Monday, May 18, 2009

Retsnodle Pawpad: Age Player


This one ups the level of sheer brazen stupidity. Not only a clearly inappropriate avatar, but telling people who call him on it that they are "full of it" and to "go fuck yourself."

One reason that LL is going to go through with adult content restrictions is that adult content areas breed problems. Maybe those problems are small in terms of number of avatars, and this is my experience, but they are very larger per trouble maker.

I've seen age players get let off again and again, which makes me believe they are law enforcement or have some kind of corrupt in, or LL just doesn't care about stopping them. I offer no explanation as to which is true, I have no idea. I do know that there has been an explosion of them in the last few weeks, and that brings to mind a correlation with the proposed new policies.

What all of this means, I leave to others, but I do know that these people are a hazard, because they break the law and attempt to entangle others in breaking the law. My own belief is that retsnodle is trying to get people into trouble, in a kind of low grade Something Awful goon sort of way.


Right wing myth: Nationalized Medicine causes deaths

Reality:
A definitive review and close reading of medical peer-review journals, and government health statistics shows that American medicine frequently causes more harm than good. The number of people having in-hospital, adverse drug reactions (ADR) to prescribed medicine is 2.2 million.1 Dr. Richard Besser, of the CDC, in 1995, said the number of unnecessary antibiotics prescribed annually for viral infections was 20 million. Dr. Besser, in 2003, now refers to tens of millions of unnecessary antibiotics.2, 2a The number of unnecessary medical and surgical procedures performed annually is 7.5 million.3 The number of people exposed to unnecessary hospitalization annually is 8.9 million.4 The total number of iatrogenic deaths shown in the following table is 783,936. It is evident that the American medical system is the leading cause of death and injury in the United States. The 2001 heart disease annual death rate is 699,697; the annual cancer death rate, 553,251.5

Thank you Salon for running unretouched right wing nonsense.

The reality is that private insurance driven health care has an incentive to milk your policy while you are alive. You could die quietly and cheaply, but where is the bottom line in that?


Sunday, May 17, 2009

China levels sex themed park

The new puritanism is not just for vr.

Jezebel v XX, Whose Fooming who?

It's not my word, but over tea one day a friend of mine accused me of "fooming." I asked what she meant and she said "you know, being more feminist than thou." Point taken, I get like that. And that's exactly how I feel about the so called feud between Jezebel.com and Double XX.com. First it is so so called, a desperate cat fight for attention that it isn't funny. Second, while each blog has been staking out a more feminist than though, neither really is. Double X is embedded in Slate, which publishes more misogyny disguised as art crticism than any other major publication on the internet. Over and over again I've seen factual errors and bombastic privilege fobbed off as some kind of insight into art. Andy Goodwin was the worst he doesn't even know his own subject, which is the male ejaculatory seminal fuck rock band. Third, there is a real fight, and it is between an establishment feminism and a lifestyle feminism, and the establishment variety does not as unequivocal a position of moral superiority as it displays.

The XX complaint with Jezebel gets even thinner when you read the blog itself. I can think of many important things in feminism: praising anti-choice zealots isn't any of them. Then you get to their own sense of what needs to be done:


Double X columnist Linda Hirshman, also a contributor to the New York Times and the Washington Post, referred to an hour-long television appearance by Tracie Egan, a Jezebel blogger who goes by the moniker "Slut Machine", and Maureen "Moe" Tkacik, in which the two young women refused to engage with a serious discussion about sexual politics and culture. Shrugging off a question about rape and sexual responsibility, Tkacik casually explained why she didn't report her own date rape to the police. "I had better things to do," she said. "Like drinking more."

After the programme, presenter Lizz Winstead explained how shocked she had been by the behaviour of the young women. Writing on her Huffington Post blog, Winstead said: "They do not understand the influence they have over the women who read them, nor do they accept any responsibility as role models for young women who are coming of age searching for lifestyles to emulate."


This is really taking thing way to far. The scolds, and I include Naomi Wolf here for telling us that what young women really need to do is organize so that older women can get fatter paychecks, are simply not living in our world. They aren't feminists, they are careerists who think they have a captive base of support. What angers them is that Jezebel is taking away their ad revenue by presenting the other side of the coin.

The reason the careerists bore me is that over and over again when I see women breaking through the glass ceiling, it is in the service of men, and a men's view. Look at Carly Fiorini. Glass ceiling broken! She's a Republican Party anti-choice shill, willing to trade the rights of poor women, so she can get some tax breaks. Hello? Let's add Sandra Day O'Connor on the Supreme Court, and Condoleeza Rice as Bush functionary. I want to get organized so that Whitman can be Governor of California, and block equal marriage and starve education. The XX scolds go after what Jezebel.com readers want to do with their freedom, but at least it isn't engaging in active evil. The role models that XX presents to us are women who whore their minds, characters, and careers in the service of repression of women.

The more brute reality is that the Gen XXers are deliberately misreading, in both a literal and theoretical sense, what is going on, and why Jezebel.com is at least as feminist, if not more so, than they are.

The reality is that the XXers are obsessed with the climb upwards on the ladder of success, and they want to suck the free labor of those who are not there yet to get it, or as Naomi Wolf lectures:


"as many older feminists justly point out, the world isn't going to change because a lot of young women feel confident and personally empowered, if they don't have grassroots groups or lobbies to advance woman-friendly policies, help break through the glass ceiling, develop decent work-family support structures or solidify real political clout."


I remember how many women oriented organizations backed Joe Lieberman in 2006. How they have backed Republicans who are bad on almost every issue, in order to protect their "politically neutral" cachet, and advance their own interests. As I've already pointed out, much of their glass ceiling breaking, means installing a newer, thicker, glass floor. The realities of the establishment feminist is that she is establishment first, and feminist second. They live in a man's world, and they simply want their share of the man's world.

That's one reason that Jezebel.com has become a feminist touchstone because it takes a very different tack. There's no point in empowering organizations, because organizations sell you out. Instead, personal empowerment is the only kind, because that is the kind that you have, and not say, Whitman, has. This personal empowerment comes in two parts. The first part is negotiating our place in the mass consumer culture. Importantly that culture is far more invasive of us than it is of men. We put it's products in our bodies, and are poked, prodded, poisoned, pilled, and plowed by it. The negotiation of thisis runs a foul of "family" standards and PGism all the time. Second Life's search list will ban many women's campaigns, just as Youtube banned this PSA spot. Women's reality is pornographic content almost by definition. We have to examine our breasts, get pap smears, primp ourselves, deal with "hygienic" issues. You can't talk about it with out talking about breasts, vaginas, and assorted other private parts. For men the consumer society is beer and cars. For us it is pregnancy.

Jezebel's campaign to get out of the airbrush is very real. Their bete noir is "Girl's Life" magazine, which should really be called Anorexia Today. Far from being instgrat porn, Jezebel is taking to task the so called beauty industry. If you want to be thinny thin thin, do what I did: take 5 ballet classes a week and develop an eating disorder. The whole beauty industry lives on peddling some kind of self abuse, interspersed with highly expensive aromatherapy.

But this is the surface issue, in that almost everyone who has been confronted with a magazine spread has realized the impossibility for almost all women to be both thin enough, and lugging around D cup melons. Abs of Kansas, Breasts of Everest is not a geography that is natural to us. The deeper issue is on the nature of personal empowerment that the GenXXers are taking on, and which Jezebel is talking about. And that empowerment is in negotiating male power. This is the essence of any real feminist debate: an admission of male powers and privileges, and debate about how we are going to come to some modus vivendi with them in the outside world, and in ourselves.

For the GenXXers, it is about the right to sell out to the system in a formal way. It is about organizations and laws. But those organizations fail us, those laws don't protect us, and the existence of a few women at the top does not change the fact that it's a locker room up there. Jezebel speaks to a different reality, and that is that bending individual men is as effective a way to getting what you want, as taking on the system. Jezebel speaks to a reality that each one of us whose ever logged on to a personals site like Yahoo or True has understood: it's about the hope for hot babes. Look at their ads. True runs local singles, meaning model quality women.

To compete for male attention in that environment, and power with male circles, is to negotiate the prostitute paradox. It isn't that Jezebel's more outre personalities are role models, it is that they are flash points: showing exactly how far we have to go to achieve fascination status, and what the cost is. Because one such woman in a group places pressure on all the others to move in that direction. Men, of almost any educational or economic status, are drawn to the woman who seems ready to give right here, right now, and then men pressure other women to make that normative. If one woman is a slut, then we all should be.

Reality check here: which is more likely, that as a 20 something woman you will one day compete for the top of a Fortune 500 company? Or that you will be in a room having to compete for the attention of men? All the laws in the world will not help you if you don't have the confidence to both display, and deny, your own sexuality, and understand the limits and leverage of what you are displaying. Personal confidence is the essential, you can't buy it at any cosmetics counter in the world, must have accessory in our lives. Having it, without having to crush ourselves in the male driven expectations of face, figure, and personality.

