and the body politic is getting sicker by the minute

Logged in to a disturbing message in one of my groups. I'm not using any identifying information beyond the words, because I want to talk with the notice's sender before I do anything more...permanent.

Thralls... there seems to be an issue of jealousy occuring.

"Occurring", and okay, I agree. Issues of jealousy on an adult roleplay sim are not good and need to be addressed.

In case you've forgotten, you are property. Either property of the village or you belong to some person. You own nothing; You have no opinion; Your will is not your own; You are chattel, no better than a cow or a dog or simply a piece of meat.

Hollllld up. This is the part I have a serious problem with.

There were three acknowledged classes in nearly all Viking cultures: the nobility, the freemen (and occasional free women) and thralls, who were essentially slaves. In old Norse and Icelandic, the term was þræll which was related to an older word meaning "run" or "runner", but with overtones of "worker". Anglo-Saxon cultures, which were partially related to Norse/Viking ones, used þeow instead, which meant 'hireling" or "labourer".

Now, slaves were owned, yes. Sold at auction, sold in open markets or captured from countries sailing men reached while going Viking. But this didn't mean they lacked agency.

Not much survives from the Viking era, but enough has to get an idea of a thrall's worth. Accounts of ancient Germanic law, from the 5th to 6th century, at least, mention it was possible for thralls to raise their status. If they were particularly skilled, they were paid for their work. Once they accumulated enough, they could essentially buy their freedom and become leysingr, or free men (free women were more rare to advance from thralls, but again, it did happen--sometimes through their own skills at weaving, baking or dyeing, sometimes through marriage to a male with higher status).

Up until Christianization of the regions, the ancient Germanic legal system was based on payments for injury or death, instead of killing the person or persons who'd committed the crime. if damage was done, damage had to be repaid, depending on the type and level of damage. For instance, the basic price for injury to a freeman was 200 weregeld, half that for thralls. Though it could be raised to 200 for thralls, or even 300, if such injury resulted in death or permanent disability. Usually the weregeld was paid to the thrall's owner, but on occasion, it was paid to the thrall.

Your Master/Mistress is not responsible to you for His/Her actions, decisions or thoughts. If you create petty disputes, they will not be tolerated. You have zero, rights, opinions or personal will.

That would be "zero rights", no comma, and that is also manifestly untrue historically. As far as Second Life goes, it sounds extraordinarily dictatorial. And, might I say, closer to Gorean practice than historical Viking re-creation. In addition, there is no single form of D/s, BDSM, or ownership, either in Second Life, or beyond the grid.

Put another way, any owned slave, pet, or submissive in real life has the right of refusal. Consent is basic, necessary, at all times. Any dominant who refuses that basic right with their submissives, unless they have negotiated that to begin with, will get a very bad reputation in the BDSM community, up to and including jail time. (Yes. This has happened.)

In Second Life, to be fair, the rules are kind of all over, but as I did not come to this sim by way of Gor, and have never been a Gorean, I came in with the right of refusal fully guaranteed by the couple who invited me. And the man who's collared me has given me that same right--to refuse, with consent always necessary. This doesn't mean I never get in trouble. This doesn't mean I'm never disciplined. This does mean I retain agency in that relationship, so I retain it on this sim.

You belong to your owner. You will be punished or, if it continues or escalates.. you will be ejected from the village. No exceptions.

My status, as such, is part of why this offends me, I admit. When I originally came to this particular roleplay sim, I came in as a thrall. It's a common thing to do, and since half of the couple I intended to live with there had already established a place, and a seat on the ruling council, it made sense to be the live-in thrall to them. It provided a handy shortcut as to why I would be there. While on the rest of the grid, I am a shapeshifting lesser fae, within the village I'm playing human, from either Eire or Frisia (I hadn't fully decided). I was acquired by the couple, and I traveled with them to early Norway. Simple, effective, it made sense.

Now, granted, over the last few months, I became part of the priesthood, so to speak--my role is not as formal, I am closer kin to shaman or hearth witch, really, but I have done ceremonies for the village. This puts me at ċeorl status, basically a free woman ranked below a jarl but above a þræll.

Later still, I joined the ruling council for the village, which, because of the structure of the village, at the very least keeps me at the level of ċeorl, but might raise me to, at best, lower nobility.

Which is all well and good, and for a variety of reasons, my autonomy and agency are preserved, but this is still dehumanizing. I am manifestly uncomfortable with dehumanization.

Finally, none of the rules or regulations of this sim are negotiable. If you think it's unfair, you are cordially invited to go somewhere else to play in Second Life.

I'm trimming off the name of the person who sent this, because I do need to talk to them before I decide what I'm going to do. I do not, as such, think it is unfair; this person owns the sim, so their sim, their rules.

But there's already a list of sims I don't go to--the capture/prey sims come to mind, the snuff sims, the asylum/rape sims, the ones where I'm required to go naked and submit to any man who wants me--because I don't agree with their policies. I don't think they're unfair, either, but I don't play there because I wouldn't do what they want, flat out.

And sure, my status, simply because of my current roles on the sim, may in fact have taken me beyond þræll status. It's perfectly possible. But I started as a þræll. And AS a þræll, I am NOT a dog. I am NOT chattel. I am manifestly NOT a piece of meat, and I refuse to be treated as such.

And yes, I am offended by this. I am disturbed by this. And I think I'm a bit angered by this. This was...not the wisest move to send to the entire group, when it could have specifically been addressed to the thralls in question who were causing the issues.

But I am holding my action until I talk to two people: the man who owns my collar, and the one who owns the sim. Their answers will determine whether I remain in the village, or sail off for other shores. No one tells me I have no worth. I know my worth. I keep my worth.

And if this person thinks that by sending out a notice, it will be enough to cause my spine to bend and bring me, abased and apologetic, to their boots, they don't know me that well at all. I am not the jealous type, and I know I'm not one of the thralls specifically meant in this instance, but this will not fly with me, and it likely will not fly with others. So discussion must be had, and it may not go well.

(There is a follow-up.)

reminiscing

Searching for something else entirely brought me a note I'd sent in 2009, to a love long lost. I don't know why I'm copying it here. Nostalgia, perhaps.

