the ruins of the day painted with a scar

I didn't go through a single haunt this year. It's strange to say that. I have so many things to review, and I've missed the events they were at for all of them. I regret that. And I have so many drafts I wanted to go through and post. I still might, but...there are more important things to do.



Listen. If nothing else, this has proved unequivocally that half of the United States still thinks women aren't people.

The forced-birthers won. The COVID deniers won.
The religious extremists won. The anti-vaxxers won. The anti-maskers won.
The climate-change deniers won. The prosperity gospel churches won.
The QAnon conspiracists won. The MAGAt cultists won.
The tech bros with frat-boy mentalities won. The NRA won.
The anti-feminists won. The Trump-as-Messiah worshippers won.
The neo-Nazis won.

It's morning in Gilead. This is who we are. But this is not who we have to be. I do not intend to subside quietly until the jackbooted thugs come to carry us away to the camps. I am who I am yesterday, who I am today--bisexual, Rökkatruar heathen, polyamorous--and I am not going to hide.

And if you're friends with me, or if you're one of my loves, and you voted for Trump--don't tell me. Or do, so we can break it off clean and walk away from each other. That is my line in the sand. Because if you voted for him, you voted for dozens of hate groups behind him that want to make this a theocratic dictatorship. You voted against every LGBT+ person in your life. You voted against anyone who's trans in your life, whether they've come out to you or not. And ultimately, you voted against everyone who shares my gender.

Is it sinking in yet? More women will die with a locked-in federal ban on abortive and prenatal care. Anyone who's not white has a very good chance of being attacked in the streets, arrested, deported, whether they were born here or not. Separating children from their parents at the border will likely start up again..not that it actually ever stopped, but there has at least been an attempt to reunite families post-Trump...Mandated church attendance? They could do that. I know when we were living in a very frightening small town, we were told to pick a church and go to it faithfully--because otherwise, we'd be considered Satanists and they'd shoot us.

These were cops saying that, by the way. I believe the exact quote was, "Well, ma'am, then we'll come back, help you both into a truck, drive into the scrub, and put you to sleep."

Is it sinking in yet? Trump is talking about putting a man with a partially-devoured brain in charge of women's health. Musk he's lined up for a new department, one called "Efficiency", where he'll kill any program he deems as wasting too much money. You know, like he did with Twitter--oh, sorry, I mean X--when he fired the entire coding department and suddenly, things started breaking down. Such a mystery.

He's talked about removing the FDA, the Bureau of Education, killing school lunch programs, loosening the clean-air restrictions so factories and corporations don't have to go by the keeping-people-alive programs. He says he'll fire every civil servant on the government's payroll, and replace them with his hand-picked people. He's enslaved now to special-interest churches who seriously believe that Jesus won't return until every tree is cut down. He wants no separation between church and state. The Supreme Court, formerly a panel with--at least supposedly--the most well-educated, well-versed in law, judges and lawyers...is essentially in his pocket.

And all of that is assuming he lives for the next four years. It would be so easy to be one of those "best people" close to him and just--help him to stop breathing. And then we'd have President Vance.

Trump is the first convicted felon to hold a high office. He's been convicted for fraud, embezzling, sexual assault, attempting to overturn the government...Is this really the caliber of man we want leading the country? Essentially an emotionally stunted sociopath, clearly and obviously sliding into Alzheimer's, who golfs more than Obama did, who keeps a list of people and groups that were mean to him so he can penalize them directly...this man is not presidential material.

"But oh, she supports Israel...oh, she isn't left enough...oh, it's not the time for a woman president...oh, as a prosecutor she put a lot of people of color away..." Okay. Compare and contrast--someone who might reconsider at least part of her position if enough voters asked for it, versus...Trump. Who WILL further arm Israel, who plans to cut off any future aid to Ukraine, and may in fact start shipping ammo and arms TO Russia, for all we know.

IS IT SINKING IN YET??

I'm not hiding. And echo chamber or not, I'm just porting away from anyone who starts talking about how great it's going to be under Trump again. Or bouncing people from the Gearhaven estate if I'm there. I am done with tolerating the fools who think the next four years will be anything but greater chaos than he managed during his first four years.

