She wanders out of the thump and growl of the club, out into the thick night painted with gleaming crimson lines.  She looks up… up… into the great black vastness above, at the dim twinkle of tiny jewels piercing the sordid haze.

The feathers rustle like little twists of wind as her wings unfold.  She leaps–

– or was she pushed?

You have heard that strange, grinding sound before.  When the big blue box appears, you are hardly surprised, except that one has not been seen in this part of the forest.  Still, there it is, and there is the lady you recognize: the banshee, the muse, lurching from the blue doors to a tree stump, her long hair curly and tangling in her haste.  She thrusts one pale hand into the stump, pulls out a little leather tome, then scribbles in it, with phoenix feather and ink that gleams violet black.  She replaces the book, then dives back into the blue box… but not before catching your eye, and flashing you a little mischievous smile.

The blue box makes those sounds again, like exhausted machinery grinding Time under its wheels.  And then they are both gone.

But the tree stump remains, with its’ hidden prize…

Sometimes a girl just has to escape for awhile.

I’d been staring entranced at the flashing coloured lights on the console when like a flash, I understood their language, and how to operate the ship.  Bits of it.

I need out of this place, this era, for awhile.  I need a reset.  I’m sure Oolon won’t mind me dropping myself off… especially if he doesn’t find out.

And once I’m there, I should be able to find my way home naturally.  Of course if I can’t, you’ll know why…

She muttered, “Go away.  I am wrestling with my Muse, and losing.”

and the cad exclaimed, “Girl fight!”

The Lady is elegantly clad in crimson hearts and black wings, and her long hair has come down again. She is using the twisted point of one purple ringlet to follow along, and ultimately punctuate, the passage which she reads. But its end never comes, as the curl loops back and back and back, over and over and over again, as she reads the words in a circle, a spiral. The curl is flattened into a bookmark as she shuts it inside the book and reaches for another.

There are many others, many more books around her, in stacks and making shelves of themselves, some piled neatly, many more in passionate disarray over her spread skirts, their open faces gleaming up at the night sky, their tired spines like the backs of old beasts… look, you can see the rise and fall as that one breathes, sleeps. They are tangled up with pillows and dulled quillfeathers, emptied winebottles, hatboxes spilling forth erotic sienna smiles, long scarves of silk and thin straps of leather and in every corner, lace, like spiderwebs.

Kahlil Gibran and Buddha and Schopenhauer and Plato and Hallmark and Victor Anderson and Robert Heinlein and others silently state their opinions and carefully share their hearts to whomever might let their eyes alight on the words printed there, naked in the moonlight. They might fight or they might kiss, if they could climb up now out of their own words.

The Lady’s heart is light and joyous… listen, she is singing softly… singing, not that Love is easy, but that it is a beautiful struggle towards the perfect union with another soul. Singing of the profoundly simple joy of celebrating the beloved.

And that smile. Ah, that is satisfaction, her lips must be sweet with it, still. She turns her eyes to you, and they shine like stars –

May Love’s blade strike you true, my friends. May the pleasure of it rekindle your cooling fires, and the pain of it strengthen your resolve to thrive. May you always be wise and know it is not meant to be easy, or pretty, every day. May you never mistake drama for passion. May you and yours encourage the very best in each other.

May your Love be True.

The night is dark. Aren’t they all? The silent Muse sits on frozen earth, peering into a box full of lights in her lap. She looks up at your approach, face a pale wan moon. Silent, eyes showing whirling, unquiet thoughts. Her fingers are stained with ink, but she will not let you read the words on the stacked pages under her knee, no, not yet. She tilts the box, however… she shows you this…

The Dumb Man from Lainy Voom on Vimeo.

(Thank you, Lady Eva, for sharing this.)

A handbill tumbles along in the chill winter wind and brushes past your feet. You pick it up…

DO YOU WANT TO BE IN MOVING PICTURES?
Have you got “the Look”? You could be a star!

CALEDON STUDIOS CASTING CALL JANUARY 2008

We are seeking various talented actors and actresses for several upcoming short machinema pieces, to be filmed entirely within SLife.

All those wishing to audition, please submit to me an inworld notecard containing the following:

~ Avatar Name
~ List of avatar look(s) you are particularly proud of. (i.e., human styles such as ingenue, amazon, superhero, gentleman adventurer, as well as non-human styles, such as tiny, robot or furry)
~ Descriptions of what makes this avatar look and move well (costuming, animations, etc.)
~ A snapshot or three if you wish (appreciated but not required. Please embed within the notecard.)
~ A description of your talents and experience relevant to SL film-making. Experience is not required, but we wish to know why you think you would perform well as one of our star actors.

Please send your application to audition to me as soon as possible so that we might bring you in for an interview. Do feel free to direct any questions to me by IM (or notecard if I am offline).

I’ll see you on the silver screen!

Darkling Elytis, Lady Speirling
Casting Director: Caledon Studios, Caledon Penzance

The Lady sits in the circle of the fire’s warmth, staring blankly into it. She has Things to Inspire Healing gathered in a basket beside her, ready for The Right Time. She is always waiting for that time. She hears you near, and speaks, but her eyes never stray from the dancing flames.

“Let me tell yeh a story, one that is not about you or I, … if yeh will listen.  It is not a pleasant tale… “

This is the story of Inanna visiting Erishkigal, as it was told me, many years ago…

They were sisters, Goddesses, in a land harsh enough that the people had ample evidence that the Gods were not kind, at least not for kindness’s sake alone.

