Second Life

There is another process shaping these islands
where you have to begin with a stretch (as in
that’s a stretch), and New England was once
much bigger, the tropics had much more water,
but the water doesn’t sunder the land from itself,
is stormless and without any power. All it can do
is hug these islands and coasts and sometimes
change color as it listens only to this other
thing at work, arranging and arranging,
all the while building theories of synecdoche
for dock, breaker, beach that seem to split the shore.
That breeze that fills your sail and carries you.
Those docks where the other boats moor.
These sentences from deep inside the other
thing that carry you past the shore.

I made some prints that you can download and put up on the walls of your house.

Drapes (potato print)

Tupi Mountain House (pencil and gauche)

Tupi c. 1939 (photographer unknown)

Washy summer (engraving)

Self portrait (digital print)

Well, I was gone for a while. I acted really crazy, bitchy, cryptic, angry with everyone I knew, and one night, I did myself in by pushing the cancel account button — poof, I was gone, everything: the winter palace, the garden skybox, my face, everything I was wearing, my airplanes, my fancy tennis shoes, my robot Minerva.  I was drinking a lot virtual gin, then, and it made me totally insane. Life went on as usual in the land of real picnic tables and highways, of course, but I missed myself. Over the course of my time here, I managed to send off for a few prints of my better snap shots. I framed them and put them up on my real walls. I’d look at those pictures, missing myself, missing the place I’d spent so many hours wandering through. One day, I decided to see if they would let me back in. They had me set up in under 24 hours. I logged in, and there I was, exactly as I had been at the moment of my death. I looked in my suitcase. Everything was there, all the trees, houses, dresses. It seems as though no one really dies here; they just wind up in some deep database coma.

The first thing I did was to set up a little squat in the snowlands. It’s a lot more humble than my previous place, but I like it. I have a cabin, a chair, a futon, and a rug. There are some struggling pine trees in the front lawn. I’m going to try to get the fireplace working soon, because it’s getting pretty cold as we move into winter, and I have a few extra prims for a few more rugs. It’s not too far from where I lived before and it isn’t far from the train, so the location is perfect. I’ll see how long it lasts.


After I got set up, I walked down the hill and caught the train. When I reached the end of the line, I just kept walking, all the way up through Sansera, through the channel on the ferry, and all the way around the Atoll. For days I walked. The first thing I did here when I arrived here in 2007 was to walk the railroad tracks. I wanted to do that again. Walking here is so meditative and orienting. I wanted to get back to that original moment and think about it. As I walked, I asked myself for something to do here. Those who have died and come back often need something to do.

I took some pictures along the way. The mainland is different now, more emptied out, more spacious, more peaceful but a little sad in an autumn kind of way. Places I once knew to be thriving were almost totally empty. Still, some sims remain green and alive. It feels like walking at the end of the world. It’s exciting. I’m glad the Lindens kept me on ice while I was gone.

Purc and I rode a Phoebe to the top of Risoul and took a bunch of pictures.

sky life

sky life

I’m trying to learn how to do runway landings, so I practiced at Snoodpoort.


Did some writing about sky boxes, and thought about the Selene. Just tonight, I realized that the wires hanging down from the fuselage are what gather static electricity from the clouds.


Walked around Bay City. I hadn’t been there in a while.

bay city skyline

That’s it.

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There’s a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one,
And they’re all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

Little boxes

On the hillside

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