September 3, 1960, another dimension ….
“Radio’s off; good … not that it was of much use anyway. And the water and air pumps are shut off, too ….”
“I suppose I should shut the doors. At least Ma would have said to do that; but nobody else is coming down here any more, so I’ll leave ’em for the critters to borrow.”
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Day after day, I’m more confused
Yet I look for the light through the pourin’ rain
You know that’s a game that I hate to loose
And I’m feelin’ the strain, ain’t it a shame
Not just 1 of us, but 4; turn the page ….Oh, give me the beat boys and free my soul
I wanna get lost in your rock ‘n’ roll and drift away
Oh, give me the beat boys and free my soul
I wanna get lost in your rock ‘n’ roll and drift away
It is said by the Eldar that in water there lives yet the echo of the Music of the Ainur more than in any substance that is in this Earth; and many of the Children of Ilúvatar hearken still unsated to the voices of the Sea, and yet know not for what they listen.
J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion
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A bad link led me to this piece of parkland where a club should have been. The club is no more, but the island remains, lovingly landscaped now by someone, set with statues and a wandering path. I stayed long enough to shoot a few photos, but I won’t share the landmark, as I think it’s private property, and I don’t want my mistake to be bringing lots of people descending on the homeowner’s little paradise.
I had a party in mind, some rock ‘n roll for the night, and so I climbed into a brand new pantsuit by Rapture. (Members of the store group are getting a discount for a while, so check it out soon!) It’s available in quite a few colors, but a party deserves some shine, and Rapture’s materials treatment certainly supplies that here. This jump suit shines as much as afternoon sun off the water of a lake or river ….
Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can’t go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does.
Margaret Atwood, The Penelopiad
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I’m wearing:
How long shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart …?
Psalm 13:2, King James Version
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An open letter to the lawmakers of the United States of America:
You are accused, and stand convicted in our eyes, of moral cowardice and of shirking your responsibility to govern this country for the good of its citizens.
We the people you are supposed to work for … something you seem to have forgotten … stand aghast before you on the day following not just one, but two more mass shootings.
We see the blood beginning to paint our streets with greater frequency, but we see nothing of substance done to stem or reverse the flow. All we detect are the pious, if not sanctimonious, expressions of sympathy to the families of the victims, and the accusations of each political side against the other before microphones and cameras. You are again revealed as hollow, shallow and venal, spouting words of intent, and yet bowing before the money of the National Rifle Association and its antiquated idea of “gun owners’ rights.”
None of your empty posturing and “profound sympathy” and calls for prayers and support will drown out the anguished wails of the parents and families of the dead and wounded. Neither will it silence the angry cries of the ghosts whose once-living blood now soaks our soil … blood that itself accuses you of immobility on solving the problem, and of corruption of moral intent. You have lost even the remotest knowledge of what constitutes good government … if, indeed, such has ever been your intent.
In a country where you so often invoke faith and “family values” to bolster your images, we more and more hear instead the words of Thénardier from the sewers of the musical Les Misérables:
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It’s a world where the dogs eat the dogs
Where they kill for the bones in the street
And God in his heaven
He don’t interfere
Because he’s dead as the stiffs at me feet
I raise my eyes to see the heavens
And only the moon looks down
The harvest moon shines down!
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The only thing that keeps us from surrendering to that philosophy is our faith in a God or deity that does care for us … seemingly more than the people we constantly and mistakenly elect to hold temporal power.
We tell you now, you shall listen to the cries of both us and our children — in our lives, in our beds, in the graves you have helped dig with your own bloody hands — and you shall find a way to right the vast wrong you have done in the name of power and greed. If you don’t, then the future you create, whether it lies far away or just around the corner, will fall at your feet; and it may be a future all of us wish to avoid.
The blame will be another matter. That must be shared by us all ….
Easy Street is the place most of us … especially the ones who live paycheck to paycheck … dream of landing on, as did our parents and grandparents. Here in Second Life, Easy Street is easier to find; one place is a group of sims that includes Casablanca Bay.
Jumo came out with a gown a few weeks ago that would be perfect for anyone living on Easy Street in RL. I missed blogging about it while it was at the May round of Sense; but it has made it to June’s store, and can be picked up there.
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I’m wearing:
Like love, breakfast is best when made at home.
Gina Barreca
I wasn’t planning on writing again so soon; but events kind of bumped my schedule up a bit, as I thought I’d share this bump in my Second Life with everyone.
Now I know a little … just a little … how Harper felt when she went through a bunch of moves some years back. The sudden pulling of the rug from under your elegantly-shod feet at the general notice from the landlord, followed by the scramble to pack up everything you’ve laid out just so; and then the hunt to find somewhere else to lay your stuff back down, within both your budget and your land impact needs. And then, of course, the discovery of stuff you missed by the old landlord; with luck, you’ll get them back when they clear remaining objects off the sim.
Well, the bad news is that that’s what happened to me on Monday. (To Diana, too, since she shares digs with me.)
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My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Sister Gatling Gun of Love and Mercy.
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