He sits with me and sips tea on the couch. I've sat on this couch, curled up on it, lain full-length upon it, and never once seen it. Is it chintz? Brocade? Leather? Glossy, or has the gloss rubbed off over a thousand scuffs of virtual hands, and feet, and other parts?

I don't know. But it's in the back of my mind when I talk to him.

We've sat and eaten cookies on it. We've shared tea--I always assume mine is Earl Grey or Darjeeling, something that wreathes my head in fragrant steam, but who knows, really? We've looked out upon a distance, so I assume, in this virtual space, there's at least one window.

We have cuddled on it. He has held me down while I writhed underneath him, in the grip of sweeping ecstasy. He has held me tightly in his arms, unwilling to let me go; and these nights, I am equally unwilling to leave. He has held me, face hidden, shuddering, stroking my hair as I cry in his lap, weeping from some pain or slight.

It is a comfort to me, this place that is no place. This couch, this virtual structure of...what? Wood? Bone? Metal?

Why does what it's made of--when it's just a mental construct, a 'place' to share experience--why does it matter? But my mind worries at it.

In the end, it's just a place, familiar, known, even if I don't know the specifics. It's that place between us, what we've made, him and I, the midpoint in our walk towards each other. Important, in its own way, but--just a place.

Plaid? Vinyl? Chinois bamboo and leaves? What is it made of? Why do I care?

Maybe it's just the trivia of it all. I can worry at this, where I can't worry about anything else. Maybe that's okay, too. The small thing, the thread in the weave I can puzzle over.

Likely, he'd just hand me a cup of tea and smile. "Deal with it."

So I will. Feet tucked under me, sipping Earl Grey, looking out at lights on water. Hey, if it's partially my virtual space, then I have a say in what I see, don't I?

Save for the couch is his. So I still don't know what it's made of.

That was where it ended. I'm not going to comment much on it past that. Surprisingly, it causes very little pain, just a very distant ache. At this point, perhaps that's all that's left, and all that will be.

in the still of the night

"You are, and always will be, the conductor of the train-wreck love life."

Something's on the horizon.

"You need to stop doing this...at some point, it stops being cluelessness, and starts being choice."

It's getting closer.

"This will hurt me. Understand, doing this, what you have already done, has and will hurt me."

Very close now.

"You need to figure out how to stop doing these things, before you've already done them...because it just causes more drama for everyone."

Oh. There it is.

We're here again.

Guess all that's left to do is go home...



...Oh.

eyes wide shut, unopened

And I cannot speak, I cannot speak, there are no words to say...

...and...that's really where we stand. I'm not even sure there's a reasonable summation. So...I suppose I won't keep you posted?

Eventually.

Or not.

and a needing to let go of tidal pain

never got around to Hair Fair



never unpacked all the demos



barely made it through Hair Fair to look at all the offerings



missed the last several 25L Tuesdays out of impoverishment and lack of Lindens



summer has been very hard on the typist



management apologizes for blog-based inconveniences.

it's too late to apologize

to reach the sky
we have to be willing to leave the ground

but the sky is so far away
and we are so small

we are afraid
both to succeed and to fail
and the contradictions are killing us

when the night falls, there is fire in the bungalow

So granted, there are some further verifications that apparently will be tested out later in the week, but at least as of this writing, Comcast seems to be throttling Netflix video streaming speeds. Which--considering everyone pays for Comcast service, so it's not a freebie, it's wholly an elective service--I'd say is pretty damned infuriating, too.

Also, Facebook's apparently implementing a new gender system. Instead of the more-or-less standard of this:

• Male
• Female

they've apparently done this:

• Agender
• Androgyne
• Androgynous
• Bigender
• Cis
• Cisgender
• Cis Female
• Cis Male
• Cis Man
• Cis Woman
• Cisgender Female
• Cisgender Male
• Cisgender Man
• Cisgender Woman
• Female to Male
• FTM
• Gender Fluid
• Gender Nonconforming
• Gender Questioning
• Gender Variant
• Genderqueer
• Intersex
• Male to Female
• MTF
• Neither
• Neutrois
• Non-binary
• Other
• Pangender
• Trans
• Trans*
• Trans Female
• Trans* Female
• Trans Male
• Trans* Male
• Trans Man
• Trans* Man
• Trans Person
• Trans* Person
• Trans Woman
• Trans* Woman
• Transfeminine
• Transgender
• Transgender Female
• Transgender Male
• Transgender Man
• Transgender Person
• Transgender Woman
• Transmasculine
• Transsexual
• Transsexual Female
• Transsexual Male
• Transsexual Man
• Transsexual Person
• Transsexual Woman
• Two-Spirit

No idea what the asterisk after "Trans" means, or why the separation; and I had to look up "Neutrois", and now that puzzles me, because "Agender" is already on the list. Still, it's...progress, maybe? Even if cumbersome progress.

The problem is--at least to me--that it doesn't seem embracing of various gender identities. It feels like Facebook's asking for more data; like they're actually being more invasive of personal privacy by implementing this. I'm sure activists will welcome this, but...I see it as further intrusion, not more inclusion.

But hey, I'm not on Facebook anyway, so I really have no dog in this fight.



There's also a part one, but trust me, part two's better.

An artist created a staircase and a loft bed out of two salvaged pianos; another artist, Ed Fairburn, creates art out of city street maps; former Who Companion Karen Gillan is front and center for one of the most disturbing movie posters I've seen in the last few years (plus, looks pretty darned cute bald at the end of that articled!); and New Zealand's Prime Minister is (fairly definitely) not a lizard man. The hell, New Zealand.

And that's about all I have for now! More weirdness when I find it. (It used to be, weirdness was hard to find. Now it's daily news. There's something wrong about that...)

I search out the light

Think outside the box.

Also, PrimBay is on its way. As of now the categories are publically viewable; if you see anything that desperately needs to be there, IM Casper Warden or Sphynx Soliel (honestly, Sphynx is generally easier to get ahold of, but seriously, either one will do) and chime in. This is Casper's attempt at making a functional, basic Marketplace that actually works and tracks sales for merchants...as opposed to the Marketplace we have now, that doesn't.

