Hanging in There


Giving Feels Empty a tour of Roche

Giving Feels Empty a tour of Roche

Real life as well as online has been more busy than ever. I had no idea that MU would take so much time and I’m going to have to cut back my social media regarding it. It’s a choice between that and actually getting something done.

It’s odd that it’s presented as being immersive as we walk around and communicate face to face but more and more it seems to be pulling me into the website and Slack, another online communication place for us to collaborate on projects.mu 2No one seemed to think I looked like a dude in my drawing.   There was no way I had time to do it over and there’s another one due Monday, another self-portrait at a different angle.

I filled out a survey about MU for the proposal of a continuation. It’s a great idea but I’m not sure who is going to be willing to be administration. 

Elle and I at Silent Tai Chi on Sunday evening

Elle and I at Silent Tai Chi on Sunday evening

I’m taking the online writing course that Elle mentioned on MU Talk. I really like it so far but am spending more time than the instructors suggested it would take.

Newton, Feels Empty and me

Newton, Feels Empty and me

I gave a friend feedback as she hung her photos at the Chelsea Hotel. There’s to be an exhibition through May. The opening is on Saturday but I have a real life commitment. I want to cover it for my main blog as well as covering other things that are piling up.

This week I’ve been focusing on Fantasy Faire which will be over Sunday evening.

And I still have my Story Board project. I’ll post a link on MU Talk to this blog so people can read the five excellent submissions I got and then I’ll prepare the pictures for next week. I want to use the photo above as the final picture in this next series.

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Veyot gave us each a flower to texture (just the petal part) and this is mine. She is going to make a spring wreath out of them. A fun and short project for me!


New Building Platform

osgrid_001I’m still slowly learning to build. This is the build platform on an OSGrid region. Someone made it for me and gave me a few pieces to texture or copy and link.osg_001This is what it ended up looking like and this is where I stopped. I started making a few things on the top and I doubt I’ll ever get around to finishing the structure of it.

Diary of Miss Pearl Grey ~ January 17, 1891

January 17, 1891

The winter season is upon us and my moods often match the dark and frosty depths of it. There are random bursts of bright flames and a low but steady fire to comfort me as I retreat to gather strength. For company I have my books, my beginning relationships with the lavender, mint and ginger and the welfare and training of my adopted raven whom I’ve named Lucas.

One of the brilliant sparks of flame appeared as I was sitting in Underhill with Miss Winter and she made mention of the Goddess. A flood of warmth and recognition washed over me–she is the same as the Lady who watched over me as a gypsy child, playing in the outdoors–I was known to her as her “little otter” then. Feeling abandoned during the drudgery of the orphanage years, I now realize she is with me always, if sometime in very subtle ways.

My comfort and happiness are also replenished by my inclusion in the Wardark Clan. I care not for the misunderstandings and opinions of that freely made choice nor do I care for the details about females sniffing about him. The man is a Devil after all and my eyes are open.

With relief, I’ve resigned two of my employment positions–the ones serving the public–at Underhill Social Club and the restaurant and bar area of Adra’s Emporium. What a grand waste of my time attempting to get to know members of the public has been. Sunday evening was the last straw. IMPORTANT PEOPLE came in and the male seemed to be making a bit of a fuss. As usual, this flustered me but inside I was screaming–“Oh for fuck’s sake use your brain as I’ve had to do as a newcomer to London, in need of care at the hospital or assistance from the Constables. Everything was a struggle–have you really become so pompous and lazy?”

The evening became even more unpleasant as a bizarre couple from the other end of the spectrum arrived. Babbling insanely, they proceeded to become offended at nearly everything. Without bothering to learn that I’m actually from the Roma peoples in Southern France and Miss Pandora is from—I forget where at the moment–they were venting about the treatment of the Irish by the English. No matter how graciously I attempted to assist them, they appeared steeped in paranoia and confusion. Odd terms like “babe” and racist tramp” the likes of which I’ve never heard were thrown about. Feeling compassion for their social ineptness, I remained tolerant in manner long past what I felt was acceptable. Then it dawned on me–they were totally unaware of who I was, standing before them, so deep were their minds into their own excrement.

After crossing off “serving the public” as acceptable activity for London, I soon crossed “involvement in politics” off the list. On Sunday, my dear Adra, was called away for matters of responsibility and was unable to attend the announcement of the election results. This was called out to attention in a newspaper inclusion by another candidate. I’ve now begun to doubt the suitability of this candidate, someone whom I’ve admired and liked. This, after a public calling out last week of the Doctor–being called a coward for choosing her own matters of responsibility over the demands of someone to meet. Just who are these people to publicly criticize those who obviously have other duties they aspire to attend to? I fear politics in this city is so much horse dung and brings out lower qualities in people. I attempt to appear interested when Adra passionately goes on about it and while admiring his enthusiasm it hurts my heart to suspect he’ll find disappointment. This Mayorial position is surely somewhat like a sow’s ear and not at all as a silk purse.