To have that sense, without being airbrushed, liposuctioned, or propped up, is not a product of any number of empowerment meetings. Instead it comes from within, and from experience in using the most important power that we have over men, their need and desire for us, and using it to create in our relationship with a male dominated world a space for ourselves. The GenXXers would say that we are whore are selves, but then, as I've already pointed out, so are they, and they want us to whore ourselves for their benefit, which they promise will be ours some day.

The line is dangerous to draw. This is because the outrageous line will, in fact, collapse down into anti-feminism. Every woman who plays the line too far convinces a dozen men that if they just keep to plan of treating every woman like a slut, then they will both get sex, and pressure more women to give into that model of sexuality. And it is a moving line, the woman who plays it successfully, will always have women who are just short of it angry and jealous. I have gone a long way playing the line, but there are many circumstances where there are others willing to go just that much farther, leaving mean to sneer and tell me that I will always be alone. The normative power of men is that if he hits it once in a thousand, that's what normal should be. Just as I've evoked jealousy and rage in other women, that howcouldyoudothat moment, so too have others left me far behind, three men in tow.

Jezebel draws an outer circle of that line, how to play it at it's extreme forms, and still maintain an inner core of self that is maintained. It is a lot farther than many of us are prepared, or want, to go. However, by being extreme, it shows the way to maintain a sense of self at much lower pressure. No I'm not going to, irl, get drunk and do three guys in a night. But I am going to dress in ways that invite intense male attention. No I am not going to give a blow job to someone who I don't know their phone number, but I am willing to trade knowing stories. The same pressure, to devolve down into a male's chattel, is still there, in either case.

So to close my own circle. First, this conflict is so obvious driven to create circulation, that it is difficult not to be cynical about Double X. It's not about feminism, it is about the careers of the people writing the blog. It's not about empowerment, it is about their personal enrichment. So let's stop with the fooming on that score. The second problem is that it is not an accurate reading of most of the material on Jezebel, which is relatively standard liberated woman's fare: pregnancy, consumerism, media, relationships. Many of the articles on Jezebel could be moved to DoubleX without much, if any modification. Let's also stop with the identity politics attack. Double X allows people to engage in anti-feminist behavior, just because they are women, and it is much more destructive than anything I've read in Jezebel in a good stretch of being a regular reader.

But deeper is the conflict between establishment feminism, which preaches that institutions, laws, outliers, and groups are the backbone of feminism. They are not, they have let us down. In a generation of establishment feminism, we've gone backwards. Roe is more imperiled now than before. A supposedly left President dumped us out of his stimulus bill. Institutions must prostitute themselves. It is the nature of institutions, to trade the lives of little people, for the comfort of the people running those institutions. Individualist feminism says that you can't take NARAL to a job interview, or to a party. That there are women as Fortune 500 CEOs doesn't do you personally any good on your singles personals page, or during a date.

The limits of both are the same: both are really negotiations with male power. It is not a real fight, but there is a real fight going on underneath it, and old establishment feminism has proven time and again, that when it comes time to fight, they take a check and go home. Maybe lipstick lifestyle feminism won't save the world, but then, establishment feminism hasn't.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

For a flat in wales?

The great bells ring hollow this day,
the revelations flow and fall,
bloody ink smeared across the bloody pages.
How much was grifted from the eager public?
How much was grafted on to twisted stems.
Westminster weeps, as it has not on any other day,
since the leader of the few,
those happy few,
passed through London streets for the last time

The great words ring hollow today,
what promises made now
drip to the floor,
and ooze into dark forgotten corners.
This is the outrage to the last.

Cold spray in the face of forgotten heros,
that bent bow at Agincourt,
or drove towards the hill at Hastings,
took one last shot at Naseby,
or spread wings above the blitz in Britan's battle.

What did these men did die for?
It profits a man not the whole world
for his nation's soul,
but for a flat in Wales?

The secret memoirs of Zhao Ziyang, the Communist Party leader ousted for opposing the military crackdown on student protesters in Tiananmen Square, exploded into the open yesterday, four years after his death.

Dictated during his years of house arrest and smuggled out on cassettes disguised as children's music or Peking opera, the book will be pored over for clues about the workings of the secretive group of men who make up the inner core of China's Communist Party. The decisions made in Beijing's Zhongnanhai compound have global impact as China is an emerging superpower, but little is known about how it functions. Prisoner of the State: The Secret Journal of Zhao Ziyang may change all that.


Who knows what would have been. China's economic growth covers over a great deal of pain.

Hat tip to Malburn

City scape built on code.

progress on skybox


I need to put in the scripts. Major pain.

Porn: 35,000 BC

Early art work had breasts and genitals.

First: sex has been in people's art for a long time. Note that a picture of this would only be open to those seeking "adult" content in SL.

Second: virtuality, it's an avatar of an ideal of that time.

Third: Now you know why we are always fretting about our boobs not being big enough. We know better, whatever it is you say.


No one would mistake the Stone Age ivory carving for a Venus de Milo. The voluptuous woman depicted is, to say the least, earthier, with huge, projecting breasts and sexually explicit genitals.

A. Bridgeman Art Library; B. P. Jugie/MNP, Les Eyzies, Distr. RMN; C. RMN
Sexual images in early Homo sapiens European art: A. A "Venus" figurine from Willnedorf, Austria, 105 millimeters in height, dated about 28,000 years ago; B. Female "vulvar" symbols carved on a limestone block from the La Ferrassie rock shelter, southwest France, dated about 35,000 years ago; C. A phallus, carved from the horn core of a bison, from the Blanchard rock shelter, southwest France; the carving is about 36,000 years old and is 250 millimeters long.

Nicholas J. Conard, an archaeologist at the University of Tübingen, in Germany, who found the small carving in a cave last year, said it was at least 35,000 years old, “one of the oldest known examples of figurative art” in the world. It is about 5,000 years older than some other so-called Venus artifacts made by early populations of Homo sapiens in Europe.

Another archaeologist, Paul Mellars of the University of Cambridge, in England, agreed and went on to remark on the obvious. By modern standards, he said, the figurine’s blatant sexuality “could be seen as bordering on the pornographic.”

I should be stupid again

I should, I would, if I could,
be enclosed again, in that dank bag
which veils the mind in slow stumbling incess
Congealing all fleet thought,
to hobbled hobbie horses,
reducing them to gelatinous glue.
Stuck in place.

Don't I know, that men, prefer, a pretty face,
a compliant lay that opens like an oiled door,
in and out, and then as before,
the wander takes them, off to find their guns,
and other toys, they had in mind.
To be brilliant and to shine,
one should be just a hag.

But then the other way is to be tossed aside,
and left soiled, like silken rag.

I ought, I fought, I sought,
to sparkle in the night,
to throw off glistening inner light,
but better glamor which is a spell,
on which the grinding of time will tell.

Stupid is, as stupid is done,
open to anything, and anyone.

This is Liberty

This is Liberty,
where once I lifted lamp beside a golden door,
there is now into darkness plunged.
Is the fire quenched by black waters?
Is this light unlit now, and forever more?

This, is Liberty,
to know the truth,
and it shall not make you flee,
to hide not the acts done in darkness
to save in darkness.
To pay in coin for those you have struck,
and avow that once means,
never again.

This is, Liberty
my friend consoled me,
this is the land as it is,
the country as it is,
the nation as it is,
but not as it was,
or will be again.
The forces of night chained millions of souls
to middle passage, denied the sanctity of rights,
to millions because of gender.
And the fights for these and against all other ills,
engenders that which was old
to be made new again. Rights, that precious gift,
must be made a new, to be given again, in turn

This is Liberty,
I am calling, amidst the despair,
and the cold spring of denial.

We are not children in this one of many lands
We must see what was done by our hands,
and when our vision is by this act made whole,
we must admit what was our role.
This, and only this, is the truth,
that will escape us this prison
of bricks made
that we, our selves, have laid.

This is liberty, I am calling.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Feature we need

"Remove all scripts from selection."

LL is going to be limiting the number of scripts an av can have at one time. I have hair sets with 198 prims and a script in each of them. Scripts, not running, still take up time and RAM. We need to be able to scrub scripts from our content to get down to the limits that they impose... before they impose them and we can't rez the object again.

The gilded day

Washing is the ocean on the sand,
and crackling is the air that rushes up,
as the water rushes down.
The breeze is rife with icy salt,
the foam frosts the waves,
all is gilded here with the rushing of time.

White the salt, white the foam, white the clouds on far horizon.
White the hats and summer dresses,
white the faces not yet browned by the sun.
White the glare of noon time rays,
white the page before me,
where I scribble simple notes.

But deep is the other colors of the conflict of the three
earth tones of the land,
blue of the sea of brine and air,
and greening gold the color of life that clings,
to the rifts and rills and rolls of the beach and bog.

