NS Okasus

We followers of Nunchuck are a peaceful people. We pray to Our Lord Nunchuck for guidance and love. And to unbelievers, we extend the hand of friendship and enlightenment. Whether they accept the Truth or not is irrelevant. Nunchuck's goodness is in all and peace be with everyone.

But when the unbelievers strike at us and martyr us en masse, there but one way for us.

We convert them.

Let's Look at NPIRL

Apparently, there's some buzz or what not about Not Possible in Real Life leaving Second Life, or changing their business direction, or passing the baton to another leader, or one of any multitude of reasons that so much drama is kicked up in Second Life like dirt in your eyes.

Anyway, today me and my dear friends (read: alts) are going to muse over the multitude of photos available on Bettina Tizzy's flickr profile photo stream, since she's the ringleader or something. There's probably ninety different kinds of laws we're breaking, but part of the fun in life is risking your legal neck.

More Flickr Fun!

Time to let roll on Jurin's Flickr photostream again! This time, I'll discuss each photo with my alts, Winter and Torvald. Blah Blah Blah Owned by Jurin Blah Blah Legalities.


Anna: Well, it's some kind of erector set in a ravine on a full moon.
Winter: ...
Torvald: Where is everyone? Scared of the werewolves?
Anna: I don't think so, I don't see any homes.
Torvald: Maybe their doors and windows can blend into the cliff?
Anna: Maybe they're going to build something, like scaffolding on a building!
Torvald: Then where's the tools?
Anna: Took them with them?
Torvald: Why?
Winter: ...
Anna: It's an intersection. Homes are beyond and behind the screenshot. Kind of like taking photos of a train track but not the stations.
Torvald: That's stupid.
Winter: It's Riven.



Torvald: Confession: I'm scared of mice
Winter: Why?
Torvald: They live in the walls. Who knows what they hear me doing?
Anna: And what are you doing?
Torvald: Not much
Anna: Then why worry?
Torvald: Well, what if I wanted to do something in private? The buggers will be listening and watching
Anna: Well, this mouse isn't a wall mouse. It's just a mouse on a wall.
Winter: Great Wall of China
Torvald: That mouse has horrible proportions. Can its neck and that body support that giant head? The tail looks like a jousting lance coming out of its ass.
Anna: Torvy! Don't be so mean. It can't help that it was born that way.
Winter: It is made of prims.
Anna: True, but prims have feelings too!
Torvald: Maybe it's comtemplating jumping? It's a rather blah day out in that pic, perfect weather for a suicide.
Winter: Suicide is not the answer.
Anna: If a mouse commits suicide, does it go to hell? People go to hell for it, but the Bible doesn't mention anything about mice.



Winter: Pretty
Anna: Madcow made this.
Torvald: Is that the one who doesn't talk?
Anna: I think so. I can't remember names for the life of me
Torvald: Oh? What's my name
Anna: Ha freaking Ha
Anna: The body is pretty blah, but those wings!
Torvald: I wonder how evolution would work to create such a wing pattern.
Anna: Well, such a pattern may scare away predators.
Winter: It helps in sexy times?
Torvald: Pretty gawky if you ask me.
Anna: You know, maybe it's like a bee, those colors are a warning. If you look closely, you can almost see a stinger on the abdomen there.
Torvald: Why are you looking at... you know what, I don't wanna know.


Anna: It's telling of the economy how there are no shows playing.
Torvald: Why go to a movie theater when you can download off the internet?
Anna: Yeah, if you have internet access for Second Life, you might as well go ahead and torrent everything
Torvald: And there is a movie poster for 'Twister'
Anna: That movie was bad
Torvald: So? The tornadoes were awesome, and everything got torn up.
Anna: Yeah, but...
Torvald: But?
Anna: I dunno, something about the movie rubbed me the wrong way. A movie can't be all action, can it?
Torvald: Well, it's a movie about tornadoes. How much plot can you expect? Twisters aren't exactly good actors. In fact, they tend to be windbags.
Winter: Bad jokes deserve the death penalty.
Torvald: lol