Three days to go before the veils thin to translucency, and this year, instead of feeling the pull of the wild winds, I just want to stay indoors, and pile blankets on my head, and cuddle with soft things that can't hurt me. (Which, technically, is an impossibility in my abode, because seriously, the amount of sewing needles and straight pins I've put into stuffed animals "just for now" and found later inadvertently...it's psychotically high, is what I'm saying. Anyway.)

Normally, the beginning of October rolls around and I start collating songs on a theme. One year it was classic spooky songs, one year it was harvest songs--that was a hard year; two years ago, I think, it was songs that got under my skin and dug into viscera, and okay, fine, never doing that again. This year...well, who's surprised, really?

(from the dolly album, because where else would I put it?)

My theme seemed to be broken dolls.



So let's talk about ∆AIMON, which is a name that may not translate well to all browsers. The "∆" before the A is apparently deliberate; they have a long and interesting explanation as to why they chose that spelling, and what it means to them, but mainly, I found this song while wandering the darker reaches of YouTube searching for something else entirely. I actually found this video first, which uses images from Twin Peaks, an obsession of the band, to illustrate its major themes:

into the night
I cry out
I cry out your name...
into the night
I search out
I search out the light...

Apparently, ∆AIMON is part of a new (to me) musical style called "witch house", which I'm not entirely sure--even after reading that Wiki article--actually exists. Especially as it seems to trade heavily on one thing I absolutely, absolutely loathe to my core in SL--namely, the use of Unicode symbols in words.

Which is why I cringe at recommending ∆AIMON, because, look at the name...but I really, really like this song.

You can find them on Facebook and Soundcloud.

From there I started finding a lot of tinkly, broken-music-box pieces, and I'm going to link a few of them here.



Nox Arcana is a darkambient, gothic band headed by gothic fantasy artist Joseph Vargo. He and fellow musician William Piotrowski have been quietly putting albums out since 2003, and at this point, they've gained equal acclaim in several areas to become a name alongside Midnight Syndicate (and personally, I think they're better).



This one was hard to track down, because a friend sent it to me under the title "Unknown (Kouri_Sen)". In actuality, this is Kouri Kuchiniwa's "Furui Ningyou", or "Old Puppet" piece, written for the horror game Ib. It's a haunting little broken-notes piece, and it fits stunningly well with everything else.



This is Kanon Wakeshima's "Still Doll (Music Box Version)", which was the first version I heard when searching for similar-sounding pieces a couple weeks back. Turns out it's actually an actual song with lyrics:

What kind of dreams
Hi, Miss Alice, do you see
with your eyes of glass?
do they fascinate you?

again, my heart is torn
and bleeding
I mend it but
my memories pierce the openings

Kanon began learning cello at the age of three, and by fifteen, was performing in her high school's baroque quartet. Initially discovered and produced by Mana (if you don't know, Mana is the one in blue in the photograph), she's since transited to a successful career as a recording artist. This particular song was used as the ending theme for the first season of Vampire Knight, which is not where I first heard it, but it does make me tempted to watch the anime.

You can find her on Facebook and MySpace.



And I'm going to end the music-box section of things with Philip Glass, and the piece he wrote for "http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Candyman_(film)", simply titlted "Music Box".



Crystal Castles is a strange band. Formed almost by accident--or accidentally via subterfuge--in 2005, the first "officially" released single was released without the permission, or even the knowledge, of the lead singer of the band. And while most of their music is intensely chaotic, driven, and deafening, this particular song is reflective, ethereal, and haunting.

mercy, we abstain
hope you're entertained
snow covers the stain...

foray forever
foray forever
foray forever
foray forever...

taught them with solace
they know a soft caress
to lower their defense

hide all that you could
done for the greater good
it's later understood...

You can find them on Facebook, Tumblr, and their own site.



This is actually not an officially released song; Fisher wanted to record and release this song, using their music and vocals but taken from a Sylvia Plath poem called "Mad Girl's Love Song". Unfortunately, they couldn't get permission from the Plath estate; finally, they used the music they'd written for this piece and composed different lyrics for it; it's on the Lovely Years CD.

I close my eyes and all the world drops dead
I lift my lids and all is born again
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red
as all my darkness gathers in

I close my eyes, the world drops dead
I think I made you up inside my head
Inside my head...

You can find out more about them on their website.



Finally, this isn't techincally a Halloween song, but it has power, and it speaks to some of what I'm going through (from a different direction) right now, so it's in the mix with the rest. It has a rather odd not-quite-backstory, too, which is worth explaining (at the first link below).

it sucks when for a little kid living means lying
and the only place you feel safe is pretending you're flying
and you'd rather be caught dead than be caught crying
will you hold my hand?

This video, a live performance from Santa Cruz, California, in 2009, has more of the background behind the song--while it was written long before the events she speaks of, she still sings this song in tribute of these children. Plus, Ms. Dawson was raised partially in the social service system, and knows well its flaws and failures first-hand.

As of this date, I can't find any information newer than 2009 but there is a blog dated 2008 that has a whole bunch of contact info for both Oregon and Virginia, if you want to find out more directly what's happening from the participants involved.

Happy Halloween.

now what I hold are the memories we barely made

A friend tipped me to this mesh piece on the Marketplace; it's attributed by its "creator" (and I use that word very, very loosely) under a "Creative Commons" license.

The problem with that? This is the Witch character from the Left 4 Dead games, in a Santa hat. Even the outfit she's in is directly ripped from the game.

And perusing the rest of his store, I am left with the inescapable conclusion that if there's anything there that hasn't been ripped from a major entertainment or game studio, it's only because it's been ripped from someone else, in world. He's a thief, pure and simple. It's still depressing beyond words that people feel the need to do that for whatever limited gain it gets them.

In other news, a friend of mine came across a 2012 study documenting the amount of virtual exposed skin on avatars in Second Life. What remains most compelling to me is that they excluded nearly all roleplaying sims (more on that later), and excluded all avatars who were over ninety days old.

