you say you want a change, I won't

I'm lyin' here on the floor where you left me
I think I took too much
I'm cryin' here, what have you done?
I thought it would be fun

I always get maudlin when my loves leave. In this instance, all of them were gone for large parts of last week, and as a result, I've spent a great deal of time by myself.



(Grendel's Children has rebuilt, substantially, and a large part of the rebuild is INSANE GLOW.)

I've sketched out plans for a good six new frocks; I'm contemplating starting to learn hair again; I'm contemplating going back into jewelry design; I'm even contemplating building a tiny...something. I don't know what, yet.

I'm working on skins, on casual wear, and yesterday, I made a forty-meter tower that may never be textured and finished. I'm learning sculpts. I'm creating and importing textures like mad.



(At four places on the main floor of Grendel's are now found mist fountains. They're very interesting, and can be walked into with ease.)

But all of this is just mental fodder, the desperate attempt to distract myself from standing, heart and arms held out, begging for attention. And yes, I know the bulk of the rest of it is avoidance. Because the things that swim in the deep parts of me are stirring again, and I don't want to hear them when they do decide to speak.



(In Lovelace, before the move of the mushroom ring, Clockwerk struggles through the deep grass.)

I can't stay on your life support, there's a
shortage in the switch,
I can't stay on your morphine, 'cause it's makin' me
itch
I said I tried to call the nurse again but she's
bein' a little bitch,
I think I'll get outta here, where I can

The tragedy here is, in terms of distractions, I have friends. Seven hells, I have offers. Offers to spend time with other gentles, hands upon my skin I've known before, and gods, sweet gods, but it's tempting. And now I add in fighting against my baser natures along with yearning for love's return and shaking my head against the rising knowledge of...whatever it's going to be this time.



(Jakkar Carlos is an attendee of many Bare Rose events. The event before this, he wore a shimmering, brightly-colored span of wings that were easily twice as high as he was. For the month following, we had the running joke of blaming Jakkar's wings for lag. Then he showed up at the Final Furry Fantasy event, in an even more insanely detailed pair of wings. Now? I think we'll be blaming Jakkar's wings for EVERYTHING.)

On the one hand, I've never worried over fidelity before. So this is a new concept. And it's not even that I'm being asked for fidelity, precisely, by my loves--I'm more asking it of myself. Though I think all of them would like to know, when I fall, if I fall...



(Apparently Nessie favors mangrove swamps. I'm quite amused.)

It's very far from easy, right now. Discipline, self-control, denial...it's not that these are all negative things, but they're draining on a daily basis. Maybe I'll get used to them, maybe not, but right now--some nights, it's...difficult.



(At times SN@TCH is very direct in their signage.)

Run just as fast as I can
To the middle of nowhere
To the middle of my frustrated fears
And I swear you're just like a pill
Instead of makin' me better, you keep makin' me
ill
You keep makin' me ill

And in the meantime there's stirring in the depths and I don't want to know. So I'm throwing myself into creation again--more eyes, skins, frocks, tops, textures, entries...the one thing, in fact, I'm not doing write now is writing, on my own, though I know why on that, too.



(Not realizing the Shiva costume I had was a face-up, where the head was concerned, I had an idle thought of making a Shiva catgirl, to comply with the 'Furry' part of the 'Final Furry Fantasy'. It failed utterly, but I had fun anyway.)

Writing, after all, would gift me with a direct line to my subconscious self, and frankly, I'm in the process of--at least temporarily--cutting off all contact.

It won't work; it never does. But I always hold out the vain and useless hope that this time, when I do the things I've done before, when I mentally, psychologically, turn away instead of turn towards...that it will work.

It never does. It won't this time. Sooner or later...I'll know what my subsconscious wishes me to know.



(Random brain in a jar.)

I think I need some new inventory rules, too.

If I haven't worn it in four months: gone.
If I haven't unpacked it in four months: gone.
If I can't remember buying it--GONE!

It's frightening, but also freeing, to just make the decision to delete rather than preserve. I don't have to hold onto every single prim I've ever owned. No. I can move past that need.

I haven't moved from the spot where you left me
This must be a bad trip
All of the other pills, they were different
Maybe I should get some help

This will be more difficult with furnishings, but I think I can hack together a rule set.

If I haven't put it out in a year--and it's not specifically for some holiday--GONE!
If it seats one, and is not a single seat, or a meditation cushion--GONE!



(Dying, in one of more than a few ways to die, at the Raft. Be sure to explore beyond just the saint overlooking the death bay. There's a store. There's a UFO. And there's the haunted houses, below the water...)

Hmm, the holiday rule should go for costumes, too, but--I think rules there, too.

If I haven't worn it since Enigma closed--GONE!
If I haven't worn it since Taiyou closed--GONE!

I think the exceptions to those should be, things I can't get anymore. And there won't be many of those items.



(At Curio Obscura.)


I can't stay on your life support, there's a
shortage in the switch,
I can't stay on your morphine, 'cause its makin' me
itch
I said I tried to call the nurse again but she's
bein' a little bitch,
I think I'll get outta here, where I can

Or maybe--no more than five costumes per category--so, say, no more than five cheerleader outfits/school uniforms; no more than five swimsuits; no more than five Bunny outfits (be they Easter or Playboy)...