Torvald: Jurin and Dimi, sitting in a tree
Anna: Oh god
Winter: ...
Torvald: K I S S I N G
Anna: Please stop...
Torvald: First comes love...
Anna: Hey, Dimi and tree almost kind of rhymes
Torvald: Then comes marriage...
Anna: That's not a big theater, either, is it?
Torvald: Then comes baby in the baby carriage!
Winter: Death Penalty
Torvald: ouch


Torvald: "Doctor, my tooth hurts"
Winter: ?
Torvald: You've never played that game where you pull the alligator's teeth?
Winter: no
Torvald: I always had the damn thing clamp its jaws down on me. And it's killing me that I can't remember the name. Anna, I think you're rubbing off on me.
Anna: Hey, is it a crocodile or an alligator?
Torvald: Hmm, uh, I dunno. Winter?
Winter: ...
Torvald: Yep, no idea either.
Winter: Wikipedia
Torvald: No, no wikipedia! Hey, this scene is pretty tropical. Jungle book style.
Winter: ...
Torvald: I'm crusing down da Nile, this croc is chocking bile, maybe I'll get him riled... UP!
Winter: Death Penalty



Winter: Reeds hide Moses
Anna: That's a lot of hippos
Torvald: I'm amazed neither of you notice what's wrong with this scene
Anna: Care to enlighten us?
Torvald: What are hippos doing in a desert? Are they more jungle?
Anna: I dunno. Why don't you ask your friend Wikipedia?
Torvald: Let's.
...
Torvald: They used to be extant up and down the Nile, but not anymore.
Winter: Sad
Anna: So you think this is someone in Second Life trying to recapture a lost species?
Torvald: If by lost you mean "Not there anymore", because Hippos aren't extinct... yet
Winter: Sad
Anna: And notice how it's in the evening. A perfect symbol of the decline of hippos in the wild.
Torvald: How sad.
Winter: Sad



Anna: Does this frighten you, Torvy?
Torvald: No, not really
Anna: Mice do but giant tentacles don't?
Torvald: Well, it's all in where they live. Mice live in my walls. Giant Octopi don't.
Torvald: Are they Giant Octopi?
Anna: There's giant squid. They're related to octopi. So yes, there are giant octopus.
Torvald: Ok, well, as long as I avoid the shore I'm cool with them
Torvald: You know, it's like: I won't barge into someone else's home. Not like mice do.
Torvald: Plus, mice get into your food and shit in it. Gross.
Anna: It only has four tentacles.
Torvald: So?
Anna: OCTOpus. It should have eight.
Winter: Treading water?
Anna: Perhaps.
Torvald: It also looks like a lake. Or a really shallow bay.
Anna: Oh, then it wouldn't fit in there either, would it?
Winter: Textures open the imagination
Anna: Yes, that is good texturing. It really feels as if a giant octopus is coming out and exploring the world of air
Torvald: Ha, beat you to the punch, suckers!


Torvald: Didn't Jurin already visit heaven once already?
Anna: Well, not quite. It was just a 'driving through the neighborhood' moment.
Winter: Death's door is one way
Anna: Yeah, read what I said: just driving by. She didn't enter it.
Torvald: Why is heaven always bright and white?
Anna: Because we're dinural creatures and our culture associates white with purity and good?
Torvald: Really?
Anna: Just a guess
Torvald: There's even a stairway. Who has a wheelchair in the afterlife? Is your soul really remain crippled after you die? That's pretty mean of God
Anna: Perhaps. But maybe He doesn't make the rules.
Torvald: That's bullshit. He's God.
Anna: True, but notice he doesn't interfere in our world, either.
Winter: Decour eases transition
Torvald: I suppose it is easier for our minds to comphrehend. 2001: A Space Odessy was trippy enough
Anna: And that was a work of man
Anna: She's stopped about a third of the way up, though. As if the avatar in question is hesitant
Anna: Maybe she's in a coma, and is deciding whether to remain in a coma or fall into a vegetative state.
Anna: Trying to decide whether to suffer and potentially recover to the joy of her family, or leave for her own happiness while her family languishes over whether to pull the plug or not
Torvald: You're scary sometimes.