I would be imprisoned here in memory,
because you have gilded this scene with your face
and smile.
Gilded to the wind with a whisper of your affection,
that I and only I am the water into which
you long to plunge,
and pulled away by undertow,
never to return again.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

On twitter

BTW I am on twitter as

@lillieyiyuan

Monday, May 11, 2009

Rheta in Bits

Name Rheta Shan
Location Second Life
Web http://rhetashan....
Bio Metaverse citizen Rheta Shan, originally hailing from Second Life. Note : Twitter is mostly a mirror of my Plurk. Meet me there : http://plurk.com/rheta/invite.
51
following
138
followers
2,205Updates


I don't follow many peop[e on Twitter. Specifically 10. Rheta was one of them.

Hold Me

Good bye Valerie, aka Rheta Shan.

Hold me, close to memory with your voice,
I've told you, far more of life than was my choice,
a brilliant, crystalline divorce, has married once a new,
truth beyond what's true.
My soul walked among all of you,
until now.

I am still here, suspended in the dusk,
between the worlds, that carry on as the must.
Hold me in your mind's eye,
that image will not yet die,
even though,
and so, and though,
the puppet's strings are clipped,
the ancient ladies, touched the twine of fate just so.

All that I was, I am.

Hold me, tethered to the earth,
essence will slip through your fingers,
your grasp is all that lingers,
and faint forgotten so,
all you needed to know,
was in the light and flow,
of symbols made real, more real than I was.
More real than I am.

Hold me in your memory,
and speak softly with your voice,
I've left for other plains,
though not by my own choice.

Speak and remember, that here
I was more real than real.
That is what you will feel.

Good night, good bye, good luck.

[And one in French]

Imaginaire enfin,
Je dors et rêve la demande
pas plus que moi ai jamais eu.
Mon âme a marché parmi vous,
et c'était assez.
Trop peut-être pour certains,
mais moindres assez pour moi.

Je dors,
dans les rêves et les morceaux,
ne se réveillant jamais encore et,
les endroits qui chaque était et était,
avant et entre nous.

J'étais, je ne suis pas, je suis, je serai.

[Do I know the truth of the story? I do not, and will not. Could Rheta Shan's player be alive and well. It may be, and I hope in some sense it is so. Better a happy world alive for the actor, and death for the character. But it doesn't matter, because whether it was a choice, or fear of discovery, or death, the effect is the same on those whose strands to this spirit are cut.

All the more thankful that on leaving SL I am alive and well and living in the real world. So here is a memorium to the short happy life of Rheta Shan.]

The skybox i am working on

Chez Nuit


I will upload this into sl.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Three Linden Opera: I am

Poly Morpheus:

I am writing having writing have writ
I have lost all my rhyming and my wit.
There is no music in my meaning,
no special lilt,
every rhythm left to recission
and to wilt,
look around you all you see
a ruin of what I've built.
Firm foundations all sunk into silt.

Where am I,
but so many stories lied,
so many times the truth I've spied,
and the more I reveal, the less I feel,
has it come to this?
To this?

What was amiss?
Was I remiss?
I searched for bliss.
Like beer it turned to...

I am writhing and deciding,
and the pain is both the pleasure,
that.
It is denying and dividing and divining,
that I am flat.
My roundness is a trick of the light,
my depths were stripped from me tonight,
and all that's left.
That's left.
Is what was always right?

How can I deny it, or delay it,
or demonstrate the simple fact?
That what was once a line,
on which I made a scene,
has turned to playing
of an act?

How long does this show
have to run?
What is amusement,
or for fun?
I have forgot.
I know him not.
But that fight was fought,
there's nothing left to say,
I wanted him,
wanted him,
to go away.

But now I cannot help but adore.
But I don't live here, any more.
It can't go back to as it was before.
There's only armistice,
after war,
Peace will not grow,
where there is not
that gentle rain of sweet
humanity.

I am rhyming, and am timing,
as I watch the seconds tick,
it's all painted on the pixels
and is a simple trick.
Yet now I enfold,
and am yearning for bold,
unalloyed, undestroyed.
Passion.

After our fashion.
So it must be.

[Yes I am back to writing this. It needs to be written, and it won't stop until I am finished with it, or it is finished with me.]

Sacristy and Nave

I bringeth light to your eyes,
I am the dawn and the sun has come and gone.
I bringeth day to your night:
Though the sky is dark and looming.
I am the sound in that thunder,
That strikes in brooding dreams.
That leave you waking and wanting me.
I am the flower in the winter,
that hot house, blossoms to your touch.

That blossoming is the waiting,
that would in force of time come to seed
need that ancient king demands,
and want, that ancient queen commands,
that all our supple youth be spent,
on this our living rent.

The strands woven into each cell
have only drives, which weigh and tell
tell upon us,
like tolling of the bells.

I remember the old city,
it's cobble walks,
it's church built spires,
martyr's names upon the streets.
blessed to you, they,
one and all.

A strange mythology I thought that time,
to raise to holy sacrament,
the act, to fling away the gift of life.

But now I feel it falling,
my bell has tolled, and I come
crawling to you
my curves do desire to ring,
in vibration that you have wrung from them,
slapping them with force that shocks.

The whip of flesh on flesh that furrows earth,
and awakens rush of inner waters.

I stood, that day, on cobble street,
and felt the vibration of the tides.
Within that old religion contained,
the writhes and torments I sought from you.

Then crossed us a gale of flowers,
and torrent of rice, tossed
upon the white cascades of satin roses,
that brought a bride, unblushing,
from the dark recess of sacristy and nave,
and out into the world.

So bring forth we,
some how,
from my sacristy and nave,
another face that is the sun and moon to us
around which our world will from then revolve.

I bringeth light to you, but I am not the light,
I am the sun to you, but I am not your sun.
I flowered at your touch,
but the bright blossom is yet,
so yet,
and yet,
to come.

Punctuation

What the fuck
What the fuck.
What the fuck?
What the fuck!
What, the fuck?
What? The Fuck!
What the... Fuck!
What the? Fuck.
What. The. Fuck.
What: The Fuck.
What! The fuck?

It's been pointed out that we insert the word "fuck" in a variety of places where it's meaning is contextual. I just thought I would wonder exactly how flexible the meaning of the phrase is:

What the fuck

No punctuation. Generic expression of exasperation. The "whatever" only less so. Often abbreviated WTF

What the fuck.

Like (1) above in exasperation, only questioning the basic sanity and fairness of the people being spoken to. Also as in "what a mess."

What the fuck?

Matters have taken a bad turn, either "How could this be happening?" Often abbreviated WTF?

What the Fuck!

As in "what do you think you are doing." Expression of anger or rage. Often abbreviated WTF!

What, the fuck?

As in "Who, him?"

What? The fuck!

Puzzlement followed by a dramatic realization that matters are much worse than could have been imagined.

What the... Fuck!

I left the stove on.

What the? Fuck!

I thought I was parked here, right next to this "Tow Zone" sign.

What. The. Fuck.

Since Most. and Worst. are now passing out of fashion in favor of "Fail" this is getting long in the tooth. It's when the adults arrive and see the children have been trying to bake something, with a rather loose sense of following directions.

What: The Fuck.

Just ask anyone who has a large mortgage on their house.

What! The Fuck?

At that moment where you wonder how bad it is on the way down.

[As you can probably guess, I am sick to death of hearing this.]

Friday, May 8, 2009

Marco Ghost

A sample of what Second Life regards as acceptable:

23:16] MarRco Ghost: and lile
[23:16] MarRco Ghost: for u
[23:17] MarRco Ghost: imma rape u
[23:17] MarRco Ghost: and then kill u
[23:17] MarRco Ghost: soo
[23:17] MarRco Ghost: i suggest
[23:17] MarRco Ghost: u dipset
[23:17] MarRco Ghost: nah
[23:17] MarRco Ghost: matter of a fact
[23:17] Lillie Yifu: I suggest you don't tick me off
[23:17] Lillie Yifu: beijos
[23:17] MarRco Ghost: bytch
[23:17] MarRco Ghost: wdf

[23:18] MarRco Ghost: umm
[23:18] MarRco Ghost: Watch out
[23:18] MarRco Ghost: 2 words
[23:18] Lillie Yifu: Don't do that again
[23:18] MarRco Ghost: stupid bitch
[23:18] MarRco Ghost: and
[23:18] MarRco Ghost: don't come bac
[23:18] MarRco Ghost: to my house
[23:18] MarRco Ghost: Stupid bitch
[23:18] MarRco Ghost: 3rd
[23:18] MarRco Ghost: don't ever
[23:18] MarRco Ghost: talk to me
[23:18] MarRco Ghost: in disrespect
[23:18] MarRco Ghost: 4th
[23:18] MarRco Ghost: good bye
[23:18] Lillie Yifu: don't get all big man on me
[23:19] MarRco Ghost: bitch I said
[23:19] MarRco Ghost: what I said
[23:19] MarRco Ghost: I'll get big
[23:19] MarRco Ghost: if I want
[23:19] MarRco Ghost: you don't tell me what i do
[23:19] MarRco Ghost: i tell u

"Payment info on file"

which means LL is not going to do anything about it.