...well, you get the idea.

Now it's just a matter of seeing if I can comply with these rules.

Run just as fast as I can
To the middle of nowhere
To the middle of my frustrated fears
And I swear you're just like a pill
Instead of makin' me better, you keep makin' me
ill
You keep makin' me ill



"How long can you be agile, dancing 'tween the altar and the mercy seat..." Because dancing I am, at present. As fast as I can, to keep myself distracted. Long into the night before sleeping. Long enough I'll be too exhausted to remember my dreams. Long enough I'll be too tired the next day to function, nearly, but it's the price paid for not listening.

Not listening to what I'm trying to say. And that is the hardest part. Because it's so very easy to shut out the world...and so very, very difficult to shut out the world inside.

As I know, all too well...

(Lyrics taken from Pink's Just Like a Pill.)

don’t get ahead, don’t fall behind, stay between the lines

I was beginning to think they postponed the rolling restart, but then we were hit late last night with a frantic "YOUR REGION OMG IZ RESTARTING" message. Bah. I was hoping...

Though I do find their new "transparent and open" policy humorous at times.

And I know sooo many people for whom this fits perfectly.

In addition, there's a new blog in the blogroll to the left based on this one comment: ""The 'Little Pirate Ship' is the perfect combination of tall-mast ship and say, oh a canoe."

They bear further reading.

In the meantime, I had a very unusual--if quiet--rez day. I opened it by going to one of the renamed Motorati sims, and watched a six-hundred-lap, dirt-track, sprint-car race. Amazing. I would have thought it would be impossible to do before Havok4 implementation, but no, Katier Reitveld, one of the (editors? Upper-echelon writers? Formal hires? Gad, I need to get to know the other employees...) other staffers at the Metaverse Messenger, said they used to race under Havok1 all the time.

Sounds insane.

After that, we went hunting at the new Baistice store. The amusing part: find twenty "orbs", all round, with little golden bows, scattered about the sim. The frustrating part: "Orb" nine is repeated, so there's actually twenty-one orbs to find, and some are somewhat challenging to find.

There was some controversy with my loves, but all in all, we got through it, and then traipsed off to the Museum of Robots to judge the entries (entry voting stops on the twelfth--if you haven't voted by now, you likely don't have the time). I ended up sitting next to a very well-reproduced homage to the updated version of B9 from Lost in Space, reflecting on two years on the grid.

For my first year party, I had the wall retrospective of photos, I had a cake designed, I had friends and new acquaintances alike stop by. I held a dance. I invited. I did my best to let everyone I cared about know in advance.

This year? I didn't tell anyone. And I have been getting some irked responses over that. Which I understand and grant, but over the past year--and taking the two years as a whole--there have been a staggering number of changes in my life. In all respects.

One year ago, I had a job. Granted, I had a job I wasn't particularly good at, but I had one. And it was one predominantly in the same field I was in before. And then...everything fell apart.

I lost that job, I lost that means of income, and soon to come, I lost the ability to escort entirely--and dancing and escorting, they'd been my main sources of income on the grid. I will maintain until my end days, no matter how far I move from the time spent at the Enigma, and Dorian Gray's, and everywhere else, that there is nothing inherently wrong in a woman making her living by physical means. Sometimes it's all we have; playing on the physical is not, by any means, 'easier' work.

One year ago, I had loves. Granted, I had problems with some of them, but I had them. And some of them I'd had since my days at the Enigma. And then...they fell away from me, passing beyond my reach--some my fault, some theirs, and in either sense, gone beyond reclamation.

I lost them, and for quite some time, I flailed a bit, adrift with nothing to rely upon, nothing I'd known. Job gone, means of income gone, a stuttering clothing line in the back spaces of SLX...and this blog to report all the changes.

Now, one year later. I have a job. Gad, I have several, in point of fact. I host Radio Riel events. I bartend at (though of late, I more run around, trying to find brewers for) der Hut des Jaegers in Winterfell. I write for the Metaverse Messenger. I design eyes and frocks, and occasional textures, for Kartiny, my still-rather-small business, and help in the design process for Autogenic Alchemy, the larger business below mine in Caledon Penzance.

And I have loves. I adore and am adored by three wonderful, deranged, quirky, inventive people, and I could not ask for more. I don't have hours and hours of free time anymore, to wander the world and walk its byways, to dance at any club that intrigued me, to entice the attentions of anyone who caught my eye...I no longer list on my profile that I have a rate sheet for anything.

But the trade-off has been monumental. I am part of a radio movement that is devoted to preserving sounds of an age gone by. I am a junior fashion writer with no restrictions--go forth, they tell me, find stories, turn them in. (Gosh, are you serious? NO other edicts?!?) If I manage to find a brewer willing and insane enough to brew Gauxa Imputitia, then I can start spending a set time at the bar in Winterfell.

Thursdays. I think Thursdays sound good.

And all in all, I am content. It's true, I no longer reach out as far as I did once. I've been burned, and I'm more cautious these days. But I still reach out.