Anna: This reminds me of Spore
Torvald: Your mom reminds me of Spore
Anna: Ha, no. In Spore, the planets are really tiny. About as big as Pluto. It's weird.
Torvald: It's a game
Anna: I mean, how do they even retain an atmosphere? How did each planet get sized to the exact same dimensions?
Torvald: Game.
Anna: Really, this house is Spore. Your species has one city and it dominates the planet. Your creatures are like epically giant.
Torvald: GAME
Winter: Reflections of reality suspend disbelief
Torvald: It's a GAME. It doesn't have to do anything. You're just supposed to have fun with it.
Torvald: Evolution doesn't work that way, but does it make Spore any less fun?
Anna: No, but it's just ridiculous.
Torvald: Have you ever played a game where anything was not ridiculous?
Anna: Yeah, I guess everything gets kind of trippy.
Anna: Like Elmo's Letter Adventure.
Torvald: That game came out when you were about 14. Why'd you get it?
Winter: Siblings offer demands against the one
Anna: I have a lot of strange stuff around.
Torvald: So, you must spend a lot of time complaining about each and every thing?
Anna: Just when it's 'in your face' like the planet thing.
Torvald: But a house inside a moon is ok?
Anna: I never said it wasn't. Just that Spore got it wrong.
Anna: I wonder how you get home here. Is it following the Jetsons?
Torvald: It's rustic, I think maybe it's hot air balloons.
Winter: Proportion consistancy enhances design
Anna: Hm?
Torvald: I think she's pointing out that the window in the moon is way bigger than the door on the house itself.
Anna: Then those laterns are pretty big, too
Torvald: Your mom is big.
Winter: Death Penalty.


Anna: Yay! We're finally done. And... oh my god, there's NOTHING here.
Torvald: Columbus would be screwed.
Anna: It's something so beautiful and yet horrifying at the same time
Winter: Horror is reality
Torvald: Dandelions are real, are they horrific?
Winter: No
Torvald: Then reality is not horror
Winter: Their seeds spread and ruin the lawn
Torvald: Is that really that horrible? Just some herbicide will cure that.
Winter: The scars of battle would remain
Torvald: What?
Winter: The poison forever seeped into the ground
Winter: Welling up in the aquifier
Winter: Children pay for the sins of the father
Torvald: It's not DDT ffs, it's just some ol' herbicide
Torvald: You're just being melodramatic now
Winter: Tragedy breeds from willful ignorance
Torvald: You know what? I'm done.
Anna: What?
Torvald: I'm not arguing with her anymore. NOT LISTENING
Winter: ...
Torvald: LA LA LAH
Winter: ...
Anna: ANYWAY, back on topic
Torvald: This was during a crash
Anna: This was during a crash
Anna: Hey, jinx!
Torvald: Jinx
Anna: Double jinx
Torvald: Triple jinx
Anna: Quad jinx
Winter: Infinite jinxes
Torvald: I'm ignoring her, so no infinite jinx
Torvald: ...
Torvald: Infinity jinx
Anna: sigh
Torvald: sigh
Anna: So, we see heaven when we die, and when we crash, we see boundless ocean
Torvald: So, we see heaven when we die, and when we crash, we see boundless ocean
Anna: ...
Torvald: ...
Anna: Ok, Ok, I get it
Torvald: Ok ok, I get it
Anna: I'm a big moron and also I like to stick prim penises in my ear
Torvald: Ew
Torvald: Way to blow it out of proportion
Winter: ...
Torvald: I was just playing with you
Anna: Well, stay on topic. Play with the topic
Torvald: I am glad you admitted to being a moron.
Anna: Torvald!
Torvald: Just playing! Jeez
Anna: Well, anyway, this is one good thing about Windlight: crashes are pretty
Torvald: It's kinda boring, actually
Torvald: Can't they rezz some ships or seagulls?
Anna: You can't if you've crashed. The definition of a crash is when you glitch out like that
Torvald: Stick something moving and interesting in the sky, then.
Winter: The dead albatross heralds bad omens
Torvald: We're not sticking dead birds in the sky. Just something to liven up the landscape.
Torvald: And I said I'm not talking to you
Winter: Ears cannot unlisten
Torvald: I hate you too
Anna: Guys! Please!
Anna: ...
Anna: oh dammit, I'm seeing the same thing in Second Life. Thanks for crashing me out
Torvald: Anytime
Winter: Death Penalty
Torvald: That wasn't a even joke!!