Inanna was Goddess of passion, of love, fertility, warfare, the Queen of Heaven. You may have heard Her called Ishtar. Erishkigal was Goddess of the Underworld, with Her husband; it was said Her hands were the talons of birds, and Her head and shoulders that of a lioness. You may have heard Her called Irkalla.

Inanna received word that Her sister’s husband had died. Wishing to assist Erishkigal through Her grief, Inanna told Her own husband, Dumuzi, that She would be going to visit Her. He cautioned Her, reminding Her how dangerous a road and place it was, but Inanna, the Queen of Passion, was insistent. She dressed in Her finery, and set out.

The road was long, and hard, and took longer than expected. Dumuzi would assume Inanna dead, and throw a mourning party. But She would not learn of that until much later.

In the dark tunnel leading into the Underworld, Inanna came to a guarded gate. The guards told Her, You may not pass this gate with Your fine jewelry. So She removed them, leaving them there, and travelled on.

After a long, cold stretch, Inanna came to another gate. The guards there told Her, You may not pass this gate with Your fine gown and sandals. So she removed them, too, and travelled on.

After a walk through long passages of sharp stones, Inanna arrived at the final gate into the Underworld. The guards there stopped Her, and would not allow Her to pass, unless She give up Her crown of stars. This the Queen of Heaven did, and stepped into the Underworld with nothing, nothing.

Inanna found her sister alone upon Her throne: slumped, despondent with grief. Inanna said, I am here, sister, to soothe You, but Erishkigal did not stir or raise Her eyes. When Inanna came close, the Queen of the Underworld’s great talons seized her by her soft shoulders, spun her round, and impaled her upon a great spike set into the wall.

The Queen of Heaven remained hanging there, undying, her breast pierced by a great metal spike, as her sister returned to Her throne, and Her grief.

words penned in a quick but agile hand…

I promised myself, upon starting this journal, that I would not make certain mistakes. One of those being not to let the act of recording Life interfere with Living it.

So. I’ve been busy. Joyous, and truly appreciating how very, very blessed I am.

To write anything more, ‘twould be mere details. And there’s so much more living yet to do…

Shhh… she’s still asleep… but the photographes tell the tale…

Winterfell-Caledon Winter Solstice Ball - 15 December

What a great and glorious affair! Tonight we celebrated the season. We: Caledon, and our northern neighbors, Winterfell. Together, we are the Realm of the Roses. There is nothing between our great nations now but calm waters.

The Seneschal of Winterfell, Miss Serra Anansi, the Dark Lady of the North, and the Duchess of Caledon Carntaigh, Miss Gabrielle Riel, the Nightengale, brought us together for a beautiful, revelrous night…

I, along with many other of the ladies of our beautiful nations, had been planning my outfit with great gleeful anticipation. Why, my dress was so perfectly suited to the event, I was a bit concerned some other poor lady would show up wearing the same thing… and shame herself, as none could possibly have looked as fine as I… hah!

The Great Winterfell Hall - Alas, that it could not handle the over 75 guests without crashing… very, very hard. Miss Serra told us later that she had to have a Linden restart the sim on a different server! We should be proud…

~~~~~

The Party Quickly Relocated to Cape Wrath, Caledon - A perfect place to relocate, as the recent appearance of Cape Wrath is the final piece linking our two nations together.

~~~~~

Lady Darkling, Marquise of West Speirling Isle - Many were having difficulty with lag, even in this pristine place. So I removed my prim shoes and skirt to lessen my own contribution to the load. Oi! If there’s any point to being an aristocrat, it’s to flaunt the rules of social convention… with style.

~~~~~

Dancing with the Sweet Dark Lady of the North - Miss Serra

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Dancing with the gentlemanly JJ Drinkwater, Director of the Caledon Library, Knight Commander of the Library Militant

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Mister Aberdon Enigma and Lady Gabrielle

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Mister Podruly Peccable & Miss Kiralette Kelley - the Gentleman Fox and the Kitten, a snowfall vision in white.

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Miss Terry Lightfoot & Mister Oolon Sputnik - Do not ask him why the Time Lord was so late.

~~~~~

Miss Cornelia Rothschild, Caledon’s darling clockwork girl, as always looking adorable. Miss Cornelia is quite a bit stronger than she looks, and gave me the best laugh in an evening already filled with mirth. Do not get on this sweetling’s bad side. As she has said, she can “end you with one arm.” Of course it was all a little dance card misunderstanding and quickly cleared up, wasn’t it dearies? Rumours of her “donning black robes and studying the dark arts” at my feet are… quite amusing, are they not?

~~~~~

the Yule Tree - On the shores of Caledon, with Winterfell visible in the distance. Long live our joyous alliance!

Shhh… the Lady is deeply asleep (read: passed out) on the couch of dark leather, with a soft satisfied smile on her face. There are the mingled scents of snow and roses and champagne in the room, and photographes spread all over the floor. Clearly, it has been a good weekend…

Caledon Studios Opening Party - 14 December

Ohhh it was a great and glorious party! I would estimate we had about 100 people show up, cresting at about 50 at once. Lady Gabrielle’s music was nothing short of inspirational, playing joyous and danceable movie music from the earliest years of the silver screen, just up into the modern era. No one perished from raygun fire.

(photographes by Oolon Sputnik)

Oolon Takes Shots of the Crowd - No no no not at the crowd.

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Dancing with the Old Man

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Me (in a rare Twiggy bob), dancing with Miss Achariya