I don't often talk politics on this blog, because I don't want to. I left Twitter a month after Musk took over, because I could already see it becoming a haven for every right-wing nut-job still gunning for the Obamas and the Clintons for being part of the huge underground child trafficking ring...which doesn't exist, which never existed, but hey, I could pull up a double dozen articles on Republican senators, preachers and business owners who were caught doing that exact thing. May I refer you to Matt Gaetz, for example? The DOJ was told to drop the case, but the civil and criminal charges are still pending. And he's far from the only one.



But that's it. You can go home now. Everybody out of the pool.

Or go here and do some good.

NOW that's it.

but isn't it nice when we're all afraid at the same time?

Waking in the wee hours to news of another death, and not even one of mine. Following it down in a winding spiral to a song from AFP. Ten minutes of beauty. Ten minutes of devastation. Five minutes of tears that I fought against shedding, because this loss, on top of other losses, too many deaths in this year already, and the year before, and the year before that...

everyone's too scared to open their eyes up
but everyone's too scared to close them

And what do I have to top that, really? A changed body, a changed brain, a changed perspective. Growing fearful where before I was--well, if not fearless, then certainly stoic, and still looking forward instead of back.



"And it's a ride," Amanda sings. "It's just a ride..." That it is. Life, experience, love, that's all it is. Partnering so we have someone's hand to hold, teetering at the crest. Sitting with family, created, acquired, growing, introducing them to the concept of safe fear, because we know it will help them process real fear, later.

Same principle behind horror media, really.

everyone's reading the rules of engagement
and everyone's starting to doubt them
everyone's reaching to put on a seatbelt
but this kind of ride comes without them

I'm remembering one episode of Mr. Roger's Neighborhood, where he came in from Outside, removing his work coat and his work shoes, exchanging them for his softer cardigan, slipping his feet into more comfortable sneakers, and preparing the lesson for the day. All the little routines viewers had become accustomed to--the door opening, his easy, guileless smile, the short walk down the short stairs. It was ritual, in a way, practiced to give his audience time to unwind with him, become open to his next words.



The episode I'm thinking of, though, is sadly one they no longer run in syndication. Because in this one, near the end of all the calm routines, when he raises the top of the aquarium to feed the fish--he finds one of the fish has passed. Floating belly-up, its small fins no longer moving, its gold-scaled body no longer swimming in idle loops around the tank.

And it's a small, quick moment, expressed in microcosm: his eyes subtly shifting, his shoulders tensing, then relaxing. Nothing a child viewer would catch, even, though rewatching that episode as an adult, I see the signs more clearly. Thrown--just for a moment, a handful of quick seconds--before he pulls back to teacher mode. Finding the best path to turn this into education, pitched in ways his viewers would best understand. And whatever the lesson was going to be, it was set aside for the lesson he had on hand: telling children across the country about what death is, what death really means. That it's nothing to fear; that it's okay to feel things about it. That our emotions, as children, sometimes feel very big, and very scary, but that that was okay, too. Death was just a thing that happened, to all of us. Death was a natural departure in this case, and accepting that was part of life, too.

It's just a ride. And we've got the choice to get off any time that we like...



It is the great equalizer, after all. The commonality of death. The universal experience we'll all have at some point.

Right?

everyone's trying to stay on the side
where the water's just boiling more slowly
frogs in a pot, well that's one thing I've got
at least some of the frogs in here know me

It's not a comforting song. It wavers, ever so slightly, an off-balance calliope, making music for whomever's listening in the shadows...or maybe for the shadows themselves. Her voice breaks at times, the pain in the chords palpable.

And it's not the first time I've heard it, I've had this album, There Will Be No Intermission, for years now. But reading on her latest loss, while listening to this song...it sank deeper this morning. The lightest touch of midnight's chill gracing air already warming, the beginning days of May already lurching towards summer's thick, leaden heat, and I'm reminded yet again of the cyclical nature of loss.

I want you to think of me sitting and singing beside you
the chain pulls us up and we know that we're all gonna dive

And stupidly, pointlessly, thinking on my own. Because it's not in the same league, is it? I'm alive. The world hasn't done me in, yet. That's acres away from mourning an entire person. And yet...ringing the changes. Because there *have* been changes. Six hundred and fifty-plus days, now, with the headache that never leaves me. I'm less sure, now, on the other side of that. Less brave on the other side of that. Definitely, after these months, cascading through a year and still going, less stable on the other side of that...