Well, thanks again Jurin for providing the photos. And thanks to Torvald and Winter for suffering through this post. And thanks to me for posting it.

418

Empty

As I was walking down the street one day after columns of rowhomes there was a gigantic gap in between a block. The steps leading up to it remained, but the actual building had long been demolished. Gone forever save for a few steps and two small pillars. No one pays any attention to the lonely lot over which these reminders stand guard.

No one even remembers when the street became one house poorer. Have we become so insensitive to the destruction that the memory of it fades so quickly? Perhaps they put it out of memory. It is a grim memory, after all, one which reminds us just how transitory our existence is. One day you are in the here and now, cherished and beloved. The next you are bulldozed into a grassy lot and no one glances where once you shone. Even now, as I sit down and type this, I can recall those who dropped out of high school, those who dropped out of college, those who left for out of state colleges or far flung lands and haven't called back. To me, they are something like this lot. To remember them is to think about this lot.

We all can remember the true landmarks of the land. Roman aqueducts and Greek temples still stand tall through the centuries. New York's gleaming skyscrapers stand tall as they turn seventy, some eighty years old. Even here, a growing skyline is erupting forth whose disappearance would last within memory. But this small house is lost and no one cares. It is just one in a sea of them, up and down the block for almost three miles. It is not glamorous or dignified or tall. It was just a residence, and now it is gone.

Years from now, it will eventually be noticed. And in that time, a more modern structure will replace it. It might be a new house, if the city is in need of housing stock or a private investor takes interest. Or it and its block could be absorbed into a sleek new building for the university, which is slowly encroaching to the south. And then there would be no reminders of this little place at all, nothing to trigger the memories save for this small photograph (and others, hidden elsewhere). It will not be remembered for what it once was, or what might have been, but simply a plot of land now occupied by a new science center. On the land where children might have played on the porch as their mothers spied them from inside and elderly rocked recalling the good times, and the bad times, there would now be only talk of research projects and where all the good beakers had gone and of tenure and science!

When I was a child, there was a tall tree in front of my little rowhome. It was impressively tall to a six year old, taller than any building I could see in Center City. In the summer, it would cast its shadow over the porch where one could sit and enjoy some water ice, and in the fall it served as 'base' when playing tag. Then we moved. Time passes. I went down there once. It was gone. The corner store had closed up. And the neighborhood contained its fair share of lots, of memories long since torn down. I could barely recall what some had once looked like, as a kid running down the street to school, joining the slow trickle at first, escorted by the friendly crossing guards, then the massive throng at the school.

And yet some of it was still there.

The most infuriating thing about such loss is that it is never seen. Or you never wanted to see it. You didn't want to see the haggard look on the clerk's face as he struggled to turn a profit. Or the foreclosure on the poor Chikofskis whose father was laid off. Or the city slowly pulling services out from under. The thunderstorm whose winds were just a little too strong for the weakened heartwood. Crime exciting an exodus from a neighborhood already on edge with reports each day of this shooting, that shooting. And creeping slowly as the years pass, fading in like a Polaroid (remember those??), the empty lots come into focus.