And I'm me--essentially, the heart inside the shapeshifting body remains mine. I'm still growing, I'm still learning, I'm still willing to learn, willing to ask, willing to listen.

Two years on the grid. I'm still here. It's enough.

We could say a lot worse about our time in this place. I rest content with what I have. In the end, when I look back on all I've done to get here...it's enough.

these broken wings are gonna leave me here to stand my ground

*sighs*

I'm getting very tired of this.

A very rough cut of the Poison Apple video is available on YouTube. The full length work will premiere at Altered Gallery next Saturday, if all goes well. I'll keep you updated.

Last night, however, was the last few events of Steelhead's Harvest Festival, and the Wizard of Oz dance.



Dorothy approaches the Emerald City.



Dorothy sets up the Kissing Booth. A horse race was scheduled at the same time. No one comes. (To the Booth--apparently the horse race was well attended.)



Dorothy goes to the dance. Much amazing creativity was seen, which I sincerely hope will be shown on other journals, because Dorothy had an extreme lack of rez.



But the Dalek Summoning Call was issued--the playing of the Dalek Song. Daleks--and hijinks--ensued.

Afterwards, I shut down Taiyou. The building should be down sometime today.

Today, I spent the day as the holder of a new position--that of manager of the Altered Gallery in Sonata. Our first event was sparsely attended, our second small but steady, and over L$12,000 was raised to benefit a child in need of psychological care after sexual abuse. I'm very pleased by this.

I'm also now looking for artists, as the upstairs will be dedicated to the works of Sysperia Poppy and Zoe Hartnell, and the lower gallery will be video and rotating artists every month. Do IM me if you are, or know of, an artist I should see. Or better yet, drop me a notecard in world--for even now, my IMs? Frequently cap.

when you walk away I count the steps that you take

My neko lad must delight in tormenting me. He brings me to the precipice of saying goodbye, and then...hesitates. Reaffirms that love is important. Validates my choices. Brings me back from the brink before....pushing me near off the edge at speed, saying all would be well if I'd just leave all others I love.

I have been here before, but never with one I've held in such high regard. We have been a year together, on the rich-ragged grid, a year of ups and downs, discoveries and losses, confusion and adoration, pain and joy. One year. One year when most relationships on the grid last two months.

And we are on the shakiest of ground now, after that year. It's daunting, on more than one level.



I took him to Svarga, because we could easily hide amidst the towering alien foliage, the overgrown fungus soft enough to sit upon. We discussed our love, potential loss, decisions, fear, doubt...all whilst I was being struck repeatedly by the tour UFO.

Apparently the orange mushroom? Is directly in the path of the tour tram.



We talked for a long time.

He sought to sit with me when the conversation wound down, and something in the mechanics of his moving sent me flying from the spongy mushroom surface, whereupon I--surprised enough not to hover--fell like a rock into the small pond, the sharp outcropping of rock therein piercing through my ribcage.



It took me a bit to pull off. That was distressing. And hurt a great deal, but nothing like his leaving-but-not-quite speeches. He left in good cheer, and I remained...confused and hurt.

And cranky.

Thus, when my friends were accosted, and I was not there...well, I thought the least I could do was help these two unfortunates to be less of a drain on all thinking beings. That, or get killed much more often.

Let me bring to your attention Miss Chanelle Vuckovic, and Miss Alanah Bailey. Yes, they are newbies, and fairly egregious examples at that.



These are the...gentle ladies in question. Note the intense belly bling on Miss Vuckovic.

"You", in this instance, refers to Mr. Fawkes Allen. They had, my loves, decided to wear minimal attire to better see the muscle movements in the poses they were testing. (This is not the worst idea--I may go pose-shopping in minimal attire from now on myself.) And thereupon, were accosted, for no clear reason.

[2:10] Chanelle Vuckovic: bitch stop running
[2:10] Chanelle Vuckovic: lol
[2:11] Chanelle Vuckovic: looooooooooooool
[2:11] Alanah Bailey: i cant
[2:11] Alanah Bailey: lol
[2:11] Alanah Bailey: fuk
[2:11] Chanelle Vuckovic: lol
[2:11] Alanah Bailey: wtf is wrong wit me
[2:11] Alanah Bailey: lol
[2:11] Chanelle Vuckovic: gear
[2:11] Chanelle Vuckovic: thtas wat
[2:11] Alanah Bailey: phew
[2:11] Chanelle Vuckovic: hahaaaaaaaa
[2:11] Chanelle Vuckovic: gimi sum lol
[2:12] Alanah Bailey: i think these guys have fallen asleep
[2:12] Chanelle Vuckovic: think so
[2:12] Chanelle Vuckovic: lol
[2:12] Fawkes Allen laughs.
[2:12] You: It's such a relaxing pose.
[2:12] You: Wouldn't you?
[2:12] Alanah Bailey: deadset they were doin the same thing like 20mins ago
[2:12] Alanah Bailey: no
[2:12] Chanelle Vuckovic: loooooooooooool
[2:12] Alanah Bailey: if it was that gr8 i would do it in RL

So....right off the bat, they have established themselves as troglodytes who cannot spell, and whose main force of commentary is to devalue others. What a lovely way to make a first impression.