Possibly more stubborn. But at this point stubbornness is a feature, not a bug.

But we all go down, yes, and we all go down...and see what the ride's made us into, this time.

I want you to think of me sitting and singing beside you
I wish we could meet all the people who got left behind
the ride is so loud it can make you think no one is listening
but isn't it nice when we all can cry at the same time?

But what else do we have, really? What choice do we have? Isolate, or integrate; pull back or push forward. Strengthen our relationships, or let them slip away.

and as we switch from side to side
everything is gonna be just fine
everyone you love is gonna die...

Yeah. Whether you believe in heaven, or reincarnation, in nothingness or continuation, this is all we have. This, right here, right now. Ride's gonna stop sometime, so until then, we make the best of the ups and downs, the scary descents and the link-by-link ennui of elevation. And we can make the choice to be happy in those around us, knowing that they're in the same place, in cars ahead or cars behind. Maybe we'll walk out with them hand in hand. Maybe we'll never see them again.

It's up to us to do the good in the world that we can, because everyone's just trying to hang on for the next drop.

the alternative's nothingness
might as well give it a try...

What have we got to lose, after all? It's just a ride.

just a few more weary days, and then I'll fly away

It's been...well, several not good days, an entire month of not good days, or even 181 days of not good days...but we'd gotten through the month of being in inarticulate pain, until Valentine's Day...and then a message came through Timeless Textures.

I'm leaving the business in, but anonymizing everyone but Wyvern Dryke, because...well, he's the point of contact.

On the 14th of February, he sent this message.

Xzavia's RL son sent me a message in Discord today.

I am so very sorry, everyone.

Xzavia Yifu passed away IRL on February 1, 2023

Understand, he wasn't trying to keep the news private, per se, he just wanted to make sure he heard from the family that it was okay to pass it on, first.

She became very ill over Christmas, due to Covid, and was not able to recover.

I do not know the future of Timeless Textures, or by extension USC / Eagle's textures.

Again, very sorry. *hangs his head low and curls up sadly with his tail over his muzzle*

Why is it always Wyv. My gods, too much loss going around.

Anyway, that came in around five, so I didn't hear about it until the day after, because...well, we had holiday plans. But when I logged in on the 15th...well, it was this, opening for me in mid-chat:

[2023/02/15 10:19] Wyv the FloxMonster™ (wyvern.dryke): Yes, when Free Dove's Paloma passed, she asked that her store be closed.
[2023/02/15 10:19] Wyv the FloxMonster™ (wyvern.dryke): Xzavia would probably not ask such a thing.
[2023/02/15 10:22] Kxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: Nice..My friend [Axxxxx Rxxxxxxx] introduced me to timeless textures. :)
[2023/02/15 10:24] Cxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: thats so sdd to hear I only poke to x in mid january
[2023/02/15 10:24] Wyv the FloxMonster™ (wyvern.dryke): Yes
[2023/02/15 10:25] Wyv the FloxMonster™ (wyvern.dryke): she last logged in, on Jan 31
[2023/02/15 10:27] Mxxx Wxxx: and sent the notice on 30
[2023/02/15 10:27] Wyv the FloxMonster™ (wyvern.dryke): or perhaps the 30th.
[2023/02/15 10:27] Cxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: I was not able to of gotten that message
[2023/02/15 10:27] Axxxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: my condolences to her family, she was the best texture creator i knew of
[2023/02/15 10:27] Wyv the FloxMonster™ (wyvern.dryke): the 30th. She last logged on the 30t, not the 31st
[2023/02/15 10:28] Wyv the FloxMonster™ (wyvern.dryke): the 31st is when I got the message from her in Discord, that she was going into Hospital

I knew she'd gotten Covid, I knew it took a lot out of her, I didn't know she'd hit the hospital stage.

