Wednesday, February 29, 2012

"Starry starry night..."

A starry night, a Victorian steampunk Jedi, am i painting sunrises, or sunsets? Are the goosebumps from the chill?

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Dolls dreaming of dreaming

 Sitting among my doll friends, drinking oil (we pretend it is tea) and chatting, we began singing this song by The Reborn Identity- a mix of Sarah Maclachlan and The movie, The Elephant man. it is called, "The Elephant Connection"
  Notice this stanza- if you woke to find yourself not quite a person, clockwork,  Persona non Persona, this would sound a bit like your prayers, to your creator.
   I wonder, does it sound like yours, too?

Have you been half asleep and have you heard voices?
I've heard them calling my name.
Is this the sweet sound that calls the young sailors?
The voice might be one and the same.
I've heard it too many times to ignore it
It's something that I'm supposed to be.
Someday well find it, the rainbow connection.
The lovers, the dreamers, and me.






It's no surprise that the song was originally written for and performed by the Muppets, a band of misfit personalities controlled by other beings.

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Chicago 1920s, Crooners Guys and Dolls

Fiume Club, packed! Modern dress acceptible, great live singers! me far right at bar

   Sometimes a doll needs to trim her hair into a bob, wriggle into a slinky dress or a mini with fringe, rouge your knees, roll your stockings down, and all that jazz!
   Shep and Starla's Fiume Club was packed, parking was blocked down to the bridge over the Chicago River, dozens of scary, beefy men in suits, protecting the cars of their bosses. You get used to getting cat calls and whistles, its a comforting reaffirmation sometimes. But these bruisers just stare, quiet, and so serious,,, my Florsheims made great time, and quickly plopped on a stool. Franky recognized me at once, handing me my coconut rum.
Matt420, the guy dresses sooo swell! but the quiet type, and not a dancer, i guess.

The room was full of the Chicago elite- showgirls, top businessmen and women, and gangsters with piercing eyes and silk scarves.
Crooner Carlucci, excellent singer! jdepoy and augusta, left, debbie standing, Shep and Starla owners, center
The crooner was funny, worked the crowd well, and boy did he have a set of pipes! The kind of smooth, deep voice you dream of hearing, with the lights off.  I had never considered that my Prince might be a singer, but why not? I moved forward with my drink. I noticed many people in the club were wearing clothes of modern day, or lingerie, or less. It would be easier for me to pop in wearing clothes from any of the other Roleplay sims I attend, than making an effort to be historically correct, but it detracts from the charm of the place- it may as well be any other club in this Second Life then, right? So I slinked up and asked Shep, if  it was now allowed to wear modern clothing. He shouted in the Gorean manner (all caps), that all mode of dress was acceptible, and across the river in the roleplay area, they request 1920s clothing. Most RP areas make the dress mandatory, after a period of time to gather what you need. They offer freebie suits and dresses, so why not? But I am just a doll, and he seemed in a bad mood. Missing one night at Bea's as her cigarette sales girl got me defriended, i did not want kicked out of both clubs there. I stood quietly, tipping the great singer.
Crooner Carlucci, great live room performer!
The room shuffled around nervously waiting for the next singer. Harry Frychester stepped up then, in his Frank Sinatra grey suit and hat. He looked very charming, though I found myself more drawn to the men in silk suits and gold jewelry. I said hi weakly to a couple people, nothing really sparking. Everyone had come with their friends, it was a very loud and happy atmosphere! It got even more rowdy when Harry began to sing.
Harry, singing, his friends beside me including Master Oakleaf in leather beside me
      I have seen Harry all over SL, a glance at the Events list on any night will usually pop his name. he struggles on some Michael Buble tunes but when he hits his element, his voice transports you, and he is fun to listen to! There was a few crash problems, but he joked and weathered it well. It must be so upsetting to be performing and crash! He was a true professional. He brought a crowd of friends that like his music, too. now the club was past the Fire marshal's legal limit for the club, and I felt dizzy, and very laggy. Then one of Harry's friends turned to me and asked me to dance!
Master Oakleaf and me
We exchanged pleasant conversation, and names.
   "Master Oakleaf?" I seem destined to attract people named Master and Mistress, it is possibly a doll's lot in sentient Second Life, I do not know. I pretended to scratch my back, checking for my key. No, I had remembered to have a friend wind me, then remove the key at the nub, and smooth the small fleshy flap of Syn-Tex over the nub. He could not know I was a clockwork person, could he? With the name Master, you always wonder if you are going to be dancing with your back against him, grinding your soft into his hard, letting his hands roam to see how far he will go in a packed club, and then with that instant shock, you hear the CLIK of a slave collar and jingle of the slender chain leash in his hand. Though, he is very attractive, a great dancer, conversationalist,  how bad could bad be? why is it always the bad boys that dare to talk, dance and more? After the narrow escape from those copper salvage people, I have been re-thinking what "bad" is anyways. He had great hands....
Lag mismatched all dancers, sim near crashing, but great fun at The Fiume Club
   It got late, and Harry sang his last song. When a really tall man leans down to kiss you, the expectation builds and builds like two magnets getting closer and closer, till they cannot escape and rush into the locking together. He kisses with confidence, mmm. I know why  magnets connect so powerfully now; they simply enjoy being together, connected, sharing and passing the unseen atoms that could become much more
   My right arm dropped from his shoulder, hanging at my side. I am quite good at freezing my expression in a pleasant doll smile, for obvious reasons! I could not let him know I was near unwinding, how would he react? Would he be confused? Would he find me unworthy, as just a mannequin with a great hairstyle? or would I get carried back to some museum of his after I wound down, propped up in a corner with a lampshade on my head?
    I told him the truth- I had a really great time! I tipped the venue and hostess again, and singer.  The last beat of Harry's tune ushered out all the lag makers in modern clothing, like bubbles that popped at his last note. Left were all the Guys and Dolls, gathering their 1920's handbags, checking the ammunition in their concealed weapons,  fixing their dresses, hair and lipstick, and hurrying out into their waiting Packards and Fords. I looked up and down the river for my friend, Deusenberg, but he was probably hurrying his boss somewhere, he and his moll warming up the back seat. I got back to the  deserted shoppe, jumped into my cold pajamas, then felt like kicking myself for running away from a bad Guy that seemed so good. Do human women go through these mixed up feelings, or is it just sentient dolls?