[2:12] You: If you need them we can get up I think.
[2:12] Chanelle Vuckovic: girl
[2:13] Chanelle Vuckovic: wat u wearing
[2:13] Chanelle Vuckovic: where u get that frm
[2:13] Alanah Bailey: sticky tape
[2:13] Alanah Bailey: or duct tape
[2:13] Chanelle Vuckovic: lol
[2:13] Neome Graves: Me? A combination of straps from Dark Eden and Chains from Nico
[2:13] Alanah Bailey: somethin out of edward scissorhands wardrobe
[2:13] Neome Graves smirks.
[2:14] Alanah Bailey: LOL somethin wrong wit yo leg
[2:14] Neome Graves: It's this walk. It is just odd. =P

Some poses are. Not everything works out. And everyone is entitled to judge, based on movements, how attractive or unattractive someone is. But--pardon--is it the norm to walk up to someone one has never previously met and start lambasting not only their attire, but their preferences, their appearance, their choice of costume?

They went on.

[2:14] Chanelle Vuckovic: loooooooooool
[2:14] Alanah Bailey: u guys have to walk
[2:14] Alanah Bailey: ur master just IMed me
[2:14] Chanelle Vuckovic: twitch bitch rofl
[2:15] Alanah Bailey: tellin me u guys need to lose weight
[2:15] Neome Graves smirks.
[2:15] Alanah Bailey: packn some junk in yo trunk if u catchn my drift
[2:15] Chanelle Vuckovic: who needs to loose weight
[2:15] Alanah Bailey: yeh and ur not allowde to talk either
[2:15] Alanah Bailey: or u get beat
[2:15] Neome Graves: Well, since I'm not actually a submissive... =P
[2:15] Alanah Bailey: both of them
[2:15] Alanah Bailey: well u are now
[2:15] You: Oh of course.

Now they're taking on, in order:

* spelling, proper punctuation and grammar
* minimal attire
* long-term pose testing (and be honest, sometimes it takes four to ten minutes of watching the walk, the stand, the fly, whatever, from all angles to really decide if it's "you" or not)
* Tim Burton
* physical appearance of others
* those who choose (whether or not Miss Neome or Mr. Allen are in this category, but simply from the way they looked) to engage in dominance or submission as a chosen lifestyle

But wait. They're not done.

[2:15] Alanah Bailey: LOL
[2:16] Alanah Bailey: gurl u need a tan
[2:16] Alanah Bailey: u whiter then caspar
[2:17] Alanah Bailey: neome
[2:17] Alanah Bailey: do u need money?
[2:17] Chanelle Vuckovic: this one needs to check himself/herself
[2:17] Neome Graves: Nope, *this* is hwiter than casper. =P
[2:17] Neome Graves: Whiter, even.
[2:17] You: Check what?

Now? Add the entirety of the gothic community on the grid. And, by extension, most of the Dark Victorians group, since we tend to favor dark clothes and pallor.

And they're still not done.

[2:17] Alanah Bailey: cant u afford clothes is that why ur wearing tape>?
[2:18] Chanelle Vuckovic: wardrobe malfunction
[2:18] Alanah Bailey: or u waiting for a removalist/
[2:18] Chanelle Vuckovic: looool
[2:18] Alanah Bailey: to pack ur ass up outta here/
[2:18] Neome Graves: Oh, it's very comfortable. I think everyone will be doing so in the future.
[2:18] Alanah Bailey: yeh the future of fukness
[2:18] Alanah Bailey: thats fukd
[2:18] Alanah Bailey: i cant even tell if u male or female
[2:18] Chanelle Vuckovic: girl u look bad seriously
[2:18] Alanah Bailey: or human for that matter
[2:19] Alanah Bailey: lol with a pimp AO
[2:19] Alanah Bailey: LMFAO
[2:19] Chanelle Vuckovic: loooooooooooooool
[2:19] Chanelle Vuckovic: rofl
2:19] Alanah Bailey: lol

I mean, do I even need to go on? It used to be on the grid, you would see a new friend, and by and large they would be, at the very least, civil. I still carry a folder with several newbie links, items of usefulness, and the like to give out to folks.

But these two..."ladies"...from the moment they came into view, they were aggressive, argumentative, insulting, and deeply stupid. Who raised these idiots?

[2:19] Alanah Bailey: theres a freebie place they have clothes there
[2:19] Alanah Bailey: LMAO
[2:19] Chanelle Vuckovic: rofllllll
[2:20] Alanah Bailey: LOL the pimp AO is funny as hell
[2:20] Alanah Bailey: have u got a leahs for that collar
[2:20] Alanah Bailey: ?
[2:20] Alanah Bailey: leash*
[2:21] Chanelle Vuckovic: omg lmfao
[2:21] Neome Graves raises an eyebrow. Are you asking?
[2:21] Alanah Bailey: ahhh yeh
[2:22] Neome Graves: I have a leash, but it's not for *my* collar.
[2:22] Chanelle Vuckovic: her master here
[2:22] Chanelle Vuckovic: ron lol
[2:22] Neome Graves: And thanks. ~_^
[2:22] Alanah Bailey: thanks for what?
[2:22] You: It's a bit hard to take fashion tips seriously when even your uterus has bling.
[2:22] Alanah Bailey: oh the freebie thingy
[2:22] Alanah Bailey: yeh its iight
[2:22] Neome Graves nods.
[2:22] Alanah Bailey: u need to go there like 10mins ago

I'm still not entirely convinced I shouldn't track them down and light them on fire, but....I think it's the crankiness speaking. Lambasting them in public will have to do. And I do believe this has adequately reinforced why my usual locales of choice are Caledon, Steelhead and my home sim of Rivula. Because this sort of thing? Is rare in those places.