[2023/02/15 10:28] Wyv the FloxMonster™ (wyvern.dryke): and then... static.
[2023/02/15 10:29] Vxxxxxx Pxxxx: My condolences to her family.
[2023/02/15 10:29] Kxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: :(
[2023/02/15 10:29] Rxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: i got a notecard from the 30th
[2023/02/15 10:29] Mxxx Wxxx: so she went there for a day ;(
[2023/02/15 10:30] Emilly Shatner-Orr (emilly.orr): Oh, wow. I was so busy yesterday, out, I hadn't heard. She will--deeply--be missed.

It's always odd what strange things we think of when we hear the news. What crossed my mind at first seemed so absolutely trivia--"Guess she's not going to finish the brocade sets." Like that is in any way important.

[2023/02/15 10:30] Wyv the FloxMonster™ (wyvern.dryke): nods
[2023/02/15 10:30] Rxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: there was a notecard sent out 30th january
[2023/02/15 10:30] Wyv the FloxMonster™ (wyvern.dryke): Yes, she sent a notecard through this group on the 30th, saying she wasn't feeling well
[2023/02/15 10:31] Emilly Shatner-Orr (emilly.orr): That, I got, yes.
[2023/02/15 11:11] Jxxxxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: i cant believe this is happening
[2023/02/15 11:11] Sxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx offers hugs to all who want one.
[2023/02/15 11:12] JewelMermaid: was it covid?

I'd go so far as to say complications from Covid, to be clear. But in brief: yes. As so many noble souls before her.

[2023/02/15 11:12] hcccccccc Rxxxxxxx: what happened?
[2023/02/15 11:12] Sxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: I believe so.
[2023/02/15 11:12] Leslea Aldrin: She had covid before Christmas.. and never really recovered.. got sicker in January

(Left also non-anonymous for reason which will become clear in entry two, which...probably will be tomorrow.)

[2023/02/15 11:12] hcccccccc Rxxxxxxx: omg
[2023/02/15 11:12] hcccccccc Rxxxxxxx: :(((
[2023/02/15 11:13] hcccccccc Rxxxxxxx: I didn't know
[2023/02/15 11:13] Emilly Shatner-Orr (emilly.orr): She was my favorite texture designer. Well, probably still is--I own SO MANY brocade sets.
[2023/02/15 11:13] hcccccccc Rxxxxxxx: me too
[2023/02/15 11:13] Kxxx Cxxxxx: me too
[2023/02/15 11:14] Axxxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: i have a ton of her stuff too
[2023/02/15 11:14] Kxxx Cxxxxx: Xavia is a great loss personally and to SL
[2023/02/15 11:14] hcccccccc Rxxxxxxx: yes
[2023/02/15 11:14] hhcccccccc Rxxxxxxx: so sorry about that
[2023/02/15 11:14] hcccccccc Rxxxxxxx: is it going to close?
[2023/02/15 11:15] Leslea Aldrin: At the moment- there are no details available if she had willed it to someone else or not.

[2023/02/15 11:15] hcccccccc Rxxxxxxx: I see
[2023/02/15 11:15] Emilly Shatner-Orr (emilly.orr): Wyv's still hoping to find out.
[2023/02/15 11:16] hcccccccc Rxxxxxxx: we will miss it
[2023/02/15 11:31] Axxxxxxxxxx Rxxxxxxx: May she rest in peace. And he sent a notecard yesterday, which I'd missed at the time:

Hello friends, thank you for your patience during this solemn time.
Here are details for Xzavia's Memorial.

WHEN:
Saturday, 11 March at 1 pm SLT

WHERE:

Xzavia * Celebration of Life

HELP NEEDED: We need someone to VIDEO RECORD the service. If you know someone, please contact LESLEA ALDRIN

Okay, leaving Leslea's name in, too, so potential videographers can contact her.

NOTES:
* The Memorial's location belongs to Mxxxxxx Sxxxxx. (Thank you [Mxxxxxx].)
* All are welcome to visit and feel close to our beloved Xzavia. There is a picture near the benches.
* You are welcome to make a brief statement, if you wish to commemorate Xzavia's time with us (voice or text).

Thank you

~Wyvern Dryke a.k.a. the Flox

And that's all I know for now. A donation jar was set out; enough was raised to at least cover her parcel rental for one more month, until the family decides what to do. I'll tell you when I know more.

last night I cried about you, tonight I find I'm crying too

give me a drink 'cause I'm starting to think that I'm broken
got no confession but still my reflection provokes it
I hold the gavel and judgements unravel for who I've been...