Not just a local phenomenon. Anywhere people get into stride and lose notice of the little things. A small forest where teens snuck in to cut curfew and drink alcohol bulldozed for a housing development. The pastor, sent off to a larger parish as the bishops say his flock is too small to warrant a church, the church itself locked into disuse. Dust gathers upon the head of Christ as the years pass. Dust gathers upon the head of the Virgin Mary as the homes come up and come down and soon the parishioners forget they had ever held vigils in the quaint little building. Everything fades into the background, and developers set their sights upon the holy site, prime real estate in the suburban landscape.

Even the intangible. The smell of the new car fades. The attitude changes. You get a feeling that perhaps you shouldn't be there. Something has changed, either you or it or them, but the fact remains that it has changed. There is just an indescribable sense that something that once was has changed or no longer is. Perhaps the worst, after all, there isn't any there there to pin down why. And yet it evokes the same feelings.

But the greatest loss is human loss. The loss of a fellow human is nothing compared to the material loss. The lot can be put to good use in the indeterminate future. Nothing can replace a dear friend or cherished family member. Nothing. Once that life has flickered onto the next plane of existence (or into nothingness, depending on what you believe), there's no replacing them. Except the pain, I suppose, for what it is worth.

Sometimes they are remembered throughout history. They become the organic equivalent of Greek columns or arching bridges or a small flag planted on a moon. They remain visible and stalwart through the ages long after their meaty sacks have rotten into the earth. Their names resonate through the years, sometimes with reverence and sometimes with disdain. Newton. Elizabeth I. Sun Tzu. Hitler. Just to hear the name and many can recall the lives of such people. While their presence may be gone they are not forgotten. Like the temples who remain even after most of their structure has fallen and their use abandoned, just their memory lives on.

But many, too many, are like the lot. Once gone, they are gone forever, lost to the ages. Unlike the lot, they are still felt by those left behind. But as they, too, die and fade, so does their memory. Until they are forgotten.

Wander a graveyard, and marvel at all the names of those beloved now forgotten. And like the lot, with its history hidden, one can wonder who they were. What they had dreamed, aspired to, loved, hated, regretted. All lost to time. All that is left is a name, perhaps a time span and a small epitaph, on a tombstone (which these days may be nothing more than a plaque embedded in the ground). Nothing more and nothing less. The name 'Jonathan Venti' evokes nothing in you or me. Just a label of someone who was born, lived, and died without making any waves in our universe.

I had to get up early this morning for class. There was nothing on TV except the morning news (checked the weather, then flick! Too depressing) and the History channel. The History special was on the USS Arizona. They showed the sleek white memorial, and the list of those lost inside. And I thought to myself, just who were those people? Who was Lieutenant C. T. Janz? Or Seaman C. W. Miles? Seaman first class D. J. Orr will only be known forever more as just one of a long list of names of those lost in one moment of time. I will bet even those alive today who served with them have forgotten them, either through the faultiness of memory or a wish to suppress a terrible experience. This is true of almost every memorial. Name after name, these people cease to exist and turn into objects, into a singular monument. We tend to think in the macroscopic of these people and forget the individual.

Perhaps in an attempt to unify our existence, that we shall be remembered not for what or who we are but what we contributed to or participated in?

For most of us, we become just a name in an endless list of names. Essentially forgotten. But at that one point in time, at death, it seems as if it will never fade. And yet, time marches on. We become forgotten like the empty lot. Our presence on this planet only noted by a marker. For some, there is not even that distinction. For some, they disappear completely. That is tragedy. That they should be lost with none to even mourn them is tragedy.

On the other hand, it is, perhaps, for the best that our memories fade. The pain also fades with it. Life picks up again. The seasons march on in their ceaseless parade (until the earth gets knocked out of orbit, or the sun explodes, I guess). If we spent forever lamenting what was then nothing would ever get done. We would spend forever reminiscing over what was. The past, rather than the present or future, would dominant.

Still, some remembrance would be nice. Just a little nod and notice that in this sea, this mass, of people are not just names, or an event, or a simple stone but a person. Individuals who had lives outside of their deaths. Some innocent, some guilty, but all humanity none the same. I think too often we reduce them down into an event in time, or an object on display. Just one more thing to gawk at while going about your way.