One wonders what sort of upbringing such..."gentle souls" receive, that the first action upon seeing anyone who challenges any slight misconception in their heads receives this ill-structured diatribe. What would have happened if religion had come into it? Sexual preference? Choice of employment?

Not that it is in any way comparable, but there are faint bells of accord ringing from earlier conversations in Caledon chat. I am not normally the sort to baldly state what I do, but I felt compelled to do so last night, in response to a certain damsel who seems, from all surface perception, to be quite anti-sexuality, anti-male, and decidedly anti-fun. So, even though it was quite bolder than I am in Caledon at large, and somewhat inappropriate for proper Caledonian society...

...well, I was cranky already. And I had had more than enough. So yes, I flung what I do and have done in her face, and she fainted.

I'll do my best to behave better from now on. It just irked me. The entire evening.

If the universe is trying to tell me not to date...they're doing a very good job and I may well take their advice.

moonlight on the soft brown earth, it leads me to where you lay

Steelhead's new train station is finally finished. Appropriately, it has the town picture Sir Edward took when my camera failed, of the residents visitors are likely to meet.



From left to right, Miss Qlippothic Projects, Captain Midnight Bohemia, Sheriff Fuzzball Ortega, Lady Primbroke, Christine McAllister-Pearse, Warrior Goddess (and sim manager) Tensai Hilra, Miss Kattrynn Severine (owner of the sim), Earl of Primbroke, Sir Edward Pearse, Bloodwing Dragonash (then still possessing Dr. Darien Mason), your capable chronicler in lavender fur, Miss Lumina Elvehjem (designer of the Steelhead Public Gardens), Mr. Finnian Fitzgerald (founder of the Steelhead Gun Club), and Mr. TotalLunar Eclipse (capable sim manager himself, and builder of the new train station, in addition to many other structures).



Outside the train station, even the 5:15 just pulling in looks a little more exotic, against the backdrop of Tensai and Lunar's new store.

Actually, over the past six months, the character of Steelhead, while remaining true to its nature, has changed significantly in appearance. Now it's really more San Francisco gold coast, less Boot Hill. And considering Steelhead City is in Oregon...that's no bad thing.



And then there's the Taiyou.

I still look at her and she takes my breath away. Taiyou House. The palace. Largest thing anyone's ever built for me.

She's going away.



It was a mutual decision, I want no one to go to the management of Steelhead and accuse them of wrongdoing. I was involved, I was part of why it's going away.

Why is it going away? Combination of factors, really. It was beautiful but it was huge. It wasn't well utilized. Delay in getting it up and open, combined with, if I'm to be honest, managerial misconduct...I claim my faults in this, I could have done better.

But more, while a place for Companions is wanted in Steelhead...we can do better, go smaller. Utilise the space we've got more effectively.

Save prims in the process.



Plus, the saloon is finally going to be rebuilt, saving even more prims. We'll be using the upstairs of the saloon, the first floor still being, well, saloon. Just can't have a Western town without a saloon, after all.

Then the large footprint the Taiyou had can be turned over to vendor stalls, merchants, rental slots....fish market...whatever.



This still makes me giggle, somewhat--I saw Miss Terry Lightfoot for the first time from the balcony of the Taiyou. In an hour of talking, I setting up various poses, Miss Lightfoot on the roof of the then-new business of Avalanche, Sputnik and Lightfoot, we became friends.

Reminds me, I should write her soon. Perhaps go visit Professor Sputnik again--after all, I haven't seen him since the change.



I won't say I won't miss seeing the Taiyou of an evening. I did so want it to succeed. And it didn't precisely fail--it staggered, it stumbled, but it wasn't a complete disappointment. I hold to that. And I'll still have access to everything that went into it, and some--though far from all!--can go back in the upstairs of the new saloon.

For that matter, since it will be a saloon, I have some lovely Victorian settees I can put out...that could work better.



Goodbye, old girl. I may be the only one, but I'll miss you. And if you did nothing else, you taught me the value of attention, and gave a new builder much-needed confidence in his skills. For that alone, you were a worthy structure indeed.

But trust me, the ladies of the Taiyou? We aren't going away.

Now, if I can just find more of them...

what's left when the locks have all been broken

Oddity--I've been mentioned again, this time in Australia. It's very odd. I don't remember giving an interview to any Australian publications...but reading through that little paragraph or so, it souonds like a reprint of the English article I did give an interview for.