(This is going to be a hard one. Feel free to skip past it if you're not in an equable place.)

feeling the weight of the all
medicating the turbulence

Studious observers of the blog will remember that, while things from beyond this blog's specific focii creep in from time to time, I try not to let it?

This one's...all RL.

the mask in the mirror is not getting clearer to comprehend
where do I begin?

This is Norma. She was between six and eight years old when we got her, and...there's a whole strange story behind this cat I can tell you, if you want, but my main point is...this is...this...was...our cat.

I'm at the waters edge
in my anxiousness
what does it mean
to be seen
without the need to defend--

left to myself in both sickness and health
I can't do it
skin deep interactions
distraction's the way to get through it--

Everything we've done has been with the goal of making sure she knows she's loved, she knows she can declare boundaries, she knows she can have nightmares and not fear getting hit. (I'll say this--from a hoarder house, and apparently a bad one, so yes, she was a cat with trauma.) Everything, to give her the will and the confidence to stand up for herself.

everyone tells me that I should be happy for where I've been
but selling and sharing the shell that I'm wearing is wearing thin
hoping to find and in time recognize my own reflection
where do I begin?

This was one of her normal sleep modes. Cuddling, 'talking' to us, wandering around...plonk into a soft thing. We worried at first, but it wasn't a neurological issue, she'd move after a bit. She just liked that forward head drop into soft.

never let anyone know that
underneath the surface
what a vulnerable, nervous child I am but--

And...this was the second to last shot of her, in the oxygen kennel, because she was unable to breathe on her own. She had wanted to show us she was okay, really, and had actually pushed to her feet, the first time since heart surgery...and got in the litterbox, trying to go...and...couldn't, because she hadn't eaten or drunk anything, even though it was nearby, for twenty hours. And she collapsed there, head hanging on the edge.

I'll see it again
at the water's edge
with no answers left
what does it mean
is it me
or just a stranger again...

She was suffering. She was not recovering. So...we made the decision to let her go, and..they gave her a mild sedative so she would breathe more slowly, and be able to be removed from oxygen. She was arranged on one of my partner's laps, wrapped up warm, while the vet tech explained that it would be just like going to sleep. She wouldn't feel anything, just sleepy.

We've been here before. We've developed a tendency of adopting older shelter cats, the ones most people look over, and unsurprisingly, a lot of these end up with problems. Some we've had for years. Xena, our cat before Norma, we had for...twenty-four months, until a savage bone cancer ate away half her skull and blinded her in one eye. There was no saving us; she was in whatever counts in cats for stage four.

The vet told us, when we asked if it was our fault, that there was literally no way to tell without access to an X-ray machine. Because she literally went from fine to "why is her skull spongy oh god" in seventy-two hours.

The tech inserted the needle in the arm tap for our cat, which was still on from surgery. Norma looked up at Ms. Neome, meowed once, and before the tech could even depress the needle...she was gone.

It was like...she'd been waiting to see at least one of us before she could go.

That was at...7:05 pm SLT, and...I think I need to wander off now. I don't know why I wrote this, and I'll probably regret it later, but...I just...I wanted to commemmorate, I suppose. Something of her strength. And how hard she fought not to give up.

We miss her so much.

(Song lyrics taken from The Classic Crime's The Water's Edge. Thank you, M, for sending it to me. And here's five things about grief no one really tells you, but that are true, nonetheless, for whatever help it gives.)

and if you're coming back to find me, you'd better have good aim

Sorrow is always heavy, grief heavier. It presses on us, bending us forward, pushing us to the ground.



So, after this week, when I found the Weight of Sorrow horns were one of the things I could review, well...it seemed apt.



These are heavy horns, make no mistake. They come in three sizes, Large, Medium and Small (I'm wearing the Small), and are unrigged for ease of adjusting.



All but the last two pictures taken were straight out of the box; the last two were with the horns a bit farther back and slightly up.



As usual with Vae Victis products, these are very customizeable pieces. Eleven different color options, and four different 'faces' to color: the horns themselves, the candles, the horn tips, and the flames. And yes, absolutely you can mix and match.



