I just finished reading Robert Lowell's poem For the Union Dead. It's on a plaque in the middle of Boston Common, which is where I saw it first (I used to live near Boston Common, up underneath the state house in a tenement building full of rats and drafts). The poem was about the demise of the aquarium, and the erection of a parking lot in its place. I think the poem can be summed up by a lyric from someone else, they paved paradise and put in a parking lot -- but when Lowell was writing, the cars had huge fins and ate gas like the world had no shortage. It was also about the statues in Boston Common, the ones of the first black regiment, and about how easy it is to die. I was pondering this point in reference to Second Life. SL is the perfect place to stage a death and then be around for the funeral. Try out a life, dislike it, shoot it, start anew…
An old coworker of mine died last week. Speculation upon the causes of death were various, but knowing of her life, I think that it felt a bit tattered and frayed. It sucks that there isn't a reset button, an alt with all your best (no copy) (no mod) (trans) items that you can shunt over, a fresh start in a new sim… This post wasn't meant to be a memorial but a meditation. Perhaps Second Life frees us to live and die as we choose, a place to practice safely for the game with no reset.
This outfit is by *katat0nik*, and the hair by !lamb, a group gift. Someone shoved my avvie firmly into rockabilly today, eh?
***Eyes: Endeavor twinkle eyes L 08
***Gloves: Sprawl Shove Gloves (flora)
***Hair: lamb the glow deux - group gift (ink)
***Outfit: *katat0nik* Lucky Roller Girl
***Skin: Ugly Duck Lucy Painted (green eyeshadow, blue doll lips)