If you're interested in the breakdown percentages, I highly recommend reading through the study, but I am going to mention the final tabulated results from the captured images (which were captured between 2011 and 2012, respectively). The amount of covered skin, on average, for male humanoid avatars, runs about 71% (with an additional note which indicates that 71% figure relates to a covering of 75% to 100%, excluding head and hands).

Considering that most avatars, from first day in to three months in, are still subsisting on a diet of freebie clothes and shapes, that actually makes sense. Excluding furs (who tend to wear less overall), and most roleplay sims (where more skin might be revealed), that pretty much indicates the standard population of any travel hub.

That female avatars of the same age range do not do the same is expected; but what's interesting (to me, at least), is how that change is demonstrated. There is not one single block of coverage, as is generally seen in the male figures (71% nearly covered, 19% two-thirds covered, 9% half-covered, and a slim 1% nearly naked). Instead, it's split nearly in half--female avatars, on average, waver between exposing up to 74% of their skin (38% of all female avatars observed), to exposing nearly half of their skin (47% of all female avatars observed), and that makes up the bulk of their total percentages. Only 15% remains, with 10% revealing nearly all skin, and a narrow 5% covering up nearly all skin.

We all fall prey to it from time to time, it's just easier in a virtual setting. Women dress how they dress not to impress men, generally, but to feel attractive themselves. Thing is, for most of us, "attractive" defaults to showing cleavage, or long legs; wearing heels instead of more comfortable shoes; wearing makeup instead of just cleaning our face and having done with it.

We do these things not because we necessarily feel they're important, but because we've been socialized to do these things. Our mothers told us how to dress, just as their mothers told them how. Our friends, instructed by their mothers and grandmothers, teach us as we teach them.

Be feminine. Stand up straight. Be coy, shy, inviting. Wear perfume. Wear makeup. Make sure your breath is fresh. Say yes, not no. And throughout all these messages, the one overwhelming one emerges--that women must be pretty at all times, if they hope to "snare a man". It is no surprise, then, that this melange of rules and restrictions seep into the virtual spaces we find ourselves using.

In Second Life, particularly, this is telling--because, while we, ourselves, have choices on the skins we wear, the shapes we wear, the clothing, for the most part we are buying what others have made. Which means we're literally conforming on a basic level to everything we were conditioned to believe before. There are virtually no skins, for child avatars or adult ones, that come without makeup. There are very, very few hairs that don't look like they've had some product, or gel, or mousse, used on them. There are few fashions (that are not specifically designed for roleplay, medieval sims, or neo-Victorian ones) that are not short first, or that don't expose a great deal of cleavage.

So, making these choices, wearing these clothes, wearing these shapes, and eyes, and hair, and adornments--we fall right back into the conditioning patterns. We understand why men dress to wear clothes that do not expose much skin. But most of us don't bother to understand why women dress to expose skin.

(Back to that roleplay sim. The single roleplay sim they did examine was one of the Star Wars roleplay sims, though they do not say which one in the study. There--and there alone--captured images of avatars were compared directly with stills from the Star Wars movies, in particular the "prequel" trilogy, with head and hands excluded from analysis. In this separate observational study, they also excluded furs, but retained their restriction of no one over ninety days old.)

in my head blood-colored rain falls down

(from the loss album; photographer of original image unknown but found on Lilit Ghazaryan's blog)

I've texted him twenty-one times
and still my phone don't ring
and my wild imagination, son, is
makin' up scary things...

no one shares a kiss like that
and then just doesn't call
last night he promised me the world
and now I’m gettin' nothing at all

(from the loss album; Pierre Auguste Renoir's "Woman With Green Chair")

and the Mississippi's mighty
but it starts in Minnesota
at a place that you could walk across
with five steps down
and I guess that's how you started
like a pinprick to my heart
but at this point you rush right through me
and I start to drown

(from the loss album; altered and cropped image found on Hockridge's photography blog.  Original image All Rights Reserved)

I don't understand
your love is so cold
it's always me who's reaching out,
reaching out for your hand

where is your heart?
'cos I don't really feel you
where is your heart?
what I really want is to believe you

(from the loss album; picture widely available, but most notably seen on Katie Metcalfe's poetry blog)

watching my dreams turning to ashes
and my hopes into bits of clay
once I could see, once I could feel
now I'm numb, I've become unreal
I walk the night without a goal
stripped of my heart, my soul

(from the loss album; altered image from unknown photographer)

and so it is
just like you said it should be
we'll both forget the breeze
most of the time...

and so it is
the colder water
the blower's daughter
the pupil in denial...

(from the loss album; altered image from one of Anna Plotnikova's fashion shoots. (More info on Anna here)

it seems so much is left unsaid
so much is left unsaid
but you can say anything
oh, anytime you need
baby, it's just you and me

Something interesting: as I put this together, an underlying theme became obvious: clay. Clay, water, earth, and the alchemy of change that makes them more than the sum of their parts. I've thrown clay on wheels, I've coil-built pots, I've taken various classes for various techniques when I have time. Building things has ever been an inherent hobby, if never occupation.

So maybe that's where I start. Find something to build. Walk away from the familiar, and see what else shows up. Disconnect, in a sense, to find connection elsewhere.

And this is going to be the last one, for at least a while. I lasted thirteen days, but it's enough. Enough enough enough. Declaring a moratorium on more relationship posts until at least August.

(Lyrics adapted from various sources, including "He Better Be Dead" from Stealing Angels, the Indigo Girls' song "Ghost" [this is a great cover by the Stanford Mixed Company], Shirley Bassey's "What Now, My Love?" [link goes to a performance on her 1967 television special], "The Blower's Daughter" from Damien Rice [using footage from the film "Closer"], and "Where Is Your Heart?" from Kelly Clarkson [link leads to a live performance on Music@AOL].)

who do you love when you come undone?

In yet more tie-in news, Team Fortress 2 and Steam have paired up with Hero Academy. It's a turn-based strategy game, but with players able to participate in an unlimited number of games, the waiting around for the other team to make their move virtually drops to nil.