Drive and Desire, Other and Outside

"You are not born a woman, but become one."

Simone de Beauvoir

It is every day that we are as we are. It is every day that we are not as other people see us. I write as I write because one of my central topics is on that that was relevant to my foremothers, and will be relevant to my daughters and their daughters, long after whatever makes up Lillian is scattered back to the corners and the winds. I do not remember the moment that I came to be, and of course, I will not remember the moment that I cease to be. But within me is a memory from before I was of what it means to be a woman.

One part of that is how men see us. I write as I write not because men do not see as as people. Mostly, they do. However, I write as I write because men accept that other men have a right not to see us as people. This is part of the condition of our lives and our existence. Not a day goes by where I am not reminded of this in the real world, and very few in Second Life. In second life people are cruder about how they express it.

There are many people who are wiser about the deep roots of this condition, who can speak to the theory, both psychological and physiological of what creates it. This is not my place. What I write about is the state of the ecstatic, within which we are creatures, not of drive and desire, not contained within the four corners of our identity, nor in the walls of our stage. We break through that fourth wall that is between us as actors, and the world as stage. In the grip of this, memory speaks through us, and to us, and pleasure reorders our souls and our selves.

I say this for cold reasons. Pleasure and tears are two of the ways that we remake our inner selves. Tears and pleasure reach into us, and remake us.

It is part of the desire to have these, without being had by them, which drives consumption. We consume to have pleasure, but repeated and repeatable pleasure. A pleasure that does not change us, but affirms that we are unchanged. Even lesser pleasure that we are in control of, is better than greater pleasure we are not.

And this brings me back to the words that I quoted above, and which an Indepedent article quoted, and made me remember when I first read them, in a darkened room, to scared to admit that I was reading what I was reading. I had the book on my lap, knees crowded in together to hold it up. I was staring down at it, the words far away, and yet, so close that they seemed to touch my face.


In men's eyes – and for the legion of women who see through men's eyes – it is not enough to have a woman's body nor to assume the female function as a mistress or mother in order to be a "true woman." In sexuality and maternity woman as subject can claim autonomy; but to be a "true woman" she must accept herself as the Other. The men of today show a certain duplicity of attitude which is painfully lacerating to womenl they are willing on the whole to accept woman as a fellow being, an equal; but they still require her to remain the inessential.


It was these words that were on my mind this evening when a supposed leading light of SL humanist society did the stumping for humping routine with me. All poetry falls like Lucifer from heaven when describing such events. Sagan Theas IM'ed me, and wanted "some fun." I asked him what he meant, he told me he wanted sex. I told him that if he was keeping me on his friends list as a name in his little black book, that he should take me off. He then replied "So why the leading line of questioning?" As if I tricked him into IMing me in the first place.

This is Simon de Beauvoir's paragraph in action. He is a real person, with social connections in Second Life. This gives him the privilege, the right, to treat women as "things." Humanist, atheist... sexist. Willing in some abstract way to accept women as intellectual equals, but demanding that, I at least, be his thing, his object, for him to impose his design upon. If I do not accept this role as Other, then I am at fault.

We are not born women, but, instead, we are made into a woman. We become women by the roles that others assign to us, and by the otherness we accept. I understand that there are distant roots in biology. But there is no biology here. Indeed the whole paradigm of men proposing and women disposing is without need here. It is as hard to find a man, harder probably, who is good at the flow of creating cybersex, as it is a woman. And it is much harder for a man to get off with two hands on the keyboard. Escorting reverses the outside world's men propose, women dispose, since it is men who have what the escort wants. Men have the privilege of women in that situation, without the costs. A woman cannot escape being the object of propositions to reduce her to otherness. Men can.

The reason for this otherness, I feign, is in the nature of drive and desire. A drive reduces and pushes. It is satisfied by the action, by the end, even without envisioning the end. No matter how much intelligence is behind a drive, it remains a drive. Sagan Theas was in the grip of a drive. That drive was to reduce me to operative other. As Beauvoir observed, the greater the ability of a man to impose, in public or private, the more virile he is, the more a man. However, as a woman, my rejection of being a thing to have his ability to make me say that he has pleasured me, is a mortal sin. Again, this from a man who is a self-proclaimed free thinker. But he does not grant that right to me.

A drive is a push, a desire a pull. Desire pulls us in that it creates a vision of another state, perhaps future, perhaps unobtainable, perhaps visible from some other vantage point. Desire then, while in many ways as simple as a drive, is capable of integration with the whole of a person. While a person can be reduced to brute drive or desire equally, a drive is only capable of elaboration by bringing more of the person into it. We can be more clever, more cruel, but it is still a motor tha runs, a buzzer that vibrates. A drive reduces in all cases. A desire can reduce, but it can also expand. By bring words, visions, memories, gestures, the whole of the creative self can be engaged in desire.

It is desire that makes a woman, not because we are born to it in some particular way that is different from men, though I suppose biology may impinge upon it's tendencies, but because desire is the form where a woman is allowed to be integrated, as a man is integrated by his ability to impose. Men have a drive for a woman who is encompassed by desire, particularly if it is so powerful as to negate her power of choice. Men want us to be receptacles for their virility, even if it is of a virtual kind. Desire is the integrator that we are allowed, and it is for this reason that men become enraged if they can not exploit it, because while they can deny our right to do, or to question their place as men, the cannot deny the right to desire itself. Thus nothing I say will shame Sagan Theas. He has an absolute right to attempt to otherize women, granted to him "by men and the legion of women who see through men's eyes."

Desire is what makes a woman a woman to herself. It is this change from drive to desire which is the essential change from proposition, to disposition. To propose may be to desire, but it is to be motivated by drive. To dispose is to desire, to visualize.

When I wanted to be a dancer, the drive made me focus on each movement, but it was the desire that animated me through the hours. It was like a bubble that formed just below my heart, and it expanded, pushing aside everything else inside me, my lungs, my blood, until it filled me, and then rushed upwards and exploded into my skull like a bursting light, until it forced open my eyes from the inside. I could feel my spirit escape through my eyes, and look down at a more beautiful Lillian, on a more beautiful stage, floating on point in the air. And with that vision I could pull myself just that much higher, arch my back just that much more, and point my feet just that much straighter.

Once given to desire, what state have we? The unification of being through desire is different than the unification through a drive. It is something I've observed in my friends, those who have slipped into baby madness. Suddenly everything is a calculation to bring about the confluence of events that culminates in pregnancy. I have danced upon that line many times myself, it is biology, it is destiny. It is also a construction of society, because it is being able to work those levers that is the hallmark of the madness itself. Without the construction, there is no meaning to it. Getting pregnant is simplicity itself, it is shaping the social fabric so that we feel an entitlement to protection and care, an entitlement that should come with being a mother, that is the essence of the drive expressed. The drive is not for a baby, but for the social place for the baby to be.

And that is why in the cruelest sense, I will write about the ultimate form of otherness in our society, at this time: abortion. Terminating a pregnancy. It is a right that we need to participate as so-called equals in modern society. But think on why we do this to ourselves: because society does not accept our right to reproduce, or deems us not to have constructed a social place for ourselves and our baby. Society demands that a woman "choose" what society has already chosen. A woman does not have an abortion, society does, but makes her alienate her own body, treat fertility, as an otherness. It is not us, but something other than us, that we must end and control, by choice. By choosing we affirm the social contract, and the relationships of power, and admit that we have not worked them well enough, we have not woven them well enough. Abortion then, is a right that society needs us to have, in order to escape it's own duty.

This is an extension of the demand that we make our own pleasure otherness, an orgasm is something a man makes us do, a baby something he makes us have. Abortion then, is the expression, not of our rights in society, but of our lack of them. We must have it in an intrinsic sense, because we carry the child. We, and no other, stand for that child and the readiness, the rightness of entry into the world. Yet in most cases we pass judgment upon our baby, made by someone else. It is not we who are unready, but the outside.

This duality, of Other and Outside, is the great tension that is imposed on us. Men want to make us into Other, by pressing the outside. They want to make the clothes we are wearing, the place we are standing, or where we were standing when we met them, the determiner of whether or not we have a right to choice. Meet a man in an orgy room, and you are on his list of women than he can make blunt sexual demands of. Once a cum dumpster, always a cum dumpster. Once an object of his mastery, always an object of his mastery. The unquestioned right of the outside to impose, is, of course, power, and violence.

