The Third Life of Lillie Yifu

I am back to blogging and writing. My RL is in transition, and I've come here to help with that. I don't expect to make money in SL, simply because I don't want to be the only thing that would make any money for me here: voice escort. I know that it would make money, because I've already gotten offers. That's Second Life, its a cesspool, and getting worse.

So why return? As one of my professor's best lectures noted, the value of any software, eventually, becomes the cost of getting out of it. My data is a prisoner on Second Life, and until I can, at least quasi-legally, move it off, here I am.

So why return? Because this is the place where I learned about real people. Not the people you read about it books, nor the people you think you meet, but the reality of people. We are a sick world. Americans often think that America has a unique sickness, but that is not true, the whole of the developed world has a sickness. The name of that disease is imprisonment. We are imprisoned in the analog world. Even the nasty nitwits running around demanding instasex, are sufferers too. They just happen to want to inflict their suffering on others.

The first thing I've done on my return is put the older poems into an SL book. It is sort of dull, and I have been thinking about doing something that will make it a more SL experience. I will put out a vendor for it sometime, free, and on my tiny 512.

The second project is the novels. I have two. One is a coming of age story, the other is the story of a nurse who goes to Iraq and participates in torture there. I started both in 2006, but I suppose readers weren't ready for either, and I wasn't able to write either as well as needed to be. That's changed, I hope. So expect me to put the first chapter of both in SL, and a link to the kindle book.

Sorry to be so abrupt and cold sounding, but my fingers fly over the keys now with a purity of contempt that they have never had before. The past has frozen to a bitter ice, that is harder than steel, and colder than the frost on the poles of Mars. We have decided to ignore past, present, and future, and live in a kind of never never land that floats above all of them.

I suppose I have found a calling, and that calling is to write the deep truths. There are two: there is the enormous, soaring, arcing, vaulting beauty of the human spirit, erotic, intellectual and emotional; there is the vileness of the abusive relationships that we have created and pour people into. If I have a subject, it is the collision of that heaven, and this hell.

First life: escort. Second life: fool. Third life.

I don't have a name for it yet, but wait a moment, it will come to me.