Tag Archives: collabor88

The Mystic Blue

all the manifold blue and joyous eyes

Out of the darkness, fretted sometimes in its sleeping,
Jets of sparks in fountains of blue come leaping
To sight, revealing a secret, numberless secrets keeping.

Sometimes the darkness trapped within a wheel
Runs into speed like a dream, the blue of the steel
Showing the rocking darkness now a-reel.  

And out of the invisible, streams of bright blue drops
Rain from the showery heavens, and bright blue crops
Surge from the under-dark to their ladder-tops.

And all the manifold blue and joyous eyes,
The rainbow arching over in the skies,  
New sparks of wonder opening in surprise.  

All these pure things come foam and spray of the sea  
Of Darkness abundant, which shaken mysteriously,  
Breaks into dazzle of living, as dolphins that leap from the sea
Of midnight shake it to fire, so the secret of death we see.

…D.H. Lawrence

all the manifold blue and joyous eyes

Who does not love the brisk fresh air of the seaside, the glittering waves that sparkle and catch the sunlight, scattering miniature sun sparks across the landscape. How lovely, then, that Ariskea made a floating bed for us water lovers to cast off and float away, dreaming of happy things in the sunshine and listening to the steady rhythm of the waves. Ariskea also released lotus flowers which technically prefer still fresh water, but Second Life habitats are more forgiving.

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I have loved the stars too dearly

I've Loved the Stars Too Fondly

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

Most of us have an atavistic fear of the dark. It makes sense, many animals hunt at night. While we may hunt by day, at night we are the prey. I have always loved the dark, though. During the day, the lake I grew up on would be busy with people fishing and waterskiing. I have had more than one daytime close call with a speed boat driven by reckless people who never think to look for swimmers. I loved to swim in lake at night when the boats were silenced and sleeping, put to bed for fear of being run aground in the narrow lanes between the islands. While there might be a few hundred people on the lake during the day, at night I was often the only one. Of course, it was never quiet. There were the frogs, crickets, owls, timber wolves and best of all, the loons, all competing for lead vocals in the nightly concert.

We were in the country so the moon and stars reflected and refracted in the waves. I would swim toward the ribbon of moonlight even knowing I could never catch it. I suppose it was my own brand of recklessness, swimming alone for hours among the stars, but it was magical, too. Sometimes I pulled out my canoe and paddled so i was lined up with the moon’s reflection and then jumped in, diving down to the touch the bottom of the lake which never got much deeper than forty feet. I liked the deep water where the lake bottom was made of marl rather than muck or clay. Something about swimming in utter blackness captivated me and I never felt afraid.

I've Loved the Stars Too Fondly

I miss living by the lake and going swimming. Lakes in Oregon are glacier fed and not really suitable for swimming. That has not stopped me, but in water that cold, you can’t laze about in the water and drift. You can’t lay back and let yourself sink into the inky water and pretend you are floating among the stars.

Of course, standing on Kalopsia’s broken floor is not exactly sinking into inky depths either, and I am standing, now swimming, but I am eagerly waiting for sun to set and for the evening chorus to begin. I am with cranes instead of loons and they are paper (from DDD for Collabor88), so they will be unaccountably quiet. If they could speak, however, they would rave about my adorable dress from ur.favorite.one (u.f.o.) that is at Collabor88 this month.
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Summer Slumber

I hate it when I wake up suddenly in a strange place. Sometimes I’m unsure where I am and it can be quite confusing. I had a good three days at the beach, relaxing while my typist was away but it would’ve been perfect had not storms blown in on day two. Continue reading

We Are Made of Star-Stuff

We are made of star-stuff.
“The amazing thing is that every atom in your body came from a star that exploded. And, the atoms in your left hand probably came from a different star than your right hand. It really is the most poetic thing I know about physics: You are all stardust. You couldn’t be here if stars hadn’t exploded, because the elements – the carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, iron, all the things that matter for evolution – weren’t created at the beginning of time. They were created in the nuclear furnaces of stars, and the only way they could get into your body is if those stars were kind enough to explode. So, forget Jesus. The stars died so that you could be here today.”