Second Life is no exception to this rule save for one regard. There is always the hope that the person on the other hand has simply forgotten about Second Life. They've moved on with their lives due to some reason. They are not gone forever. And that is one relief and a welcome difference from a dreary first life fate. The pain is still there of a loss, but there is hope that someday they will return, and then we'll all have a drink.

But there is still a pain there. Sometimes they don't come back. Then you're left out with no way of knowing (unless you've traded real life info) if they will come back. Then it mimics real life. Thousands of accounts log in, make a few friends and perhaps a few lovers, and then leave. Those who knew them grieve and then move on. Only a few remain as famous figures, names who echo across cyberspace.

One devious little trick might be someone dropping their account and making an alt. Those friends left would be sad, while that person left as an alt. Starax did this to a degree. For a while, people wondered where he had gone and mourned him as if he had died. Only he turned up later. Is he excused for pulling such a stunt? I do not know. I don't know him. It is really up to those who did know him. I do know, though, that I would be happy that he did return, in any form, even if some time later.

And what of those who create alts and never tell? That's up to them, I suppose. I met someone once who did just that. Someone found out, there was much drama. I never saw them again. If history repeats, as it does so often, they probably made a new alt account. I can only wonder why they would do so, but I am not them. I am sure their reasons are there.

Sometimes, you learn that the person on the other end is gone. That is harsh. I'm not sure how closure works then. Hold an inworld memorial? The distance between people who play Second Life is enormous in most cases (often between countries). There is no reasonable way to fly thousands of miles for someone who you have only met through a created avatar and their typings. Not unless you have the time and the money which are in short supply these days. They disappear. The most recent I can think of is Kendra, someone I never knew or met, but who must have been quite a person because the day she died every SL blog went into an uproar with an obituary. Quite a testament, and in the world of Second Life probably makes her one of the 'Greek Temples' who you hear about years later in the history books. Such as Second Life history books are, anyway.

And when you think about it, all you see of most of your friends is their typing. Just their words. Nothing more. One does not need to be a particularly good actor and most people are fairly competent writers. There's no face to read or body language to provide a tell. You could befriend, or even fall in love, with some fictitious figure who is the creation of a clever mind. I would like to think that most people would rather not open up rather than lie, but who knows? I think these would be truly unforgivable. Those I could judge. It is simply not right to manipulate and play people like that.

In a small way, you could say that the small faint hope of SL loss can be compared to spiritual beliefs in real life. There is hope that we shall see our loved ones in the afterlife, whatever it may be. The key difference is that while in SL this is sometimes outright known and occurs with regularity, in real life no one has come from beyond the grave. I think ghost stories are bull. And a belief in such demonstrates a true kind of faith to believe in such hope that has never been confirmed. It is, truth be told, very comforting. For my part, I wish it true even though the more cold and calculating part of me doubts. Perhaps wishing hard enough is the same.

In the end, a loss is a loss is a loss. There are varying kinds, from material to indeterminable to permanent human loss, but in the end it is all the same. Save for few cases, what is gone is gone forever. And while spending one's life musing about it is quite unhealthy, harmful, and a waste, it is fine on occasion to devote some small thoughts to the matter.

After all, in the end, we ourselves become another's loss.

The Island of Anna

Gentle readers, I have been most honoured on this day of days.

For today, I have discovered that there is an island in Second Life bearing my name.


Oh, that came out bad. Well, if you can't read it, click to enlarge it and rest assured that it is an Island and it is named Anna.

The Zeppelin

It was late at night and I was dozing off in Anna's Annex. It was a cool and cloudless night. The smell of my cooling coffee drifted lazily into the breeze and curled around an old flag hung in the days of optimism. From my seat on the balcony, I could see the owner turn off the lights and turn off the stove, getting ready to log off. The shop was plunged into the dark and she shooed me out the door and locked up.