And, if you own the PC version of the game, you'll get a bobble-head version of the Team Fortress 2 characters to send into battle. I guess, if you really wanted a chibi Heavy, tiny Pyro and wee l'il Spy to send off to wreak havoc, then...Hero Academy's your best bet.

Also, if you're willing to sign up for an Adult Swim account, you can get a code to get your very own...Robot Chicken hat. Yeah, I have no idea either.

It's a really odd thing--I do run occasional sponsored ads on the sidebar. They haven't made me a dime, so it's fairly whimsical in choosing what I want to put up--ultimately, it comes down to what I'd be most interested seeing pop up if I were reading the blog.

The annoying thing comes in when I realize, yet again, that to see any of the coding--to make sure it's working right--on the blog, I have to pull up IE and run it down through them. Even now, with the security updates to the browser, I have to practically be held at gunpoint to choose to use it. Neither Chrome nor Firefox will show the video links.

I suppose that would be another reason why these programs aren't paying me--if most (if not all) of my readers aren't using IE.

The attempts to monetize remain interesting to me, in an odd disconnected way. Would I like to get paid for what I do? Sure, wouldn't we all? But considering what I cover on this blog is so vastly wandering, there's not one single, solitary thing I can point to and say Yes--all my readers would be interested in that. So, in a curious sense, there's a lot of internal flailing going on.

Which isn't helped by the fact that running under Chrome, I can't see the vids I'm linking.

I'm also in the closed beta of the Wizpert thing, and...I haven't decided yet if I'm staying with it. Mostly because I was tapped to be a "Relationship Wizpert", and...yeah, cue hysterical laughter now. This blog was considered good material for giving advice to people on their love lives.

Letting that sink in does not diminish the bafflement behind that statement.

Maybe it's a good thing, though. Keeping this blog steadily in the not-making-a-dime camp means I don't push any particular thing I might be getting paid to do. Obscurely, maybe this keeps me honest, or at least, keeps me opinionated.

I really have no idea. Maybe it's just me--I'm not good enough yet to get paid for blog entries. I should get back to writing the Great American Space Epic and see where that goes...

blink your eyes just once, and see everything in ruins

So the latest amusement comes from here, and I thought it was worth it to bring some of the reasons over to this blog, mainly because anything that makes me smile right now is worthy of a small celebration. So here we go.

1. You've no idea why you started the blog in the first place.

Actually, I know exactly why I started this blog in the first place. Now, I've also started three others since I arrived here (I know, I know, trust me I know), and those aren't as frequently updated because...there's only so many hours in the day, frankly.

2. You only promote your posts on Twitter and post nothing else.

I used to do this. Mainly because Twitter was my main point of social media. Since then, I've picked up a Tumblr, which has nada to do with this blog for the most part, and I got nagged into a Pinterest account, which I hardly ever update. How'ver, interesting thing happened a few days ago: a new follower of my SL profile asked me why I never used the feed to send out new post notices. I told her I didn't see a need for it, but she convinced me that it's a fairly effortless way to up my blog views.

Unfort, from there it gets strange. We got into a minor tiff when she told me that the next big thing to do was to get friends to "love" the posts, so I'd be on the trending page, and that's when I hit the brakes. That was my "oh HELL no" point, and I told her so, at which point she flounced off. Here's the interesting bit: she deleted her conversation with me. Which--and I was unaware of this until this happened--deleted MY record of the conversation as well.

So...I guess I owe a minor point of gratitude to the woman I've forgotten the name of, because her dramatic flounce killed all record of the interaction on my feed which mentioned it. So...thanks?

3. Your Twitter avatar sucks.

Take that back!

4. You switched all your efforts from your blog to Facebook.

See, and this will never, never, EVER happen, because I never intend to have a Facebook account. Ditto for a Google+ account.

5. You're on Blogger.

Oh, that's low. But seriously--why does Blogger have such a bad rep? Granted, Blogger's made some changes that I'm not too keen on, but other services either aren't as convenient or it would just be a stone bitch importing everything over.

6. You're too afraid to make a video or audio.

It's not fear, precisely, as lack of equipment. For instance: I don't own a webcam or a freestanding mic. I own a headset with mic, which works well enough for Skype calls, but kind of sucks for recording anything. Plus, while there are people on SL (and some other services) who've heard my voice, it's never been my goal to ensure that people hear--or see--me. 

7. You write way too much.

This is true.

8. You wander off topic.

This is also true.

9. You forgot who your target audience is.

Now, this one's an interesting point. When I started my blog, I had my target audience firmly in mind: me, and that's not ego saying that--this was a publically-maintained private venting spot. (I know, don't think about it too hard, it'll cause brain cramp.) At this point...well, I'm still not a huge blog, nor do I want to be, but I'm read by a small segment of the population internationally, and I'm close to breaking 150,000 page views. That's kind of a large number (though it lessens the impact when we factor in that's over the past six years.)

The thing is, though, I'm still primarily writing what interests me, because if it's not interesting to me, then why do it? What I'm hoping is that somewhere in all the emotional clutter there will be genuinely interesting things for other folks as well...and, by and large, that's proven out. Right now I can say fairly comfortably I've found a tiny little niche of entries on emergent technology, gadgetry, gaming, gender issues, comics, fashion and music that seem to appeal to people.

10. You forgot to put the link in your email signature.

Why would I do this? By and large, my email has nothing to do with my blog.

11. You still haven't hired a content creator.

...Why would I hire a content creator? I write everything that I'm not quoting from someone else. It's my blog.

12. You hide behind your company name, logo or avatar without mentioning who you really are.

You know, this used to be true? How'ver, over the years I've slipped a fair amount, so--while my so-called "real name" still hasn't been revealed, a lot about who I am as a person has been. (And, considering both the ladies who live with me call me Em a fair amount of the time, that whole "real name" thing is getting vague as well.)

13. You can't write a shocking headline.

Sure I can. I just have to find the right song lyric.

14. You have no sense of humour.

This is debatable, but at times, I will accept that yes, my dogmatism and literal nature do get in my way, humor-wise.

15. You don't bother to follow anyone, listen to anyone or engage with anyone online.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA....