― Lawrence M. Krauss, A Universe from Nothing: Why There Is Something Rather Than Nothing
We are made of star-stuff.

Carl Sagan said we are all star-stuff and shooting these pictures for this post made me think of him. The keke glitter constellations and the anc. mist clouds made me think of galaxies and nebulae. The windswept magical dreaminess of the Papillon dress from Moon Amore only added to that. It comes with a color change hud that allows wearers to choose colors for the bodice, skirt and embellishments. This particulate texture has a field of clouds that inspired the direction I took with the shoot. The fluttering of butterflies are optional. You can wear the skirt with no butterflies, with just the butterflies on the skirt or with the long kite tail of butterflies. As you can see, I went for maximum butterfly. The outfit also comes with a gift of balloons, but left them out. The balloons come in a range of pastel colors to coordinate with the dress.
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Hold Fast to Dreams

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Langston Hughes, one of America’s greatest poets, wrote that we must “hold fast to dreams” for if they die, life is like a bird who has broken wings and cannot fly. When dreams go, he wrote, “Life is a barren field frozen with snow.” I think this is an important truth that we must all hold onto. Dreams animate us. They keep us from drifting into a stagnant contentment. Chuck Palahniuk wrote “Let me never be content.”

Sometimes people stop seeking happiness, settling for contentment. I think contentment is a trap. It is a yield sign on life’s highway. That’s where dreams come in. Unlike goals, they need not be realistic, they can be far-fetched, but they can set a framework for realistic goals that guide us toward self-fulfillment and happiness.

It is more important to have dreams than to achieve them. Hope is more powerful than success and hope is what dreams are made of.
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On My Own

My typist seems to have remembered her place and has been more attentive in the past 24 hours. I appreciate it, as I’m a bit beholden to her to get very basic things done, like opening my inventory, going places, chatting with friends. She logs out and I’m trapped where she left me. There have been times that this wasn’t pretty. Continue reading

Come On Let’s Go !

Come on Pixel Gidge, Let’s go out.

“No,” she answers. “YOU LEFT ME HERE! YOU PROMISED WE WOULD GO OUT AND WE DIDN’T GO OUT YOU LEFT ME HERE ALL NIGHT.”

Hey, I changed your clothes and hair, and I did your nails. I even moved your bed in off the water, what’s wrong? Don’t you want to get out today? 

“You left me here,” she pouts. “YOU PROMISED TO COME BACK YESTERDAY!”

Her typist sighs, Yes I know but RL happened. But I’m here now. Don’t you want to go out and do something? Continue reading

The Blogger That Time Forgot

Pixel Gidge’s typist has been stuck in the real life. That means that pixel Gidge is meandering around her house, left to her own devices, in a black hole of meaningless time, where no group notices or shopping adverts come through.

Can you imagine? Yesterday she brought up Seraphim AND Eloquence THREE times, each time getting ragey and annoyed with them, as there was NO Fifty Linden Friday listing. What was wrong with them? WHY WASN’T IT UP! When it wasn’t up at bedtime, that’s when pixel Gidge realized it might not be Friday. Continue reading

That shirt

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That shirt! You know the one I mean. We all have one. The shirt we have owned since forever, that repeated washings and years of wear have softened the fabric to a perfect level of comfort. It is the adult equivalent of a blankie. A shirt that ends up in every load of laundry because after a hard day, we put it on the minute we get home, as though putting on a hug. We have forgotten to turn it inside out a few hundred times and the fabric is pilling and snags are visible here and there, but we don’t care. It is our favorite shirt and we will keep it until it falls apart on our body.

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Whatever sizing and substance the fabric once held is gone. It conforms to our body like a second skin, a cozy, comfy, second skin that says “You’re good enough. You’re smart enough. And doggone it, people like you.” We have that shirt in our first lives, but now we can have it in our second as well, thanks to Vinyl’s Little Toast (sukoshitosuto) and any doubts whether this distress and well-worn look was not deliberate can be dispelled with a look at some of the other options on the texture hud.

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Yup, that’s deliberate.
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