So rude of her. I wandered about patio drowsily stewing over it. And that was when I was jolted to full conscienceless by a loud bang, and then a sound of crumpling. Hissing and a slow wheeze followed. I ran towards the source of the noise, fearing something worrisome. While all instinct screamed to run from the ominous din, curiosity begged me to investigate toward it.

What I found was a zeppelin, crashed into the seaside. Its silvery sheen melted into the sea, like a majestic whale breaching for breathe, beached upon the shore, gasping for breath.

I couldn't take my eyes off of it. It creaked steadily into the breeze. It was surreal, to watch such a leviathan lie helpless. It arched into the sky like a child reaching for the stars, almost in one final desperado attempt to regain its rightful place as champion in the skies. An attempt inevitably doomed to failure.


I wanted to swim across and see if anyone was trapped and in need of help. But I was scared for my own life. What if it lost its battle with gravity and the forces and collapsed completely into the water? But should I consign another soul to that fate?

In the end, I built up my courage and plunged into the chilled waters. It seemed like a long swim to the wreck, made worse by another frightful and terrible noise and a choppy wave across the waters.

Finally reaching the wreckage itself, I climbed up and onto it to discover the cause. The bow had stripped off and fallen away, crumpled down into the sea bed below. Only further evidence of the impending doom of those entrapped inside as well as myself.


What was most curious is the lack of furnishings in the vessel itself. Had they been jettisoned in a last ditch effort to maintain buoncy? Or was this blimp on its maiden voyage, one gone horribly wrong?


One thing was certain, there was no soul left in this zeppelin except for myself. It was likely that, upon discerning their fate in this dying craft, they chose to leap from it and allow it to tumble where it may. Tumble practically onto my feet.


As I struggled against the tilt of the craft towards the exit, I heard yet another dreadful sound. The sound of metal gnashing against metal and fabric rending from its steel skeleton. This sound told me the time to make my dash to safety had passed. I ran with as much speed as my body would give without failing.

And yet, as I ran towards the collapsing exit, I saw a sight that I will never forget. It was the sight of one of the steel pinions of this zeppelin, plummeting directly into my face. And then silence.

Dimitrio's Photostream

Once again, because I'm lazy I'm going to examine someone's photo stream. This week I bring you Dimitrio Lewis, who is a quiet and reserved fox armed with a camera and a neon green scarf and top hat. He probably does a multitude of things but hell if I can remember. Let's just settle that he's a great guy.

Thanks for the nightmare fuel. Honestly, after I saw this, I went to sleep and had a dream. And in this dream, this ... thing? ... came to me and questioned my entire life. This took all of four minutes. After that, I turned to 'The Dark Integral' here and said "Is that it? My entire life spans only four minutes?" Dark Integral nodded solemnly. Then I realized I had spent about a year and a half of my life playing Second Life which took up about 15 seconds of my life narrative and I started screaming and running through a giant can of Pepsi. After I woke up, I went to the fridge and got a can of Pepsi, but when I went to pop the top, Dark Integral's face appeared on the top of the can and said, "YOU CANNOT ESCAPE ME."

The shame is that Dark Integral isn't a bad person. It's just that people get scared to death that he/she/it is going to eat your soul.

The face looks like it was lifted from Egyptian hieroglyphs.

According to Dimi, an office hour was held inside of this.

I see the Borg are going for a more organic look. Too bad the tree is dead there, but I give them bonus points for trying.

Also, is it just me, or does Second Life stink at creating the illusion that an island really is an island? Take a glance at the land mass below the Cube. Island water and Void Ocean water contrast so much that it's jarring. No matter how deep you make your island's surrounding water, the linden ocean void around you will remind that you're just a speck on some server. It's a real killer on those 'tropical islands'. You try to enjoy a sunset and you have to watch this giant line across your view in the water. Windlight solves this by having light reflect off the water and blind you but the peripheral view still has that sim seam visible. Oh well.

Neon Neko. It looks like she lept out of a video game.