16. You forgot to pay your web-hosting bill.

Considering Blogger is a free service...How'ver, taking this last one seriously, it's true--I don't have my own website. I'd like to have my own website, but alas, affording one? I cannot do currently. Still, should my fortunes ever change, I'd be happy to join the ranks of people paying for data. There's a lot more on the site these article bits come from; but these were the main ones I wanted to address.

On to other news. There's a fascinating article on the neuroscience of illusions that is well worth the time to read; in brief, it breaks down why our memories so often trick us, because our brain, while one of the greatest organic processors ever designed, has built-in lag. Ordinarily, it's nothing we notice--it's on average about one one-hundredth of a second--but that's enough for illusionists of all stripes to use to confuse what we think we just saw, with what we actually did see.

And the Lindens still need mesh clothing samples donated by makers of mesh clothing, in order to get Qarl's mesh deformer properly tested and encoded. Come on, people, what's the hold-up? Get on this!

Bob Egan's on a pilgrimage, of sorts--because America (but in particular New York City) is constantly in a state of architectural flux, he decided to try and document all the places he could find where album covers, or early video of musicians, was shot, as best he could. You can check in on his progress here; he also has a Twitter account.

Finally, this...it's kind of odd. Apparently, there are women who go past idle daydreams of wedding details, to actually buying the wedding dress, registering at stores, selecting invitations, flowers, chapels, reception halls, bridesmaid gowns, and wedding music, all without actually having a spouse in mind. I can't decide if this is a good use of current resources to put aside these items for the "rainy day"--the rain in question arriving in the case of said spouse--or if they're way too obsessed about getting married in the first place.

something breaks the strum

a less than restful sleep due to
contemplation, remembrance, nostalgia
and things lost from sight and memory.
past losses and present pain, confusion
and denial, yearning and anger hissing
and winding around my spine. I rise and
stumble through morning ablutions, feeling
the burn of muscles long disused, and
check the gauze and metalwork, still
visible in my chest.

I inhale; the patchwork holds, as it held
the day before, committing me to action
beyond the cottage. so much left to do: repair
the wall, hang the gate, plant the bulbs and
clear the garden plot. step by step, walking
forward, because no other direction is
left.

it takes time I'm surprised I have to
lift each section of the gate into
position. I pour mortar in each hole, piling
rocks around the bases, and tie each
length of wood to embedded metal bars on
each side of the gate. Given time, those rods
will be buried again, layers of smooth stone
concealing what lies within. but that's a
repair for another day. today is the gate, tied
into place, fixed to the earth, held until
it stands on its own. much like me, save
there is no holding, and really, that's
part of the problem.

another work break, gathering of simple
tools, and I sit by damp earth, digging holes
with a rusted trowel. I tip a bulb or a
few shining seeds into each one. I work and
breathe, lift and pour, dig and turn, and
it is meditative in its own way while
the gate mortar sets. the sun wheels overhead
within clouds, citrine set against moonstone
and opal, and I vow yet again I will find my
sunhat in the attic.

tomorrow, I rebuild the wall. the gate will be
set and locked. the flowers will be planted, to
sleep until they wake in shoots of green, flowering
into color and life. the bundles of drying herbs
still scent the air, and I can tentatively agree
that life may, one day, be beautiful again.

until then, there is the wall, and the gate, and
the lock that holds it fast. I should never
have let it get to this.

that's my heart that's breaking, down this long-distance line tonight

(from the loss album; butterflies in the dark at Alirium Gardens)

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,

It hasn't been years; not yet, at least. But time stretches, time distorts, and each hour creeps by, wounded. Every breath in etches new pain on my worrying mind. I am lost, straitlaced into desperation, and seeking a way out that never arrives.

(from the loss album; awash in light in the cinema at Boof's Hoi Polloi branch)

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

And I reach out, I keep reaching out, to hear static and absence in return. So much self-doubt at this point, my mind whites out with the force of it. Muscle fatigue is setting in from the reaching, towards the hand that is never, ever there.

(from the loss album; underneath the Forgotten City)

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow--
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.

I have thrown myself back into searching for items I don't need, and writing about discoveries anyone else could have made; I have buried myself in hunt entries this week, to the point where the entries won't stop publishing for four more days. I am seeking out controversies for diversion, not for reasons of indignation or enlightenment. I am scattered; I have lost focus. Comprehension of this fact does not alter the feeling, however.

(from the loss album; at Swine & Roses in the Point of Derivation)

Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

I defer all choices to save myself from struggle and pain; then I fight to take them back, because without my choices I am a nonentity. And I wander. I wander. I wander. Trying to make sense of myself, trying to make sense of the situation. Failing. Trying to ask myself the right questions, and listening for the answers. Failing. Trying to be patient, to wait, to endure, to calmly hope for news.

Failing.

(from the loss album; crouching in the Village of Nyght's kirkyard)

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me--
Why wert thou so dear?

And I try to answer the unanswerables. What if I. Or should I go do. Or Does it even matter if I. And because the questions behind the questions worry me more than the potential answers, I seek diversion, but shy away from actual interaction. Would it be better or worse, even for a moment? How am I to know unless I try? But it doesn't seem to matter. Endless searching for something I know I cannot find. Fear of the end of the journey, regardless of what that ending means.

(from the loss album; resting in the Noweeta Grassland)

They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:--
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

I toss and turn, I find it difficult to sleep. I push sleep off as long as possible, because I know I will be more rested from passing out insensate, than by going to bed at a reasonable hour and startling awake every few minutes, fearful of any noise that might mean revelation. Last night, I woke, and watched the wall push out beside the bed, adorned with several small, red-jeweled eyes. I suppose it could be worse--the last time, it was malformed spiders in clusters--but it doesn't bespeak good things for my mental state.

(from the loss album; in the dwarven caves at Folkvang

In secret we met--
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.

Is is not deception if there was legitimate need to leave for a time. But that time stretches, becomes a long road of its own, and I may not be strong enough to walk it to its end. And both sides of that conclusion could harm, at present, and it is wholly beyond my control how I react, because I have also fought hard to feel, to express, to leave behind the bottled self in the attic and leave the gates of my heart open--if not wide, still open, enough for loves at least to get in and call out.