This desire to impose the outside made JayR Cela threaten me with violence, and call me a "dirty pussy" because I would not bend to his will. He plays a woman in second life, but when it comes to it, he is a man, and demands a man's right to reduce the public woman to a target of violence. This is perfectly acceptable to everyone. A man has an unlimited right to kill and destroy women, because even those who would not want such a right, freely grant it. There is no penalty for threatening a woman with violence should she not comply with the power of men.

This is not limited to second life. Recently the Supreme Court ruled in Heller on gun rights. This is a direct expression of the principle that men grant other men the unlimited right to violence against women. The supposed strict constructionists of the right wing found a right which is not in the words. That right is used, overwhelmingly, by men, to murder women. The man's interest in his virility, under the law, is infinitely and unquestionably greater than a woman's right to be alive at all. A woman has nothing that a man is not allowed to take away from her, at any time, for any reason. And no collective force can take away that right. That is the law in America as it is now, that is the law as it will be tomorrow, and for a great many tomorrows after that.

I close with a summary of what may seem a diffuse essay, but let me tie the strands together. What makes someone a woman, is the decision by others that men have the right to turn her into an object at any time, a right that will not be denied by law or social sanction. What makes someone a woman to herself, is the unification of her person not by what she does, or by the otherness that would be imposed, but by desire, but bringing together all parts of herself in a vision of what could be, and what her whole body and being wish her to be. This right is carefully controlled and contained, because men cannot deny the right to desire. They want to otherize desire, and it's results, but they cannot remove it.

Society inflicts the Outside upon us, by making us commit the acts which society demands, but which it ascribes to us. We "choose" abortion, even though we do not choose it. So too men have the right to murder us, or demean us, or impose upon us, and we are wrong if we do not accept the blame when we cannot be what they want us to be. It is our fault for not being what we were supposed to be.

I write as I write because this collapsing into otherness is a reality which is accelerating. I could point, I suppose to the reality that in our society, true virility is less and less valued. There are numbers and facts to point to, but these are merely temporary and transient statistical indicators, of a more fundamental truth. The world belongs, not to men, but to the system we have built. Increasingly men do not fit within it, and so, they are, in that time honored tactic, granted rights over women, to replace the rights that they once had as public men. Men are not allowed to be as virile in public, so they are given the otherness of women as the private right.

It is not just here, but around the world. I see this in English, French, Italian, German, Spanish, Portuguese, Chinese and Japanese. I find it in men who are cultured, and men who are crass. I had one Egyptian man today teleport me in, and demand we fuck, even as he was fucking someone else. It was "none of my business" that he was fucking someone else. He works in an internet company in real life. I had several times before told him I did not want to have sex with him.

There are some who would argue it is biology that makes men as they are. I could not argue against it in their totality, but the biology is, at best, one aspect of the raw material. There is no biological imperative here. No amount of cybersex will produce a baby by itself, or reproduction of any kind. This is not a biological drive, but a social construction that a man who reduces woman to his pleasure object, without paying, is more of a man. Yet he inflicts the price on every woman he meets, and not merely in the IM. Do you think I could ever attend a meeting of the Freethinkers now? No it is permanently made Sagan Theas territory by his appropriation of it. He has made me other, because he owns it, and in it bars me from participation in public. Freethinkers is now, by his appropriation, just another sorry sexist excuse for a power game. The same is true of Rl: the Virginia Society for Tech in Education, Science Friday - are rl. Philosophy House? Only if you are a man, women are not safe there.

That is, there is RL which I cannot network into, because of the man's privilege of objectification.

And that is true of virtually every organization. Any woman who does not accept a man's unlimited right to reduce her to an other, will not be able to leave her apartment in the morning. There is no escape, no enlightened society, no free place. It is not that every man is like this, or even most men, but it is enough that most men accept that some men are like this and have every right to be like this.

We are not born women, but we are both made into one, and make ourselves into one. There are only two outcomes. One is to be made into a man's drive of a woman, and accept that from the Outside. It leads to becoming Other, even from our own body and fertility. The other is by desire to make ourselves. This is a constant struggle, because while the outside accepts our desire, they want it to be the tool of consumption and being a willing blank slate for objectification.

I know that SL is buggier

when they have the "Is your SL experience getting better or worse?"

It never shows up when things are improving.

I'm going to make my pixie lights available

simply because I am sooooo tired of people with bad facelighting.

Look for it in about a week.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Student killed by stalker

New York Times covers the case of a young woman gunned down by a stalker.

Thank you justices, for ruling that men have a constitutional right to kill women.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

doesn't this make you wet?



Me neither.

On the other hand, while chat room culture produces an unending stream of these, is there any reason we should inflict avatars like this on players, new or not?

Any at all?

Looking at the hour

:Dawn:

I look at the hour,
her name is still Dawn,
clouds runneth in
and soon she will be gone.

So rich her hues,
so dark her hair,
curls and kinks that coil,
and reach out,
floating on air,
feathering on coming wind.

Her skin is like the good earth,
and fertility the day,
is before us.

:Noon:

I am looking at the hour.
She is noon, face warm,
flush with the light of the sun.
Her hair twisted and tangled by wind,
still drying from morning's rain.

Her eyes are soft, and she smiles at me.
There is day and dusk left.

I look at the hour, she smiles at me.

:Tea:

I look at the hour,
she is cold and defined.
The light is full fading,
the day has declined.
Her eyes auric,
pierce all the failures I've had,
all the things left on undone,
or cobbled and bad.

She scolds and scowls,
her cheeks drawn contempt,
I brush at my hair,
it feels so unkempt.

I look at the hour, and she looks through me,
I sip, and take comfort, in the color of tea.

:Evening:

I do not look at the hour, but let him pass,
cloaked easy hours.

:Night:

I look at the hour, and she looks at me,
her black eyes glow ember,
and she beckons softly.
I see her roundness,
and reach to touch,
the face of soft slumber,
I now need so much.

I am looking at dreams,
numberless.

And they smile at me.

The Minister

:1:

The Minister Thinks.
In his Department of Woe.
He has all the figures.
Knows all there is to know.
His minions they dance,
with praise and with primp,
on each gesture obsequious,
the leave nothing to chance.
At the lunches they gather,
with cocktails and shrimp.
On show, signs and blather,
they squander not scrimp.

But in the middle of this menagerie
sits the Minister.
With impassive face,
and sold mien,
but his arteries are red,
on his neck pulses a vein.
His hands have grown cold,
with the night's long exertions,
he works almost alone,
beset by desertions.

Surrounded by memos,
that say nothing with much,
he feels in exile,
and almost out of touch.

But then like the hen that has laid the last egg,
he looks upwards to heaven,
for some salvation he begs.

In the quaint morning hours,
the Minister sits.

:2:

The Minister speaks,
and all who can listen,
watch as the screens pour out light
and the cameras glisten.

He goes over the judgments
and under the time,
he outlines mistakes that were made
perpetratorless crimes.

His posse is gathered,
with their suits and their bling,
the know that this play
is just the thing.

The giggle and laugh,
so easy for them,
the chosen few
sanguine not phlegm.

The minister speaks,
but nothing is heard,
it's the meaning that's madness,
not the content of words.
The vultures that gathered,
outside of the room,
see that they have reached the limit
from feasting on gloom.

:3:

The Minister Stands.
Before the cameras and mikes,
he explains what he splained,
and speak what he writes.
The dance is begun,
in a trickle of hours,
all over the world,
the dragon hoard flowers,
flowers from slumber of winter,
to gorging in spring.
They act without conscience,
but with the blessing of kings.

The minister at the center of this,
surveys the blank faces,
in the city of Dis.
It is as he thought,
in that wanton lost dawn.

:4:

The Minister sits,
it begins again,
selling the future,
to his present friends.

Who are these people?

One of the reasons women are treated badly, is because men who engage in sexual harassment are widely accepted into society, and merely need to deliver a half-hearted apology. Women who complain, well, we aren't supposed to make a scene about it.

That's where I come in. Rich or poor, popular or not, I don't put up with this kind of power cloud. Consider the case of Biago Barbasz, who after I told him I was not interested, sent me the following teleport offer, without an IM first:

"Come with me, I want to finger fuck you until you run down my wrist."

Nothing against being fingered, I love it. But not with a random guy walking up to me, more or less, and demanding it.

The kicker here is that Biago Barbasz is a member of many of the writing circles: UK Guild of Writers, Blogging & Short Story WRiting, Associated Content. He should know better, but clearly he doesn't.

I am not sure what to say. Erotic play, erotic approaches, flirting, are all wonderful things. Hardcore tp offers uninvited, are not.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Tomo's return concert


Is here.

Come if you can.

I am aching from the first notes of this playing. I can feel him sweep his fingers gently, press them firmly, and jab them as if he is thrusting a sword through my heart. My face feels as if a ghost has brushed a sleeve across my face. Suddenly, everything old is old again. There are no machines, no digital realm, only the taut strings and loose levers, waiting to plunge through the air and into the ocean of sound.