Once, long ago, in the middle of Linden village, there arose a temple of grand splendor that many in the lands traveled to in order to give worship to their Linden overlords. However, the mightly God of the Underheavens Nunchuck grew angry one day that his favourite television show was canceled and so in a fit of Godly rage he took the Femur and blasted the nearest object in view which just so happened to be this marvelous temple. As the fires of hell enveloped it, the people and Lindens wailed and gnashed their teeth as the land collapsed and the seas roared and raged and poured into the gigantic ornate halls and rooms, swirling around the altars in an embrace of death and watery graves. Over time, that it was a temple was forgotten and its roof, sunken into the land itself, was used as foundation for this office. The only remnants of its former glory lie in the four minarets which formerly bracketed the massive domed golden roof of the temple.

This phoenix is looking quizzically at Dimi as he took this snapshot, as if to say, "Of all the things around, you're taking a photograph of me?"

Yes, giant golden firebird of lore, we are taking a photo of you. Also, could you lite this cigarette for me? I left my lighter at home.

Look, it's an idiot! This green lantern wanna be isn't even doing his job. If you can read the board behind him, it shows the details of the meeting, which is 'ask me questions or suggestions about Knowledge Base'. In other words, "I got nothing for you guys because I spent all day playing Grand Theft Auto 4. Feel free to vent yourselves by asking me questions that I'll answer with a flaky answer which essentially punts it to another person, or a suggestion that I'll write on a note pad that I'll later throw away."

Of course, that's assuming this guy is the Linden/organizer of this office hour. If not, then it's probably one of the dull multitude who hang around these hours doing nothing but watching as actual people try to conduct business around the lag you're causing by being there. I should know because usually I am the one sitting around doing nothing. At least I'm doing it out of spite. This poor fool probably hasn't realized that he's about as useful as a sack of corn.

Oh, and if this is a Linden? I'd like to give you a small notice that any thought, however tiny, you may have that Lindens are 'superheroes' doing the grid 'good'. I think that, if anything, Lindens would be like Bizarro Superman, who try to do good in their own perverse way but always pissing everyone else off in the process.

Ah, the solitude of a forest. A place where one can feel free of civilization and the constraints of having to answer your cell phone while driving, causing you to almost run me over because you have to dig through your purse to get the phone so you can chat to your friends about Bob. This is a true story, by the way. I was almost run over by a car last week because some idiot couldn't be bothered to pay attention to the stop lights. It's a good thing I always check the street even when I have the green light or else I'd be a road sandwich for the vultures. This same woman also cut off a SUV, literally scraping the bumper (which also alerted me to Cell Phone Idiot).

I'm so glad my life is worth less to this person than a call from her boss/friend/husband/children. I also love the excuse "I had an important business call!". Oh really? That call really couldn't wait and hit voicemail? What a joke. Do you honestly think YOUR boss answers every call? I doubt it, you'd probably get his or her secretary or answering machine.

I'd like to say that's the worst of it, but it does indeed get worse than answering a cell phone while driving. When I used to drive, I used to see morons of all stripes pouring cups of coffee and eating something or other (with no hands on the wheel on an Interstate) and once I witnessed a guy getting dressed inside his car. He was buttoning his jacket, doing his tie, and checking the overhead visor mirror to inspect his shave. How did I notice this? Because this guy zoomed past me and cut me and an eighteen wheeler off, crossing three lines of somewhat heavy traffic.

Idiots.

There are no sidewalks in this picture. There is an asphalt fully paved road directly against these buildings. The caption said it was Mediterranean, but this looks more Western adobe (albeit white) to me. It appears to be high noon so maybe there is going to be a shootout around here soon, thus the lack of anyone on the streets. It couldn't possibly that most people in Second Life have an aversion to any density greater than a village, we'll keep building city environments such as Bay City until those people inhabit it!

That's about it, I've hit the end of Dimitrio's photostream. It was a pleasure writing about them. It was much easier than actually going and taking pictures of my own.