I don't have much for you today. Then again, why should I? What is this sense of obligation, and where did it come from? From a bullshit time when we thought blogs would "boost our sales"? Likely, yes. That's where I picked up the habit, deadly as any I've ever carried. Regardless, I don't have much for you today. Here in Providence, it's 28˚F, but the windchill is at 16˚F. And there's the stale Hell of yesterday:
I feel an awful lot like that manhole cover. Hammered flat and smooth, almost indistinguishable from the cracked road all around me. Here it is the next to last day of February, and there has not even a single sign of spring.
Yesterday, in the silent maelstrom of of my raging, disordered mind, I managed to find 568 more words to tack onto "Chewing on Shadows." I did that, and I answered a lot of email, and I called it work. It's taken me three days to do a single day's worth of writing.
Last night I got bored enough to wander into Second Life and stay there for a couple of hours. Hard to believe its been almost seven years since I discovered SL. Jesus, what a fucking wasteland. A million virtual strip malls, where everyone walks around with their hands perpetually open. Morons who've chosen moron names for themselves. It could have been something wondrous, and it has nothing but itself to blame for becoming what it is. Second Life is, indeed, a perfect barometer of the idiocy of humanity.
Cold sunlight is about as useful to me as a dead whore.
Happy birthday, Mr. Steinbeck.
Yes, And,
Aunt Beast
I feel an awful lot like that manhole cover. Hammered flat and smooth, almost indistinguishable from the cracked road all around me. Here it is the next to last day of February, and there has not even a single sign of spring.
Yesterday, in the silent maelstrom of of my raging, disordered mind, I managed to find 568 more words to tack onto "Chewing on Shadows." I did that, and I answered a lot of email, and I called it work. It's taken me three days to do a single day's worth of writing.
Last night I got bored enough to wander into Second Life and stay there for a couple of hours. Hard to believe its been almost seven years since I discovered SL. Jesus, what a fucking wasteland. A million virtual strip malls, where everyone walks around with their hands perpetually open. Morons who've chosen moron names for themselves. It could have been something wondrous, and it has nothing but itself to blame for becoming what it is. Second Life is, indeed, a perfect barometer of the idiocy of humanity.
Cold sunlight is about as useful to me as a dead whore.
Happy birthday, Mr. Steinbeck.
Yes, And,
Aunt Beast
- Current Location:Coronae Scopulus
- Current Mood:Oh, so happy.
- Current Music:Keaton Henson, "Small Hands"
Comments
I haven't been in Second Life in a while. Hard to imagine it was once my greatest social outlet. I did meet my real life girlfriend there and can't believe we've been together 6 years. Time is gone and I feel like I've been asleep.
Do you really feel obligated to write in here? Is there no joy or does it all seem pointless?
To me it seems more hopeful than the others.
No offense, but you must be looking at it upside down, if that is the case.
Time is gone and I feel like I've been asleep.
Gods, that's well said. Yes.
Do you really feel obligated to write in here? Is there no joy or does it all seem pointless?
Yes, I feel obligated. And no, there is no joy. But I've never found joy in anything I've written.
No offense taken. I think I must see most things upside down.
I think it speaks ill of my character, and growing up watching Max Headroom, where my first thoughts were "Actually, in pieces, a dead whore can be worth quite a bit." And they were in Jere Burns voice.
I've always believed that you shouldn't be forced to write unless it's absolutely necessary. So, I think it would behoove you, Auntie Beast, to ask: What do I -really- get from posting everyday? Is it worthwhile to continue blogging?
Don't get me wrong! I love reading your posts. But you are the author, and you need to work with what is comfortable for you. I, and probably a bunch of other people who read your work and support you as an artist, would easily understand if you decide that enough is enough, and learn to live without this little window into your life.
I haven't actually been in any areas like that for a long time though I know it is probably 98% of SL, certainly the mainland. If you're on again, please stop by my chess club, I'd love to see you.
I'm not on again. I came in and wandered through the ruins of sims where I once RPed. I have zero interest in SL other than RP.
I still have a plot in New Babbage, and still toss them money once a month. But it isn't what it was. It was a far finer place when it was only two-sims large, and there was actual RP.
And yeah, Jimmy's always ic. He's a good RPer.
YES. And I love the way you put things so aptly.
It snowed again here. Hoping it didn't drift as far south as you.
It did.
Caught half in the photograph, it looks like some kind of sigil, or a Troy-town maze. I suppose the latter is appropriate to hell: thank Dante for the circles.
Yesterday, in the silent maelstrom of of my raging, disordered mind, I managed to find 568 more words to tack onto "Chewing on Shadows."
That's not bad for wrestling out of a maelstrom.