You can find the horns at /Vae Victis\, currently retailing for L$450.



(The tears are not included; those are from +{ Rosier }+, and run currently L$65 on sale at their main store.)



And they come with included 'spirit flames', which take the color of the candle flames as a sort of mobile mantle. It's neat.

I'll bounce back; I always do. It's just been a difficult few days.

and I can guarantee you'll always wanna cross that line

I wish I knew how this happened...



Nearest thing I--or the folks at KittyCats--can figure is, I had more than one set of winged angel cats. It doesn't make sense to me, but the most we've been able to parse is I decanted two cats, and Alexei and Moira's daughter, Laila, I kept (she got the white rainbow wings), and then, at some point when I needed to move the cats around from Krakenstorm to Gearhaven prime, and a lot of them got jumbled up--someone must've gotten with Erato, the library cat, because the coloring matches.

At some point I'll trace the bloodlines and figure it out, but in the meantime, today I noticed that the angel kitties are dated 2021. Never noticed that before. And he wasn't born until 2022. So...fun.

(And I still have two unused pairs of wings...finding special cats for those is going to be a job of work...)

ANYWAY, I had intended, first thing in world, to blog about the Hiraeth 'Forest Monarch' antlers at /Vae Victis\'s next event, because I'm running against an event deadline--and, between one thing and another, well, hours went by. Things happened--some good, some mournful, we will not see Ktahdn's like again--but happened they did. I began to panic a little.


Finally, I thought I'd just take some on-the-fly shots of the Hiraeth 'Forest Monarch' antlers at the Ocean Lounge in Gearhaven, because it's where I was at the time.



Now, I don't, as a rule, go this completely into one hue, but some of my avatars are very color-dependent, and this one, I thought of pale sands, deer chamois, weather-bleached wooden fencing on beaches...and then I panicked, thinking the horns wouldn't go.



I could not have been more wrong. These can go vibrant or delicate, which amazed me. I'm also wearing the smallest size--but there are four sizes, I believe, in the box.



These retail for L$450, and feature some of the most beautiful beadwork I've seen in SL.



And I wanted to show off the HUD for this one--again, it's not complicated, but it is very specific. So many variations--light to dark, gleaming metal to color-drenched and dazzling to the sterility of aged bone. I love them.

Hurry if you want to get these at the Abnormality event through August 25th, because they'll be more at the store!

(Or if you'd rather just go directly to Grim's booth, use this, he's on the main grounds circle this time out.)

what is left now that it's over?

I think we're past fire at this point...



I like to think, whether this is self-delusion or not, that I'm at least adequate at working out issues between people. I try not to fly off the handle these days; I try to listen and then try to articulate what I need to have said. No one's perfect, I'm not, no one is, but...I thought I had at least a minor ability, there.

If what just resolved, in spite of every attempt I made, is indicative of skill...I've been lying to myself.



I'm finding it morbidly amusing currently, that when I started my Twitch account, I chose the name I'd just started running under, emptydoll. Because I'd just suffered a very bad breakup and at the time, I felt very small, very empty, very broken.

Fast forward to this moment, these feelings, and I just feel...hollowed out. I'm not mad, I'm not crying hysterically, I'm just...exhausted. It takes effort to breathe. Everything around me is very, very quiet, in that excruciatingly loud way.

Once again, I am the empty doll, trying to figure out what I do now.



I never wanted another ban of anyone else I cared for. I never wanted my dominant to feel as if he had to step in to protect me from hurting myself, as well as continuing to be hurt by someone else. I never wanted to feel like this again.

We don't always get what we want.

Eventually, I'll be back to some form of steady state. The walls are going to be very high for quite some time. The masks are going to be riveted in place. I'll do what I can to drop them around others I love, but it certainly won't be easy, and depending on where I am, what I'm doing, and definitely who I'm interacting with...it may not even be possible.

But we'll deal with that when it happens. All I can do is keep moving forward. And picking myself up when I fall down, when the weight of my heart is too much to carry.

I get through this. I've gotten through worse things. I just mourn, yet again, that I have to.