Oddly? My boss at Dorian Gray's mentioned it to me. Apparently a patron wandered in off the street and told him she'd read about the club in the Australian Cosmo, and he had to send me word. He's asking her if she'll scan the pages in and send them to him. He's quite excited I actually mentioned the club.

Of course I mentioned the club. I work there, it's important. Apparently he's not used to that...

In other news, I have a month to turn the Taiyou around. If I fail, the dream is over, the Taiyou vanishes, replaced by merchants or whatever else the sim needs. Strangely, I'm less emotionally connected to this after the events of yesterday. It's not that I don't want the Taiyou to succeed; I do. I think it could be a valued part of the sim, I think it could be wonderful, I think I haven't paid enough attention to it and I should be paying more.

And I'm going to do everything I can to make it successful. I'm pinning my hopes on next Saturday, getting everything up and running, though I still need to check the Caledonian calendar, make sure there's not another event planned opposite.

But I'm not putting my heart on the line anymore. If it fails, I'll accept it, and move on. It's not as if I haven't been pulling back from Steelhead anyway, what with everything. If Taiyou leaves, it will be a loss, but it will be a loss I can bear. I'll still go to dances, I'll still help out if needed, but I won't be in town every single day, I won't have need to be. And I'm not offering to run anything else.

Maybe that will help. I don't know. All I know is...we have a month, from now. We'll see what happens. And I learn as much from failing as I do from success, so it will be a learning experience either way.

Moving on from that...I wish I'd been able to get pictures of this, but I could barely move let alone spin the cam around the dance floor. Last night the two-day anniversary celebration June Dion threw to ring in Bare Rose's second year on the grid ended with an EGL dance in Black Cat. You have never seen so much lace, black silk, and hair ribbons in one place in your life, I promise you. At the height of the dance, there were seventy-five people in the sim, and the sim did not crash. No one could move, half of everyone was grey, but gods, we had fun.

Over eighty females entered the costume contest. It would have been a five hundred Linden cash prize, plus the right to name a new dress that Miss Dion had designed specifically for the event. Five of us won. We each received a hundred Linden, and then the debate was on--who names the outfit? Now what?

We still don't know. But this is what I do know--after the event ended, friends and I ended up gathering back at the main stage at Bare Rose, idly talking, still buzzing from the event. I had changed from the full-on Hana Lolita dress, black silk and froufy crinolines and striped stockings, to a Draconic Kiss white petticoat dress, simple and unornamented. Miss Dion wandered back to the sim, and then messaged me, asking if I had time to be photographed. I said yes.

She left, and called me to White Wolf, told me to pick out one of four outfits. I was fascinated by Stheno, a sort of post-punk Victorian West outfit, complete with tattered black tartan skirts and black lace bonnet. She told me to jump on a pose stand, make sure everything looked right, asked me to wear the bonnet--and it's quite fun, it truly is--and then took me down to her studio.

I'm always fascinated by seeing where designers actually work. Miss Dion's workspace--at least, the photograph studio--is clean and uncluttered, composed of bare woods and several open-ended boxes, each painted a simple base tone. I stood in the pale grey box, she took a few images, and then told me to check back in a few hours, when she puts out the outfit for sale.

I can't wait. It's been an unconfessed dream of mine to be a Bare Rose model, and I've been tempted to ask more than once. Now, if it never happens again--at least I'm somewhere in the great complex. Whee!

I'll have to go to the store later on, and see how the box ended up looking. I'm thrilled with this. This is very nearly better than naming the outfit!

(Find an interview with Miss Dion here, the blog of another Bare Rose designer here.)

drink up, sweet decadence, I can't say no to you

First off: Not yet, you fools! A very precise analysis of why voice is BAD on the grid--any grid--any virtual world.

Now, onward.



It was my first Rez Day party yesterday. I decided I'd make something a little less than standard on the invitation--I mocked up the image you see, painted it onto a whitewashed board, nailed two support boards top and bottom to the main signboard post with three copper square nails, and stuck the entire thing into a moss-overgrown round of cemented river rocks. Fun.



But before the party, I still had set-up to do. Over the past two days, I have:

* bought three more slow dances from Bits and Bobs, for the dance alcove at Taiyou
* bought three 'cuddle' sets from Bits and Bobs, to set out in various places (two are in place on the upper balcony, one has yet to be placed, I ran out of time)
* bought two hot tubs (one a la Nipponaise, pale wood slats, I still have to work on tweaking the position of it, and one Egyptianesque, quite ornate, with its own fireplace and flowing orange silks around the pillars)
* built the above-mentioned invitation, tossed a give script into it, along with the notecard of impromptu party notice
* commissioned a cake, had it made, had it scripted (fell in love all over again, hee--it's a LOVELY, lovely cake)
* hired two DJs (Hunter lost his connection last night, but we survived, and he says he owes me a night now)
* bought a dress for the party (sachi's lovely handkerchief-dagged gown, in dark purple)
* set out a bed, an intimate rug, a hot tub, a hummingbird lantern, and a set of shelves for the lantern to sit upon in the Asian skybox
* set out a bed, an intimate rug, a large stone bath, and two hanging lanterns in the Arabian skybox
* realized I'd given the wrong landmark for the party, so went to Kokopelli (where everyone was beaming in, who didn't come in on their own landmarks for Steelhead), made up a second signboard apologizing and telling people to follow the arrows, then dropped several gleaming, bright red arrows hovering in midair at set positions, guiding folks from the dance square to Taiyou

The decoration of the two skyboxen was most difficult in all of it. Why? Well, due to family obligations, Lunar--who'd built Taiyou, who'd built the skyboxen--couldn't quite script up the teleport system before he had to go. So I had to fly up--this is me hovering next to the Asian skybox, you see, with scripter and anime chibi Winter Ventura (and drat, wish I had better pictures of her, she was CUTE) hovering behind me--and sneak in to decorate both skyboxen.



