him rotate around the dancefloor chanting "WHEEE" was half the joy of attending. But by and large, it managed to be the best of times, without all the traditional Prom agony.

I think we're more than looking forward to doing this again.

The sun comes up and shines so bright
It disappears again at night
It's just another ordinary miracle today


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I'd like to leave you with a bit of nostalgia on my own. It seems impossible, but this was an image taken from my introduction to Caledonian society, at the Guvnah's Ball, January 2007.

I was nervous and wary and somewhat scared, everything I wasn't for the Bashful Peacock Ball. I'd heard tales of the prim and proper Caledonians, and, being that I was just another working girl from Steelhead--and that meant literally--I had no idea what my reception would be.

I'd even panicked on appearing in my traditional neko form, and decided to go human--again, out of nerves and fear.

It's just another ordinary miracle today

I shouldn't have worried. I spent a lovely bit of the evening talking to Lady Amber, and Miss Cornelia Rothschild; danced with Edward Pearse, who'd invited me (and what a transition that's been, hasn't it? From Edward Pearse, bachelor and tailor, to his Grace Lord Argylle, Sir Edward Pearse, happily successful and happily married); shared a spin with Miss Qlippothic Projects; and, for the most part, managed to subdue enough nerves to have a very pleasant evening indeed.

Is it Caledon that's changed, or just me? While there are still staid and prim regions, for the most part my social set in Caledon (when I'm not holed up in some small studio building, and never did I think I'd understand enough about building to craft clothes and scattered ephemera for a living) comprises gentles from all walks of life, all social levels, united by two driving principles: invention, and amusement. Dark Victorians, steampunk souls, DJs and dilettantes, artists and architects, tailors and tiny ecoterrorists.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Ordinary miracles indeed.

(Lyrics are from Sarah McLachlan's Ordinary Miracle.)

17 May, 2008

somewhere between the soul and soft machine, is where I find myself again

Feels like I'm standing in a timeless dream
Of light mists, of pale amber rose
Feels like I'm lost in a deep cloud of heavenly scent
Touching, discovering you


I knew it was going to be early. I knew because of that I'd mostly be alone. And I was fine with that, really; I had a great time, though Mr. Woodget and her Grace, Duchess Gabrielle did take pity on my poor pink satined self and dance with me a few sets each.

Those days of warm rain come rushing back to me
Miles of windless summer nights
Secret moments shared within the heat of the afternoon
Out of the stillness, soft spoken words
(say it, say it again)


I admit, though...I spent so much time angsting over the dress, the shoes, the proper adornments--I actually wore a rhinestone-and-amethyst tiara, can you believe it? Wonder Girl of all people showed up to help me decide on the proper pair of Damen Gorilla shoes to polish the outfit off...

I love you always forever
Near or far, closer together
Everywhere I will be with you
Everything I will do for you


So of course, I got to the prom and I was thinking of my loves.

Inevitable, really.

You've got the most unbelievable blue eyes I've ever seen
You've got me almost melting away
As we lay there
Under a blue sky with pure white stars
Exotic sweetness, a magical time
(say it, say it again)


Even then, I was okay until Savage Garden came on--Truly Madly Deeply and oh, I was missing Fawkes completely. And Neome, but to be fair, Savage Garden? Is sort of an 'us' band.

I might need to ask about, see if there's an 'us' band for Neome and I.

Say you'll love and love me forever
Never stop, never whatever
Near and far and always everywhere and every(thing)


Still and all, it was a lovely prom. And plans to be a lovely one still tonight--if you want to relieve your prom, and have no plans this evening, consider coming by the Bashful Peacock. It's open to all, Victorian or prom attire preferred, and we plan to have another few hours of wonderful memories and wonderful dances! Do come if you can.

(Lyrics are Donna Lewis' "I Love You Always Forever")

it's just your shadow on the floor

(This section was written on July 11th...) Great. Sat myself down today after oversleeping, and told myself sternly I was not going to log...