I’ve received several remarks to my face, from a few who seem to notice me, that I have wisdom and poise beyond my young, human years. Hah! If they could only see some of the moments I’ve had. It’s true that I have this one human life, but I also have flashes of understanding from my soul—the soul who has put fragments of us into many lifeforms on many planes in many timelines. The fact that much of the purpose of this particular life is to insert vibrations of possibilities from the future shall remain unknown as rarely does anyone delve deeper than the surface with me. It also helps me avoid the likely questioning as to the fashions, foods, dances, states of magic and implements of machinery of the future–as though the transitory flash and form is what is of importance.

The Lady communes with me by my hearth and I’ve advanced from “little otter” to “poppy flower.”
She’s shown me the balance of the poppy–between delicacy and hardiness–and also it’s vibrant display.. Like the poppy seed, I’ve endured drought and freezing, seasons of change in order to even sprout. And like the poppy I can bloom with nurturing, sunlight, patience and time. This I can provide from her and my own self, in spite of the dearth of such conditions in London. My free spirit is my blessing, not my curse.

Work Work Work

work 4_23_003

I have a fever and have been sneezing and sniffling all day. There are lots of things I want to do but don’t have the energy. My apartment is a mess.

But I got some things done for MU even though there are more on my list. Above is the addition I’m making to the BAOC award which I’m to pass on to someone else on Saturday. I’ve drawn a compass. I’m waiting for permission to hand it over to someone. If they say no, the next person is getting the compass.

I can understand why they might say no.

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My sky platform didn’t have enough prim allowance left to link what I’ve done and the angled way things are at my studio was too challenging for me so I went to a sandbox. I attracted an audience but everyone left me alone.work 4_23_002

I spent hours and hours on my drawing for class, about five I think. The teacher wants me, or us, to spend more time on them but I don’t think it improves my work. I think practice will. I can’t even see all the lines I’ve drawn into this after it’s been uploaded and rezzed inworld. I hope I don’t have to quit the class.

By the way it’s supposed to be a self-portrait. It doesn’t look like me. I am taller, my face is thinner, my hair is darker and I’m definitely a woman. So it’s a drawing of a human in a virtual studio.work 4_23_001

For the Time project on Sunday, I wrote a haiku for three photographs I connected. They’re sitting outside my studio now.

I need to get some rest.

Drinking and Drawing

Snapshot_002Monday evening I went to drawing class again. We had four drawings to view plus the pieces that Van Caerndow  showed. Above is the amazing drawing that Trilby did. We were to draw our avatar.Snapshot_001The face on the left is my drawing, the one on the right is by Oona.

There were several other drawings but I had trouble taking pictures. We had visitors too.


My drawing. I have 32 or 36 pencils now.

This Week

boac_002There’s a trophy we pass around at MU. The recipient has it for a week and then chooses who to give it to next. They add something for the next learner and write why. Veyot gave it to me on Saturday and added a pencil.boac_001A close up showing a pencil.sailing_001Paypabak Writer took us sailing on her boat Saturday.sailing_002It was fun and we made the sim crossings fine. sailing_003It’s been a while since I tried to steer something myself across the sea.


Story Board April 15 – 30 Story by Astrid Rimbaud


With hands held tightly behind her back, she stared longingly into the giant crystal ball, as she had so many times before. But this time it was different; different with his words hanging over her head; different because this time she was afraid.

“Oh crystal ball, what is my fortune? What is next for me?’


She held her breath as the ball slipped away and prepared to reveal the feared answer.


Then an image appeared, an image of a cross tombstone. Death. The answer was death.


As she slumped lifelessly into the arms of the couch, she placed her hands over her heart and breathed heavily, terrified; his words still hanging over her. “What must I do?” She called out, shakily. “How can I prevent this fate?”

“You cannot,” a voice boomed. “Death is the fate of everyone. And we are not in control of your fate, only of showing you what will be.”

“But it cannot be! Not now! Not when there are so many questions left unanswered.” She rose slowly and walked to the corner of the room from where the voice was emanating.
“Tell me,’ she demanded. “I know there is a way. I beg of you.”

“If you want to live, there is one way. You must come to our side. You must be one of us, you must -”

“Yes okay I will do it, I will do whatever you want!”

“You must murder him.”

Astonished, she began to shout. “Him? Him who?”

“Him,” the voice repeated and a slow fog rose up around the image of her beloved.

“No, I will not! I would never!”


“But you will. We’ve placed on your head a device. It is attached to your central nervous system. You make any move contrary to what we tell you, you will be struck with immense pain. You make so much as a thought to disobey, you will be hit with an electric shock so debilitating you will wish you had accepted your fate.”

“But-,” before the word was uttered, she was trembling in pain to her knees.

“You see. This is what you will do. How silly of you to think that you could cheat death. Someone must die, that is the order of things. You pleaded for your life. And so he must take your place. They require a soul and we will not deny them. For there are consequences.”