Here's a shot of me hovering over the Arabian skybox, Winter behind me. Hee.

But finally, finally, everything was done. And I started setting out tables, and nibbles, and the cake, and goblets of blood for any vampires, and chocolate for everyone else--realized just as things started happening that I really wanted something of a 'visual progression' on the walls. So I dragged a quick frame out, set about eight of them along the back of the tea area, and started with a pic that very very few people have seen--the first day I was in world, little cyberbot me, pale skin, dead black confused eyes, close-cropped red-tipped black hair. The next shot is of cyberfae me--cyberbot skin, purple corset, purple-tipped black hair caught up in two huge ponytails, and glimmering blue wings.

And on we went--one shot of me in the original dance skin, at the original Club Enigma, with tousled blonde hair; one shot of me in the then-new X2 skin, with platinum hair; the shot taken the first day I ever wore my Arctic fox, in the little goth Lolita minidress I'd found for her, which is still predominantly what my fox wears, when my fox doesn't wear native buckskins; a shot of the pale kitten, in black, with the mourning band, sitting in the crypt of the vampire princeling; the first modeling shot with new Kin hair (Sora, in vibrant gleaming red) and black leather head to foot; and finally, a shot of me in the Boneflower skin I received (along with net-sleeved Asian silk top and Asian silk skirt, and retro cat-eye glasses, all compensation for modeling for a series of promotional ads for Boneflower), all arch look, pleased expression, in sachi's Emilly hair (in volcano, how apropos, being as how it's black-tipped red).



I didn't get many shots of the actual party, or much leading up to and leading from. I was very much too busy. But this is a fun shot, so from left to right, the usual suspects (click for larger image):

Fawkes Allen, designer of the cake; Hank Rucker, haloed land baron and friend; his lady wife Alexandra Rucker; DJ Sir Edward Pearse, in gleaming uniform (which he made, by the way, available for sale at any branch of Pearse'd & Cut near you); Lumina Elvejhem in lovely salmon-gold sari silks; Lady Christine McAllister-Pearse, in her glorious green silk wedding gown; a very saucily dressed Duchess Gabrielle Riel; the tall Lauren, girlfriend and possession of Miss Roku; Winter Ventura, the small chibi wonder in purple hair; Miss Roku2 Hallard, new Taiyou Companion; Mr. americanpsyco98 Book, spinning next to Lady Amber Palowakski (sadly out of frame); and Miss Qlippothic Projects, spinning in monochrome kimono.

We had grand fun.



Another shot of the dancing crowd. You can clearly see the end picture of the 'how far I've come' wall, just above the cake. Hee.

Finally, this is something I've meant to post for a bit--how the Bumblebee avatar, puir wee creature of cogs and design--can be somewhat perverted by someone with wicked intent.

I present to you--Bumblebee, poledancing.

::giggles insanely and scampers off::

sometimes it's hard to recognize, love comes as a surprise

Happy Rez Day to me!

More later, but I had to sneak on and sneak in pics of my Rez Day cake:



Full frontal screaming cake. Comprised of layers of ground bone, graveyard dust and dark chocolate ganache, surmounted with a slice of sod, into which were pressed eight hollow chocolate caskets covered in highly ornate, airbrushed fondant. In the center, a full human half-arm, tibia and fibula, plus the full hand, carefully wired in place, holding a plate. The plate bore a shockingly realistic eye, and the plate dripped with spun sugar blood.

To the right of the cake, a tray of simple chocolate bars, dark and milk; to the left, a tray of blood goblets.



The cake from the side, showing the delicate little details. Above it--since the cake will remain up until I return from traveling, on Friday--can be seen (at Taiyou) part of a little picture show I put up--me, from first rez to now. It still amuses.

The cake was made by Fawkes Allen, by the way. Start to finish, building, baking and scripting. Yes, he does custom work. Call on him.

but the road is long, and the song is gone

Kelly Mountain Road
saw a heavy load
with a sagging heart
and a break apart...

I spoke to him words of reassurance and comfort, and not a little enticement, and sent him on his way to sleep. My sweet neko, moving farther away from me, and I don't want it to be over. It's far too easy for me to be melancholy on nights like these, it's a constant struggle not to fall.

voices in me
stood as thick as thieves
with no sympathy
for the beggars art

And the lone wanderer wanders away as well, to wander back when he will. It's ever been our way, to come close through distance. Oddity, but it seems to work, as well as anything does.