Current me


A major problem with SL is that the lighting model is terrible. Hence all the tricks to get around this.

Monday, May 4, 2009

With water

With wind whispers the storm to the trees,
whistling and wailing the wish of the will.
With wind my children, with wind.

With water whispers the waves to the sand,
Washing and whirring the whip on the land.
With water my children with water.

With warmth whispers the sun to the sky,
Waking and waring on escarpment and rill,
With warmth my children with warmth.

Time does not take us, nor years do torment us,
but marry erosion to all that we see,
the wind, warmth and water,
I tell you my daughter,
will flower your youth,
then rob you the same.



This my mother told to me once,
not once, but twice,
perhaps yet again.

I see her in memory, her skin still unlined,
I did not see then, the coming of signs,
that marked a past for to give life to me,
the gift that has caused me to be.

With breath speak we low of the love and the light,
with water we wash away pain, dirt and blight,
with warmth we embrace,
Each one in proportion, to its time and place.

The blunt breaks and bludgeons
the storm and the sand,
the burn on our visage, the death coming brand.

The same substances that buries, and breaks, and then burns,
is the substance that fills, these delicate urns,
that carry our passion, and with which we fashion.
All that they end, is with them begun.

We are baptized at birth,
with water,
With water my child, with water.

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Hi V


This one is for Ms. Supercharge who I have not seen on in an age.

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Short comment, lack of meta




Words. Most of the time my words are small ants piling across an endless page towards an uncertain end. Does anyone really care about the thing I have spent so much time studying? It seems like I am out of step, I met someone today who is studying something so small that it hardly seems worth looking at. Why study a lesser painting by an undistinguished painter. Then the explanation became clear: advisor's work is on the undistinguished painter, and the specific dissertation fills a hole in it. Some years ago I learned the phrase "meat puppet" to describe someone who is asked to do something on a web site, like say follow a twitter feed, even though they didn't decide to do it themselves. Academic meat puppetry. It tells me. The limits. Of the thing. I do.

The recent push to get LSL to be able to accept XML and JSON that I've been engaged in is the same thing. It tells me the limits of Second Life. Second Life is a walled garden. It is not the next internet, precisely because it does not connect to the internet. Consider the much discussed and praised studio wikitecture project. It is genuinely metaversial in nature, that is outside data is presented as inside data, and the two inform each other. However, we can't even do this with our inventories, that is to say, manage them outside to inside.

It isn't that this hasn't been discussed at length. I'm part of the AWGroupies group, and several people there are working on client side scripting. Enus Linden has contributed a great deal to a project to have a python based text client, which would allow for the kinds of manageability that would make dealing with a 33K item inventory reasonable. But it is a long, long, long way from being in people's hands.

And that's just the lack of meta on our avatars, let alone integration with our real lives.

I think the JIRA I am pushing will not be done, and it will represent a marker in how Second Life's competing pulls - to be a walled garden that lets people charge each other to avoid frustration, and an information integration platform - are going to be decided, each and every time, by keeping the walls high, and the rest of the world out.

This is sort of where I came in writing about Second Life, and it's time for a real essay.

If only I can find enough time to write the right words. Not academic words, because academics are merely building another walled garden the same way. I know in my real life I am taken seriously about a small thing that no one cares about, because I've done a great deal of small work looking at small things that no one else will. But what I have to say about it really is no more likely to be right than someone just walking in through the door. Wait. There is a story there. I need to tell it.

OK, I have the entry point. I'll be back later to start it.

Social Networking

As people probably know I've been asking everyone to vote up Marvs http jira. The purpose of this JIRA is to allow LSL scripts to receive data in any format that is carried by plain text. This is to allow data to get into the Second Life World™. The immediate desire is to have the ability to twitter with a generic gadget not tied to someone's intermediate server.

However, this would also include things like RSS feeds, various website APIs and so on.

We kept getting told this was the "metaverse" well meta is about about. That is data about data, or acting about acting. We need to be able to get data to have the about.

Sims 3

What every Second Life Player wants is a better looking Ruth.

It's depressing to see that this game's solution is to have even more hurdles to happiness than the last one.

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Downloading Lillie

I've been asked why I am doing this project, of documenting the sleaziness of so many males in Second Life. I have a simple answer: Philip Markoff. For those of you who do not follow the real world closely, Philip Markoff is a 23 year old Medical Student at Boston University. He is handsome, if a bit dorkish and socially clumsy. He has a pretty fiance.

He also beats up and kills sex workers for a hobby, after contacting them through Craigslist. Hence his name, the CraigsList killer. He not only robbed victims, he kept trophies, such as panties. Irl I am not Philip's type, but in second life, as the tall often blonde escort, I am. His victim and Lillie, are of the same mold of male fantasy. If I were really Lillie, I'd exactly what Philip Markoff looks for in a victim.

Now, how does this connect with people like Pain Xeno, zebentino Alecto, and mally Rajal. Let me tell you in as few words as I can manage: they have the same view of women. Women are to be beaten into their little script, and their own ego forced upon her. Women exist to immediately serve their needs, and women who have the termity to say no are to be attacked. In each of the cases of these men, they approached me, and then demanded access to my virtual sex, and often, my rl details. In each case, they became upset when I would not follow their script. I don't think I am alone in thinking that an ugly man who believes there is something wrong with a woman for not instantly wanting to perform anal sex with him, is sick. Sick.

Second Life does not create this sickness. Nor is this sickness isolated to the United States. I have examples in English, French, Italian, German, Japanese, Arabic, Turkish, and a few languages of India. It is too broad for any simple explanation, to widespread to be localized, to endemic to be glibbing analyzed by critical theory or pop psychology. It is part, as far as I can tell, of the human condition.

However the electronic media allow for individuals to act in ways that create means of finding victims. And that is what Pain Xeno, Zebentino Alecto, mally Rajal have in common with Philip Markoff: they're players are using Second Life to find victims. They feed an ego so intense that if it were displayed in the real world, they would be in jail. That is what would happen to a man who exposes himself randomly on the street like zebentino did. That is what would happen to Pain Xeno if he walked up to women and demanded anal sex. And yet each of these men believes that his behavior is normal and any woman who does not comply is confused, sad, or wrong.

I've known about the evil beneath the surface. It is not a realization which is unique to me. It is the subject of a very dark film about a woman who decides to kill herself by finding a man to do it on the internet: Downloading Nancy. I've faced it in my time in Second Life. I have secrets that I am not going to divulge about the drives that lie beneath faces and names that are not invisible or completely unknown

This is why the ASLFers are not merely an annoyance, but a fog within which people like Philip Markoff hide. The more dangerous ones to rl are the ones who are just a bit more suave, more careful. Who have a bit of a wink in their eye. But make no mistake: Markoff exists because of all the other men who have the same fantasy of being able to impose their cock on a woman, and being able to impose the waste of their search on everyone. After all, they can ask 100 women to find the one they need, only if none of the 99 are uncomfortable enough to tell them that the search is unacceptable. We hear in the news about "toxic waste" assets, well these men generate toxic waste in their quest for girl with slut fantasy who wants to submit to them right now.

I document this, because it is getting worse, just as there are people more visibly age playing now than before. Second Life, having been crushed of a future of wide open vistas and individual islands, is not rushing head long into the dark of trying to grab people and throw them around like numbers. It isn't working, because the underbelly of LL's vision is age players, aslferians, and a breeding ground for the kind of darkness that the Philip Markoffs of this world use to their advantage.

In some sense the world of the orgy room is going to die soon. Having to identify will rapidly change the nature of behavior, because a complaint will go to the root of the rl person. We are seeing the last volcanic eruption of a passing place.

But what created it will still be there, and will find another medium to express itself. So that is why I do this, because I've seen the fuzzy eyes of a killer in real life, and have a feeling for how he acts when he wants to impose himself on a female flesh that he thinks should be at his disposal.