Still spinning in the heart of Hagalaz, I suppose. And waiting for the hail to thaw.

don't get near me, I'll only sear your skin, in the state I'm in

And then, another night fell, a darker day dawned...



I am not at all happy to have you back.



I suppose I should at least thank you for the warmth...



It's been mentioned recently that I court my own destruction to reinforce my brand. Which is laughable, in one sense, but...I have based this entire blog on emotional pain. Am I truly surprised that it then keeps...cropping...up?

The question now is...how do I change that?



And I am so, so very tired...



Maybe I can push it back through the mirror. Think there's a chance of that?



In the meantime, this is where we are. Hagalaz, the rain of hail. The eye of the storm. Crisis, catastrophe, the emergence of the shadow to stain the light...The acceptance of the unalterable.

That's depressing.

Spun out to get here, spun out once I leave, the intensity for current pain inflicted, to ensure the lack of pain in future. And the chill in the air grows...Hagall brings it all to my door. With the tenuous hope of crops to feed the soul in future...if I accept the upheaval of now.

I never wanted this upheaval. But here I am again, anyway. Best to find more coal, the way this thing is burning.

At least one good thing happened today. It's something to smile about, at least. There may be precious little of that for a while...

what strangе claws are these, scratching at my skin?

The only peace at present...planting new blooms and cultivating magic circles in On Sea...It's something to do, at least.

the very thing you're best at is the thing that hurts the most

Heartbreak. That's what this tastes like.



Stepping back from allegory for a moment. I went to high school in a very small, and very rural, area. As an adult, looking back on it, I can see the issues clearly: a bunch of queer kids finding our identity in a repressive, conservative school, with all the inherent pitfalls therein. But at the time, on the ground, all we knew was that our parents didn't understand us, and in many cases, didn't want to.

We had alcoholics under eighteen, drug addicts, because existing in these spaces was so difficult. We weathered suicide attempts, and once or twice, had to cope in the aftermath of suicidal successes. We had parents who committed their kids to psych wards, attempting to "cure" them. It was nightmarish, and cruel.



Through those four years, there was someone else in my life. We never dated, neither of us wanted to be that for each other. What we did become, was--family. I thought of him as my brother, to the point that even now, when I think on him, that is the first word that comes to mind.

Through all the chaos, all the times the world lit on fire, all the time the ground froze and chipped off pieces of our defenses from sheer cold, we stood together. I told him things I've told no one else--not blood relations, not current partners. I was the first call he made from the conversion therapy center his parents slapped him into after his second suicide attempt.



I tell you this not to seek sympathy, but to give you context of how close we were.

As is the way of life continuing, those of us who survived high school--and, it must be said, not all of us did--chose to flee the stifling confines of religion and repression. For him, that was Louisiana. For me, I returned to California.

We wrote long, extravagant letters to keep in touch, called each other between them. There were (rare, but occasional) visits--once, when he came out to California, once, when he went to spend time with a friend in Colorado. Even being so far apart, even after all the years since high school...we still felt that deep kinship. My brother; his sister; life went on.



Until a particular president was elected that I thought was bad for the country. History has proven me right, but at the time this was the first issue that divided us. We argued, in letters, in phone calls, each trying to get the other to hear.

But he was the one to say, "You're not my sister anymore".

There is a very particular pain that settles into us, carving out space in our bones, with a pronouncement like that. He cut off all contact, returning my letters, hanging up when I tried to call. Eventually, I stopped, and just breathed in the pain of it, trying to cope.



Two years later, a hurricane struck the city he was in, and he was listed among the missing.

It took another year of poring over records at a distance, calling his place of employment, calling churches, emailing every address I had of him and our former high school friends...tracking down friends and barely acquaintances who might know how to contact his family. Trying to find word. That was hard, too.

Not as hard as the day I finally saw his name on a body retrieval list.



Knowing he'd passed...that was crushing. Knowing we'd never be reconciled again...that was...excruciating.

This man I considered closer than blood, closer than family born, was now...gone.

I tell you that to tell you this.



There's been a certain leaked memo in the past week. I'm not going to say much on it directly, save to say--everyone in what's become the extended in-world family is--ideologically, at least--on the same page. But even knowing that, an argument broke out on particulars. And two of us watched in horror as the family fractured before our eyes.