But another notch on the belt, and on I go.

but the road is long
and the song is gone
I blow empty
in my cicada shell

And he says, family comes, and he may not appear, and I smile, life's irony galling at times, heavy on the tongue. But of course--I make my choices, I make them plain, I make sure the universe hears them--and the universe ups the ante, subtracting them from me. Now what will you do? my universe asks me.

if I saw my choice
I might find my voice
but I don't know when
and I just can't tell

Wait, I think. It's the only answer I have. Learn patience anew. Perhaps put off the harlequin outfit that's so frustrating me, and work on another outfit entirely, something I can wear to the Dark Victorian ball later this evening...

Perhaps.

you tell me it's temporary
it's a matter of time
by God
don't you think I know it's in my mind?

I don't do alone well, but really, who does? And I'm better at it now than I used to be. I'm better at many things than I used to be, and isn't that an improvement? Reward comes after long trial...maybe my trial isn't over.

It's a thought.

deep behind my face
is a safer place
but old gears are hitched tight
to the gate

But change, oh, I change so slowly. And yes, another irony-rich slice...I can be practically anything--cold or hot, alive or not, furred or feathered or finned, I can sprout leaves or drift as smoke through trees or be the bustle in the hedgerow...but I'm the student in the Life Lessons class who has to have the assignment explained to her again, and who doesn't always turn in her homework when it's due.

it's a daily grind
waiting to unwind
till I hear that click
that unlocks my fate

So I'll see a change is necessary, and two months later, I'll begin to act on it, and two months past that may see the merest ripple on the surface of the tidal pulls happening underneath...I change slowly. I change glacially.

Yet another thing I must find time to work on...

it's right over left
and healing the then
I'll soon be to nothing
but I don't know when

And my rez day is coming up in three days, I have no invites to send out, no idea when or even if I'll be able to celebrate with friends, and I am very, very upset with the man who owes me, because he said the first of this month, I would be paid, and I was counting on those funds to have certain things built...like the cake that screams...and mayhap said invitations.

I have told him this--if he makes me miss my rez day party--and Taiyou's opening--on the tenth? I will be quite wroth with him. It may not, it likely won't, kill the friendship, but it may quite effectively hobble it...

(Song is most of "Soon Be to Nothing", from the Indigo Girls)

but I fear I have nothing to give

Morning smiles
like the face of a newborn child
innocent unknowing

Yesterday.

Yesterday the statue brought to life and I talked most of the day.

Yesterday I built the first ten of thirty gift boxes, for my art photographer to put limited edition prints of me in, and sell to patrons.

Yesterday I came up with the second version of the tea-table for Taiyou House, and I'm well on my way to a design I like.

Yesterday.



Yesterday the darkened moon drifted closer. Yesterday a friend of mine designed a gun. Yesterday I counted the grid down with the statue, warm in warm arms, and was flung into limbo with lips that still remembered kisses.

Yesterday.

Winter's end
promises of a long lost friend
speaks to me of comfort

Yesterday I realized things are happening far too quickly with the statue brought to life.



Yesterday I told him I'd dreamed about him.

but I fear
I have nothing to give
I have so much to lose
here in this lonely place
tangled up in our embrace

Yesterday I found the dance, the lovely dance that's part of a dance machine a certain Duchess maintains. It's called, "Dip Me In Chocolate". The pictures you see are stills from the dance.



Yesterday. Yesterday I got shot in the face at the new favorite sandbox. While I will go back, I have found a new favorite sandbox. Yesterday I learned that, though I build slow, I do build, I'm a fair copyist, a good pattern researcher, and I'm committed to learning more.

there's nothing I'd like
better than to fall
but I fear I have nothing to give

Yesterday I discovered new love is a possibility that may not be undesired. By both of us.



Yesterday I finally came to terms with being human. I won't have as many problems, now, wearing my human face.

Yesterday I finally said goodbye to the ghost of my vampire princeling.

Wind in time
rapes the flower trembling on the vine
nothing yields to shelter it
from above
they say temptation will destroy our love
the never ending hunger

Yesterday I spent far too short a time sparring with a sword with my favorite Victorian. I am lousy with a sword. I still killed him.

He sat on the civilized grass of Caledon and said, he must get better. We must spar more. I am, obscurely, for this.



Yesterday I put up two windchimes in front of Taiyou, one on either side of the front door, high up towards the roof. They have to be touched to chime, but all that means for me is that they won't chime always.

but I fear
I have nothing to give
I have so much to lose

Yesterday, for the first time in a long time, I was happy.



Yesterday I began to breathe again, and that clenched feeling in my chest eased.

here in this lonely place
tangled up in our embrace
there's nothing I'd like
better than to fall

Yesterday the burning of the train wreck slowed.



Yesterday I finally felt like I am recovering, from everything the past two months has thrown at me.

but I fear
I have nothing to give
I have so much to lose
I have nothing to give
We have so much to lose...

Yesterday I never wanted to stop talking to the statue come to life.



Yesterday was...pretty good.

I wouldn't mind another day like yesterday.

(Lyrics are Sarah McLachlan's "Fear")