If you don't like your ass f*cked then Pain Xeno will do something bad to you

[2009/04/30 1:06] Lillie Yifu: your just another jerk off the newbot asembly line
[2009/04/30 1:06] Pain Xeno: ok baby
[2009/04/30 1:06] Lillie Yifu: now wait for a slut or vamp to come along
[2009/04/30 1:06] Pain Xeno: huh
[2009/04/30 1:06] Lillie Yifu: and stop bothering me
[2009/04/30 1:06] Pain Xeno: have a nice day
[2009/04/30 1:06] Pain Xeno: and thanks for the nice words
[2009/04/30 1:06] Lillie Yifu: listen jerk
[2009/04/30 1:07] Pain Xeno: baby
[2009/04/30 1:07] Pain Xeno: u know
[2009/04/30 1:07] Lillie Yifu: you are bad mannered and egotistical
[2009/04/30 1:07] Pain Xeno: who talk like that
[2009/04/30 1:07] Lillie Yifu: inflict yourslef on someone else
[2009/04/30 1:07] Pain Xeno: fell like that
[2009/04/30 1:07] Lillie Yifu: I don't know
[2009/04/30 1:07] Pain Xeno: sp
[2009/04/30 1:07] Pain Xeno: so
[2009/04/30 1:07] Lillie Yifu: do you run around your home town with your cock out saying "can I use your ass?"
[2009/04/30 1:07] Lillie Yifu: And every woman just jumps on your cock and loves it right?
[2009/04/30 1:07] Lillie Yifu: please
[2009/04/30 1:08] Lillie Yifu: I'm tlkaing to you the way people really talk
[2009/04/30 1:08] Lillie Yifu: ]
[2009/04/30 1:08] Pain Xeno: ok u have a hard day
[2009/04/30 1:08] Pain Xeno: tray to realx baby
[2009/04/30 1:08] Lillie Yifu: it is you that is wandering around in some perverted little haze about your own worth and importance
[2009/04/30 1:08] Pain Xeno: its sl
[2009/04/30 1:08] Pain Xeno: not rl
[2009/04/30 1:08] Pain Xeno: tray to realx here
[2009/04/30 1:08] Lillie Yifu: I'm relaxed
[2009/04/30 1:08] Lillie Yifu: I told you I wasn't interested
[2009/04/30 1:08] Pain Xeno: check that gril
[2009/04/30 1:08] Pain Xeno: waw
[2009/04/30 1:08] Lillie Yifu: and you deided to be a jerk
[2009/04/30 1:09] Pain Xeno: its ok baby
[2009/04/30 1:09] Pain Xeno: i told u
[2009/04/30 1:09] Lillie Yifu: it will be when you go away and stop bothering me
[2009/04/30 1:09] Pain Xeno: ok have a nice day baby
-- Instant message logging enabled --
[1:09] Pain Xeno: and try to log out
[1:09] Lillie Yifu: see
[1:10] Lillie Yifu: you are a jerk
[1:10] Pain Xeno: hahahahahaha
[1:10] Pain Xeno: breath baby
[1:10] Pain Xeno: tray to realx
[1:10] Lillie Yifu: I think you need to have your words posted on the ineternt
[1:10] Lillie Yifu: welcome to gogole jerk
[1:10] Pain Xeno: or somthing bad will happen to u
[1:11] Lillie Yifu: You do that
[1:11] Pain Xeno: baby is that the way u talk to people in rl
[1:11] Pain Xeno: i'm sure its a lonly life u have
[1:11] Pain Xeno: i fell sorry for u

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

The phase of the moon


There is something going on. Up until now, in ages of escorting and exploring sl sex, I had very rarely seen a child avatar in an public orgy room, and never on a sex pose ball. I've encountered real pedophiles, or people who sent that creep alert in my skull. They all do a very elaborate dance, because they know the consequences. The do hidden things. They speak what I call, the "Lolita Language." It is a code of that includes scenarios of incest, requests of very particular kinds. Obsession with adult women who work with children irl. It's creepy because it is clear they know what they want to do is wrong, and they have engaged their whole intellect to doing it anyway. Even sting operations are more careful that what I have been seeing: several age players in a short space of time, culminating in a not work safe picture that I will put on the raise the red lantern blog shortly.

This incident involving an avatar 123kayy123 shieldmaiden began at 11:16 AM sl in one of second life's largest orgy rooms. I saw 123kayy123 Shieldmaiden drop in. Now there is short and flat chested, and there is child. The differences in proportion are evident to the eye. Humans learn them quickly - the large head, the body proportions. This avatar, as you can see from the picture, is done with some care. This is someone who, if they don't know what they are doing, knows enough to ask around for the appropriate material.

After two warnings, 123kayy123 led me on a chase around the first floor of the orgy room, and finally jumped on a bukake pose ball, that is, one with a series of male poseballs around it that masturbate at the female, but don't actually touch it. She stayed there for several minutes. At different moments during that time two male avatars jumped on pose balls and stayed there for more than a minute each.

123kayy123 Shieldmaiden left the area, and then returned, ran around the entire first floor again, and returned to the bukkake spot. Another male avatar asked "why is the kid here" to me in IM. I shouted out for people to report the avatar. Someone asked me how to do that, and I said by Help->Report Abuse.

This is off the scale unusual. My thoughts are varied as to what the player of 123kayy123 Shieldmaiden is. Sting? Extortion? Incredible stupidity? Something awful type prank? Attempting to prove that orgy males will try and have pixel sex with anything (which is true...) ?

I don't know, but it comes on a wave of similar incidents, and is therefore more suspicious because there have been more than one.

This makes the rather garden variety misbehavior of zebentino Alecto (not work safe, has a blurred version of what he sent!) seem almost tame. He spammed me a very large picture of his naked cock. Moments later he sent:


[11:43] zebentino Alecto: i wanna fuck with you
[11:43] zebentino Alecto: come here
[11:44] zebentino Alecto: suck my dick
[11:45] zebentino Alecto: do you wanna more pictures


He then spent several minutes trying to tell me that I am confused, he did not mean it. This is a lie because while the picture could... very remotely ... have been dropped by accident, though someone sending a picture of his erect penis is, in my experience, a great deal more careful about making sure the right person gets it, the follow up indicates that he was not with the person who he was intending to send the picture to, because he said "come here." Which also shows he didn't know the person, but was still in that "come fuck" mode of communication.

A long stream of lies later, I finally told him that I was going to post on this. He's been reported to Linden Lab, but the odds are only 50/50 that they will do anything about him. (And dropping, he's still around after over an hour. Obviously it is not a violation of the Terms of Service to spam pictures of your real world erect penis to people. Good to know that.)

bald fix

We almost all wear a bald almost all of the time. However many of the common baldies leave the default hair texture in place. This gives your "ruth wings" around your ears. Bad. So what to do? Wear your bald base, if it has ruth wings, then go to edit appearance, and select hair. There will be a texture. The default is a white spidery thing. Click on that, and replace it with the transparent texture from the library. Make copies from that bald base.

Designers... you should do this too with your bald bases. Most do, some don't.

AV Vlodovic has a steal for 1L.


AV has a blog and a store with some nice things here and right now, a very good 1L argyle sweater skirt in purple. There are also two lucky boards (which I usually avoid) one with matching argyle pumps, one with argyle stockings. Didn't get the pumps, but the stockings add to the outfit's appeal. Don't know her, don't work for her, but do like the store and the outfit.

No meaning

No meaning, no measure, no minute of pleasure.
No witness, no willing, no wanting, no waiting.
No power, no place, no peace, no province.
No meaning, no measure, no minute to treasure.

They come upon us like a wave,
The call it fun, they call it play,
the do not know the bed they crud,
their first free fucks, paid for in blood.

After that they think they've learned
that within all of us a fire burns,
to be used and then tossed aside,
another notch on their freebie pride.

It's a lesson that we all must take,
that greed leaves contempt,
for women,
in it's wake.

Poems are made by fools like me,
but money is made by the patriarchy.

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.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

There I was,dancing on the beach.. with come clothes on even when....

[23:30] Mally Rajal: hey
[23:38] Lillie Yifu: Hello
[23:39] Mally Rajal: how zit goin
[23:39] Lillie Yifu: Well.
[23:39] Mally Rajal: u need some company ;-)
[23:40] Lillie Yifu: It depends on what kind
[23:40] Mally Rajal: what do u have in mind
[23:41] Lillie Yifu: I wasn't the one who talked to you.
[23:41] Mally Rajal: lol
[23:41] Mally Rajal: i agree
[23:41] Mally Rajal: u still in the beach
[23:41] Lillie Yifu: I am over by the dance pavilian
[23:41] Lillie Yifu: pavilion
[23:42] Mally Rajal: ok... i will be there
[23:45] Mally Rajal: do u knw a place we could go
[23:45] Mally Rajal: this place is too slow
[23:45] Mally Rajal: i am having a hard time controlling my avi...lol
[23:45] Lillie Yifu: places with epople are laggy
[23:45] Lillie Yifu: part of the price of meeting people
[23:46] Mally Rajal: yeah .. very laggy indeed
[23:46] Mally Rajal: where are u
[23:46] Mally Rajal: could u tp me pls
[23:47] Mally Rajal: u r dancing
[23:47] Lillie Yifu: yes
[23:47] Mally Rajal: dont u know of places we could go and have fun
[23:48] Mally Rajal: shall we go
[23:48] Lillie Yifu: it depends on what you mean by having fun
[23:48] Mally Rajal: well... sex of course
[23:48] Lillie Yifu: dear if wanna fuck
[23:48] Lillie Yifu: was all it took to get me to have sex
[23:48] Lillie Yifu: I would be doing it with 30 guys a day
[23:48] Lillie Yifu: I'm not a vampire
[23:49] Lillie Yifu: I'm nt an escort
[23:49] Mally Rajal: lol
[23:49] Lillie Yifu: and I am not your bitch
[23:49] Mally Rajal: hey easy now
[23:49] Lillie Yifu: now get out of my face you creep
[23:49] Mally Rajal: if you want to say No... just say NO... u dumbas
[23:49] Mally Rajal: idont want ur lecture
[23:51] Lillie Yifu: listen slime bag
[23:51] Lillie Yifu: you should make a new avatar
[23:51] Lillie Yifu: because taht one is about to develop a reputaiton
[23:51] Lillie Yifu: a bad reputation
[23:51] Lillie Yifu: good bye
[23:51] Mally Rajal: hey u fuckin bitch
[23:52] Mally Rajal: u cannot say or do anything to me u scumbag
[23:52] Lillie Yifu: actually I can
[23:52] Lillie Yifu: and am about to
[23:53] Mally Rajal: whatever.. !!!