That same dawning sense of loss. That same feeling of the chasm in front of me, where formerly mutual love and support existed.

I don't know what's going to happen with this family's fracture. I know there are things we may not be able to come back from. I know trust has not just been broken in some places, but cremated and buried, as well.

I don't know if we can heal. And I don't know what happens from here.

The one thing I do know, beyond a shadow of a doubt--I'm still going to exist on the other side of this. Because I've gone through this once, and survived. Sadder, more melancholy, grieving for the lost...but survival, nonetheless. It's--kind of what I do.

The only other thing I know is...right now, in this moment--moment to moment..it's hard to breathe. And I don't know when that feeling's going to go away, either.

my empty halls to echo, with grand self-mythology

I love that obsidian scalpels for surgery are still a thing.

And I've bought my candle this year at Fantasy Faire.



As I promised last year, this one was going to be for Alastair. It's the uppermost candle in that picture. It says:

Alastair Whybrow, irascible, loyal, and dear friend. You believed in me when I didn't believe in myself. You are missed.

Because...he is. Those important to us always are.

So. It's time, I think, to finally talk about Drear Fen.



So, years back I gave up my Linden home, because I heard there was an alternate program: find a 1024 parcel of mainland, and it's yours tier-free. I happily gave up my Linden home--which I never used anyway--and set to looking through the auction house.

And...years...go..by.

Finally, a dear friend says, well, I have some extra parcels in Cardew, you want one? Um...YES?!?



Inside, it's on the sparse side for furnishings, but--this is partially by design. Yes, I do have a limited number of prims, but I also wanted it to have something of an abandoned look.



There are little details here and there. I'm fond of them, but they'll change as the year progresses. I haven't decided yet if this is the permanent, year-round house, and then I'll put up a fancier house in October with more prims, or I'll take this build back and put down a creepier one in Cardew, but whatever it is I do, this IS going to be a year-round haunt.



Upstairs is where the dolls are. I realized how many I have, and this is not even a third of them. But they've been huddled in my inventory for far too long. It's the decent thing to do to let them out to play...



...and if you know where to look...you can find the stairs to the attic.

Nothing in this house, visually, will jump out at you. Some of the sound effects seem a bit loud, so I'll be working on adjusting them. But if that's going to unnerve people in bad ways, just turn your sounds off. At the least that will prevent the creepiest aural effect from going off--the refrain from the Banana Phone song, coming in from someone else's parcel in the distance...

But all are welcome. Someone may be in residence, or not. Enjoy.

I don't know if I can open up, I'm not a birthday present

Oh, hello trainwreck. Guess this is your station. Keen.

I meant to mention Buzzard's earlier this year; I'd been asked to come to the combination dance/live performance/wake for the fellow the troupe who built this haunt lost in 2021. It was...I mean, wakes are also melancholy, but also, sadness and joy, drinking and dance, and in that sense, it was a good time.



But, between one thing and another, I didn't get back to go through the haunt for days. Due to...well. Still. Here now.



The main haunt seems to be your typical insane aslyum-gone-wrong, a trope I'm not particularly fond of, but there are some nice touches. Like this guy. And the occasional bit of "Dominique playing randomly in the background, a song which was used to stunning effect in American Horror Story, and has a bit of a haunted history all its own.



Let's bring up game rips again. I hate them. I hate haunts that use them. But at least here, they're used thematically--the mad children from American McGee's Alice, Alice herself shows up in one of the rooms in a straightjacket, another version of her does slowly spinning circles in a wheelchair--it's still not great, but it could be worse. This particular one, the Little Sister model from Bioshock, I could honestly see in an asylum setting.



Most of the upstairs is the Childrens' Ward, and again, some nice little details here and there. This very very purple bed and bunny, for example.



Once you've gone through the labyrinth, you find yourself in the remnants of a destroyed city, which leads to a lovely haunted walk to the next attraction. Again, several nice little details here and there.



And I have always loved this clock piece. I used to know who made it, I've forgotten since. Someday it will be mine if it's still available.



And this was another wonderful little effect.

All in all, I have to knock off a skull for the game rips, but even with that, they get four full skulls. A lot of heart went into this, and you can tell. Kudos to them.