Yesterday, I was named "pretty" and instinctively rejected it. Horns, faun ears, hooves, skin whiter than bleached stone. I did not want the compliments, I did not want to consider the ramifications. Today, I wander with consumptive eyes and a wound over my heart, and I want someone to tell me it does not matter. Both wants are immaterial, and specious. But the need for validation--inner or outer--is rising fast and hard.

(from the loss album; looking at the goddess reliquary at Spirit)

If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?--
With silence and tears.

I have a jewel of great worth, found in excavations of the past. I treasure it, and I hold it close, but I cannot bring myself to use its power. At least...not yet. I hold it to me, letting its knowledge comfort pain, but...am I able to employ its solution? Will it be the correct action, or the absolute wrong thing to do? Why is nothing more clear?

(from Lord George Gordon Byron, "When We Two Parted".)

(One additional note:

[6:05] jxxxxxx: thank you for your donation at the Help Hub, this makes us feel useful (first tip ever yay) - good luck with everything.

(When setting up pictures for this entry, I did a general search for "loss" to start off with. This led me to Shalom: the Help Hub, which is pretty much a small parcel on a mainland estate in Nessus. But it's a good jumping-off point for information on a variety of life pain, from psychological to physical, and the things in between. I realized fairly quickly I wanted a more realistic, larger terrain for photographs, but I did tip them before I left because I thought they were doing a good job. It's worth a visit, at least, if you're in need of something, whatever that might be.)

you said you'd always be here

And days like these, nights like these, I wander, unsettled and ill at ease. Unsteady in my skin, and contemplating both love and loss, and the dividing line between.

(from the loss album; on the ramparts in the Elven Forest)

Seeking balm for spirit, I sought out the trees, but the trees' peace was difficult to find.

(from the loss album; reclining on a mushroom at Alurel)

I strayed from paths that brought company, kept my own counsel, and wandered, wandered. Far from places I'd been before, seeking answers I do not have, for questions I dare not ask.

(from the loss album; exploring the ruins of the Lost World)

I wandered through ruins older than memory, but younger than pain. The night air was cool on my skin, the sound of the waters soothing, but still my peace eluded me.

(from the loss album; dancing in the tall grass in Dark Muse Forest)

I danced under the moon, concealed by waving fronds, listening to them whisper and giggle in the evening's chill. I danced with eyes closed and thought of you.

(from the loss album; under the covered bridge in Dark Romance)

Moved and discomfited, I sought sun and life, then hid from both under a covered bridge. I listened to the river laugh and thought of you.

(from the loss album; crystal-gazing in Sopor Aeternum)

I cast my fortune on the gypsy's table, and saw nothing but the reflection of my own scattered thoughts. The candle-flame danced as if mocking me, and I moved to leave it behind.

(from the loss album; spinning in the doll box in Sopor Aeternum)

I contemplated the doll, and departures, and the reclaiming of things. How long until I can. How long until I want to. How much patience people will have with me along the way.

(from the loss album; watching the world cry in the Forest of Tears)

I watched the tears of the world fall, and contemplated loyalty, love and survival.

(from the loss album; posing with the cranes by the water's edge in Welsh Rainbow)

I decided to seek sun again, and spent time imitating the cranes in the echo of Wales. I tried to listen to the universe and interpret what I'm being told. Some days it is very hard to hear. Yet again, I fear I am getting in my own way.

(from the loss album; hovering by the Celtic cross in Welsh Rainbow)

my body
is walking in space
my soul is in orbit
with God face to face
floating, flipping
flying, tripping
tripping from Potsville to Starlight
tripping from Starlight to Moonville...

Sometimes we simply need another perspective. Sometimes we need to be shocked out of our safe spaces, and forced to contemplate things in the larger world. Sometimes we need to get out of our own heads. Unfortunately, I think I've taken far too many shocks this year, so my instincts tell me "hide and rest" over "fight and change".

Maybe I should work on that.

(from the loss album; musing in the poppies at Dark Moon)

In the rainforest I found ruminations:

"Some things are in our control and others not. Things in our control are opinion, pursuit, desire, aversion, and, in a word, whatever are our own actions. Things not in our control are body, property, reputation, command, and, in one word, whatever are not our own actions.

The things in our control are by nature free, unrestrained, unhindered; but those not in our control are weak, slavish, restrained, belonging to others. Remember, then, that if you suppose that things which are slavish by nature are also free, and that what belongs to others is your own, then you will be hindered. You will lament, you will be disturbed, and you will find fault both with gods and men. But if you suppose that only to be your own which is your own, and what belongs to others such as it really is, then no one will ever compel you or restrain you. Further, you will find fault with no one or accuse no one. You will do nothing against your will. No one will hurt you, you will have no enemies, and you not be harmed."

This is taken from Epictetus' "Enchiridon", and I think I must ponder on it for some time. While I have restraints, I shall have to think on whether they fall into the first or second category.

(from the loss album; mourning in the poppies at Dark Moon)

I sat and thought until thought had lost meaning, and found no better conclusions than what I knew when I began today's journey. There are no answers, yet, because the questions still don't bear thinking about. I cannot find resolution if I'm afraid of the possibilities.

And I am afraid of the possibilities.

(from the loss album; waiting in the poppies at Dark Moon)

But I am here. I am here. Fearful, and weak, and scared, but here. Worried, but here. Anxieties mounting as expected, my own mind torturing me with what-might-be and never what-actually-is...but here. Here. I am here.

As alone as I feel at times, I am here.