No Second Life has not gotten any better. They can't get the XXX continent going fast enough for my taste.

Now, given that this is pretty much the typical reaction of a guy demanding free isntatn sex, is it any wonder why they don't get any? They hate women. It's pretty obvious.

Yes, I have documented this a great deal, no it isn't news. But this is the Second Life we lead.

MIME types Voting. Short form.

SignpostMarv's original JIRA is to support MIME types other than text/plain and HTML what we need are the xml families and json. JSON is important because it is much less verbose than xml, and we have to work with small chunks.

Please vote this one on.

Help bring Twitter to Second Life

Second Life's resident community needs your help.

The problem is old, but it is reaching a critical point where it needs to be addressed, and the only way for that to happen is for people to say so. What is the problem? Why no generally available twitter tool in second life? It's simple, but a bit tangled to explain, because there is a lot of geek involved.

You are reading this blog in a browser. The browser does not get a picture of the website from the server, but a series of instructions on how to build the website: HTML. It then "renders" the page by grabbing the needed pictures, programs, and text. The language that it gets is HTML, and it is carried over the HTTP protocol. The protocol is how the information is transmitted, and HTML is what is in the message. However, there are many other languages that are used to communicate. One common one is XML (bleah, but necessary, more later), another is JSON. These are sent, however, in plain text. That's like the alphabet of this whole thing. Just like in the real world, very similar alphabets can carry many different languages. JSON and XML both are usually transmitted in plain text, just like HTML.

So protocol carries messages written in a language. The language is identified by what is called the mime type. The mime type is like saying a book is written in English, or French. It tells the receiving program how to interpret the text. However the data, the character set, is the same. There's no difference between the kind of data in an XML document, and the kind of data in an HTML document in terms of characters.

Get it? Got it? Good.

XML and JSON are used to transmit information of different kinds, including ways to talk to popular services like Twitter. Many services publish what is called an "API" or Application Programming Interface. That is a fancy way of saying the way to send commands in, and interpret the information that comes out. HTTP is the protocol, and plain text is way of storing the data, but the language is often XML or JSON.

LSL, that is Linden Scripting Language, is the language used to make objects do things. Particles, spinning, flying vehicles, HUDs, all run on scripts that are written in LSL. LSL has the ability to send requests to outside services by using the HTTP protocol. So a script can send a request and get back an answer.

Problem. Even though XML and JSON are in plain text, which the HTTP request knows how to interpret, LSL returns an error. That would be like returning an error just because a web page is in French or German. The characters are the same, but the content is different.

The present work around is to have a "man in the middle" or intermediary, that does the actual talking, and the LSL gadget talks to it.

That's where Marvin comes in. Almost two years ago he put up This JIRA to accept other MIME types in to Second Life. However, nothing has been done. I think I will guess why. This is a really useful function. But because of that, it will be used. Bandwidth is not free. The present system limits the kinds of interfaces that can be used. For example, if there were a free twitter gadget, people would start to twitter. That would use bandwidth, and LL would have to pay for that bandwidth (since it goes from server to second life and then to client.)

So I offer the following thought: Babbage Linden has said there will be "memory throttling" in the future for scripts. That is an avatar can only use so much memory in scripts, and a parcel can only use so much. What is needed to balance this function is something very simple: pay for the privilege. Right now there is a sort of rough justice: if you are willing to pay for the bandwidth to do something, then LL figures that that limits how much you will use. However, this is bad all the way round, since one way to pay for that bandwidth, is to steal the passwords that people use. Marvin, and others, who have used intermediaries are way way way too honest to do this, but not everyone is their high standard, and they code is sitting there...

So what is the solution? Put into LSL a simple test on certain kinds of resources: has the avatar or parcel paid for them. There could be a simple check box, say 30L a week (worth it for your twitter addiction?) for an avatar. There could be bandwidth limits per parcel (because that way people won't by a minimum parcel and chatter all day long on gadgets). Premium accounts would get use free (they are paying for the privilege already). Not premium accounts could be charged "a la carte." There could be high, but reasonable, limits to prevent botting on the minimum charge, and to encourage good gadget writing.

So first step would be to open this up. It won't kill LL at first for cost, and it will allow people to write the gadgets. LL collects data on what "reasonable" use looks like, and can price it accordingly.

But give us the ability to talk to the outside world. Even the truncated 2048 bites are enough for us to do something that is beneficial for Second Life, namely get the word out to our Web 2.0 networks of friends.

So log in and vote for Marv's JIRA to bring data into second life. This place was billed as the future of the web, it is time it started talking to the rest of the web.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

llgtargetOmega broken again

Linden Labs: more costs, fewer features.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Above us Circles

Above circles a hawk, found place in metropolis
it peers down with a gaze more felt that seen.
It judges us not fit for it's consumption,
but strikes for mouse that wandered from country
sought fit to seize the day.

Above circles of clouds, that swirl
and find a place between the hot humid high,
and the stern low that guards above us,
and see fit to strike us with a dreary rain.
It is cold, cold to my fingers,
even as they clench an umbrella.
It affords scant protection from the wind.

Above us, circles. Circles of power,
of men,
of mice that make decisions for us,
to be peered upon by time and tide,
and washed away in history's rain.

Monday, April 13, 2009

How little I know

I've been reflecting on how little I understand certain things about men. One of them is when they misbehave in little ways that are almost sure to cause problems. Like, for example, not calling and being very late. I'm late a great deal. Punctuality is not one of my special gifts in this world. So I call ahead. Or try to send email. However, men often seem to not call. Then when asked about it, there is this stupid look. I know they thought of it.

One of my friends is involved in a larger version of this. He's promised to tell people about what happened with a project - and has not. Even when he knows he should. Even when he has been reminded, gently.

It is this kind of thing that I don't understand. What are you guys thinking. Is it that you realize, too late, that you are too late, and that, in itself, makes you delay even more?

I ran into a newbie jerk. He demanded sex, and then when told no, he asked why. He kept pushing and attacking, and I finally lost my temper and told him the truth. His name is Kenji Bohemian, and if you don't fuck him immediately - he calls it "making love" - then he will call you an idiot and stupid and demand to know why.

OK, what goes through a guys head when he does this? Doesn't he realize that piling on the attacks only shoes that he was a liar from the beginning?

Now, for my own misbehavior, I often understand the naughty effect quite well. But this whole doing something that is wrong, and gets nothing - what would it hurt to call? Or apologize? Or something.

How little I still understand. I need to reflect on some things, because they are in my fiction. Writing believable male characters is hard, because it seems that there are so many patterns of behavior that exist, but not in words.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

The Cold Spring

This is the cold spring, the cold spring.
The cold spring after cold winter,
after many cold hours,
where men gathered and waited for morning coffee,
and set themselves to work, by standing in line,
their hands clench and unclench,
no longer having tools to hold.
This is the cold spring, which coils around their hearts,
and tells them that they are not needed any more.

In a year not long ago the hot winds did torque and blow,
and a city, one that we all by memory know
was marked by map to be half of what it was.

Now another city of singing percussion finds,
that it is tossed out and the present grinds,
grinds it to dust. Not to die in firey water,
but drowned in icy lose of wanderlust.

This is the cold spring,
from which will spring
a new generation, that shall have a faith
that is faithless to a past,
that now freezes us out of all hope and hurry.
And leaves us now, with debt and worry.

This is the cold spring,
from a place that was once, covered in green,
false green, so we've seen.
And from this spring we fly,
and hope, perchance, to land,
on some new land,
which will not torment,
between over heated fever dream,
and burning cold mornings
short of coffee,
while we watch once busy men,
stand
alone
in
line.

Rez Day

I am online working on something, and have some loose ends to clean up. RL is getting better, while SL seems to be slowing down. Still lots of lovely people here, but it is weighed down by it's rulers and the accumulated grime in the sewers.

Perhaps it is time to write again abit. I think I will do that.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Yes I am mostly gone

but I've gotten enough requests for this page that it seemed silly not to open it again. Maybe I will post something now and again, but probably not often.

Second Life seems to be like RL, only it crashes more.