And I am still loyal to your cause. I am still yours. And I will wait for news, and hope it comes soon.

always one step rewind

I have changed, I have changed
just like you, just like you

(from the loss album; walking through tall grass at Enscharys)

So, long distance relationships...They can be something of a high-wire act. While direct physical contact isn't always present, emotional contact is, and the emotional impact can be huge. There can be an incredibly layered intimacy to every word and thought exchanged.

for how long, for how long
must I wait?
I know there's something wrong

(from the loss album; balancing the ghost spires at Enscharys)

With this comes increased vulnerability, and a greater-than-average inclination towards misinterpretation. This is lessened by speaking (phone, Skype, in person) over texting, but not completely, because what even the spoken word lacks is body language and facial expressions. (And before anyone points it out--yes, I know, we live in a world of webcams, but that's not a perfect solution, either.)

your concrete heart isn't beating
and I've tried to
make it come alive

(from the loss album; bound in the burning tree at Enscharys)

Of course, what no one tells us until we're in a relationship--in person or online--is that even living day to day with a partner cannot remove all conflict, arguments or misinterpretation. Add in the factor of the loved one being so far away, and that in itself can give rise to fears, anxieties, doubts...anxious thoughts and worries that we might not ever consider for a closer partner.

no shadows, just further lights
now I'm here to rescue you...

(from the loss album; contemplation at Redemption Hill)

Push all that aside, how'ver. Those are all valid points, but what about when things go wrong? And actually, this one applies to all relationships, not just for those of us in love long-distance: these are complications that can occur for friends, acquaintances, even business partners. If we're not on the contact list when someone takes ill, or is severely injured, we may never know what--if anything--happened.

oh, I'm still alive
I'm still alive
I cannot apologize, no

(from the loss album; peering through the window in Redemption Hill)

And through the mirror darkly, we try to ascertain if the shapes we see in the distance are the distant reflections of our beloved, or our own uncertainty and doubt peering back. And sometimes, it's really, really hard to tell.

so silent, no violence
but inside my head, so loud and clear

(from the loss album; this fish at Wunderbar Haunted Mansion's seen better days)

So, how do we cope in such situations? As hours turn into days, days into weeks--if we're very unlucky, weeks into months or years...How do we divide signal from noise, in those instances? What can we do to regain our faith? How long are we willing to wait to hear word from those we haven't heard from?

you're screaming, you're screaming
covered up with a smile
I've learned to fear

(from the loss album; dancing in the haunted ballroom at Wunderbar Haunted Mansion)

There are some tried and true tips. Not all of them may work.

• Call them. Do you have their number? Then make a brief call. If they answer, problem solved. If not...well, it sounds very callous, but you're no worse off than you were before.
• Write them. Do you have their email address? Do you have their physical address? You might want to try those, or alternate means of contact--keeping in mind the parameters of your relationship. (This is where words like "discreet" become irritating--if no one else in their lives know you exist? Your attempt to make contact just got harder.)
• Talk to their friends. This one's always going to be last on the list, primarily because that involves other people in your search for reconnection--people who, let's be honest, may not know you exist either. But barring other options, it's something to consider, thin thread of hope that it might be.

just sunshine and blue sky
is this all we get?
(is this all we get?)
for living here?

(from the loss album; listening to the violinist at Delicatessen)

On a personal note, that last step is where I'm at. Made even more cumbersome because I doubt my beloved's friends do know about me. So...it's a delicate balancing act, currently. How much information is too much? And to make matters more complicated, I have a vanishingly few friends to ask. Because in my particular case, I'm also trusting their discretion as well as mine. That doubles the anxiety level.

come fire, come fire
let it burn
and love come racing through

(from the loss album; within the gears in the Clockwork Kingdom)

I think it's going to be a few more months before I talk to anyone...but I admit, the temptation is nearly palpable. Still, knowing I could reach out (and potentially damage the trust this beloved has in me) versus not being able to reach out at all? It's a stark comfort, to be sure, but oddly comforting all the same.

Still, all that aside, it's an odd place for me to be in. I walked into Second Life with years of open relationships behind me. Immediately I fell in love with several individuals for whom privacy was paramount. I made mistakes. I didn't keep all confidences as closely as I should have, because--even with over a decade spent online--I'd never fallen for anyone whose partners didn't know about me. (This is how odd it was for me: a while back, I was involved with someone who lived near Berkeley, and he wanted to see me. I spent a joyous week with him, and his lady wife, and I met both her significant other, and two more of his sigs...and yes, this felt absolutely normal to me. It still does.)

oh, I'm still alive
I'm still alive
I cannot apologize, no

(from the loss album; spinning gears under Jubilee flags at Clockwork Kingdom)

And above all else, I have to take responsibility for my choices in this. I cannot attempt any solution blind, for the fear it will harm something that has been, up to now, a good and sustaining and wondrous thing. This is worry, yes. This is anxiety, yes. But as much as I admit to feeling those things, I cannot allow myself to be guided solely by these feelings. I must take responsibility for my actions, and accept what each day brings me, in the hopes that one day, it will bring this absent beloved back to me.

I've learned to lose
I've learned to win
I've turned my face against the wind

(from the loss album; Matrix rain in shallow water at Trinity's Dream)

I suppose the trick is, how loyal are we when we make our agreements, take our vows? When we promise what we promise to these loves so far away? I have never been the sort to flounce off after a week's inattention; it's not in me, I just can't imagine it. Nor am I thinking that this particular love is "cheating" in any sense--since, after all, I'm in a polyamorous open marriage RL, and I'm generally the same in SL, it wouldn't occur to me to restrict someone else to bonds I don't have.

I will move fast
I will move slow
take me where I have to go

(from the loss album; sitting under the rotunda at Omega Point)

Honestly, I'm more worried. Was there an accident? Did my love get injured? Did something more dire happened? I'm worrying over those possibilities, over pondering if the love we share itself has changed; mainly because this love is also not the type to hit a snag and simply flounce off in a lavender fog of drama.

oh, I'm still alive
I'm still alive
I cannot apologize, no

(from the loss album; musing on the sunset at Risk City

Ultimately, we make our own choices, we rise or fall by the strength of them. I'm not falling yet. There's time. There's hope. There's faith. But it's been three months now with no word. I fear my arms tire of reaching across the distance, and hearing nothing but the echoes of my heartbeat in return.

(Song is Lisa Miskovsky's "Still Alive", from EA's "Mirror's Edge" game. Just for fun, here's the Minecraft version of the trailer. Outfit worn on this long, strange journey today was mostly the Kami jacket from Cup of Crown [catch them soon, they're closing!] and the cage dress skirt from Stringer Mausoleum--honestly, no idea if it's available any more.)