your chaos won't convert them
It's been interesting, playing the game. Everyone by now knows I'm addicted. Only Cat's worried about it, mostly because I'm being dreadfully outgoing in SL, and withdrawing just a tad in RL. Part of it is the shiny new toy phenomenon, but part is also...I like it better there. I live in a tree, I have a job I love, I have friends from all over...it's like the net, only with pretty pretty pictures.
Aheh.
Anyway.
It's also been interesting, being actively bi again. Previous to then, for, oh, about ten years, I was actively lesbian. I mean, yeah, still bi enough to appreciate male beauty, but to want to ride the hobbyhorse? Move on down the road, bub.
On SL? I get to be actively bisexual. I have several gentlemen, some ladies I love flirting with (and in two cases, it's gone beyond flirting), and I'm very happy to be me. The down side? I have a lesbian friend who doesn't believe in bisexuality, and she just can't grok the fact that I don't say I'm straight. She points to my men. I point to her and my other women. She shakes her head.
It's kind of funny, but really sad at the same time, because this is the attitude that stopped me from going to all-women camps and lesbian bars. I was actually spit on by a woman in a bar once. Because I mentioned being bi, after a friend walked up--a *male* friend--and I greeted him with a hug. She said she would never sleep with anyone who had been tainted by men, spit in my face, and left.
I've been used to that treatment--usually less extreme, but the same denial and turning away--every time I mention the word. Which is terribly sad when you think of the community's struggle against attacks from the straight world. If we could just stop hating our own...boy, that'd be nice.
Went on a search for poetry last night, couldn't find any of my poetry books. So I searched the early days of this journal, hoping to find something I could enclose in an email to my brokenhearted Australian fellow.
I found this:
knock and the door shall
build my house of baling wire and bones
small frosted glistening shapes of sea glass
twigs and feathers, carved fetishes
arching mastodon ribs and darting eyes
make a door of cedar and barbed wire
strips of salted leather and broken timepieces
videotape streamers and scorched red ribbons
twisted rusted rebar and skulls
tattered silks and cottons to line the interior
between layers of acacia thorns and suture wire
old sections of vintage quilts and beaded draperies
embroidered denim and soft cotton batting
handfuls of caltrops scattered through the substructure
carded Shetland wool and hand-dyed felt
pull all around me, nest inside and
wait for someone to get past
the outer defenses
wait to see if they can make it through
without spilling a drop on the cottons
--3 january 2003
It still applies, though one of the curious features of Second Life? I'm nicer there than in the real world. Which I don't necessarily think is that strange--I'm nicer at Free Geek than I am in the rest of the world. At home, I'm going to be a perky bitch, because damn it, it's my home, I can be changeable, aggressive and strange--but the Geek is big on nice, and I'm here nearly eleven months, I'm getting programmed. So I walk into Second Life, and, strangely enough, I'm nicer--it feels distinctly odd.
On the plus side? The uberbitch comes out to play on stage, because--even though we have a security manager at the club--I'm the main person bouncing people, especially people who end up on stage. And I have no compunctions over doing so. I give three warnings and I ban, which poofs whomever back home, no doubt confused as to why they're no longer in a strip club.
But that's it. Everywhere else? Good gods, I'm nice. It's slightly nauseating.
Okay, we're just about to open. That is all.
(And I know, I know, I gotta change my userpics. Mrrrr.)
Aheh.
Anyway.
It's also been interesting, being actively bi again. Previous to then, for, oh, about ten years, I was actively lesbian. I mean, yeah, still bi enough to appreciate male beauty, but to want to ride the hobbyhorse? Move on down the road, bub.
On SL? I get to be actively bisexual. I have several gentlemen, some ladies I love flirting with (and in two cases, it's gone beyond flirting), and I'm very happy to be me. The down side? I have a lesbian friend who doesn't believe in bisexuality, and she just can't grok the fact that I don't say I'm straight. She points to my men. I point to her and my other women. She shakes her head.
It's kind of funny, but really sad at the same time, because this is the attitude that stopped me from going to all-women camps and lesbian bars. I was actually spit on by a woman in a bar once. Because I mentioned being bi, after a friend walked up--a *male* friend--and I greeted him with a hug. She said she would never sleep with anyone who had been tainted by men, spit in my face, and left.
I've been used to that treatment--usually less extreme, but the same denial and turning away--every time I mention the word. Which is terribly sad when you think of the community's struggle against attacks from the straight world. If we could just stop hating our own...boy, that'd be nice.
Went on a search for poetry last night, couldn't find any of my poetry books. So I searched the early days of this journal, hoping to find something I could enclose in an email to my brokenhearted Australian fellow.
I found this:
knock and the door shall
build my house of baling wire and bones
small frosted glistening shapes of sea glass
twigs and feathers, carved fetishes
arching mastodon ribs and darting eyes
make a door of cedar and barbed wire
strips of salted leather and broken timepieces
videotape streamers and scorched red ribbons
twisted rusted rebar and skulls
tattered silks and cottons to line the interior
between layers of acacia thorns and suture wire
old sections of vintage quilts and beaded draperies
embroidered denim and soft cotton batting
handfuls of caltrops scattered through the substructure
carded Shetland wool and hand-dyed felt
pull all around me, nest inside and
wait for someone to get past
the outer defenses
wait to see if they can make it through
without spilling a drop on the cottons
--3 january 2003
It still applies, though one of the curious features of Second Life? I'm nicer there than in the real world. Which I don't necessarily think is that strange--I'm nicer at Free Geek than I am in the rest of the world. At home, I'm going to be a perky bitch, because damn it, it's my home, I can be changeable, aggressive and strange--but the Geek is big on nice, and I'm here nearly eleven months, I'm getting programmed. So I walk into Second Life, and, strangely enough, I'm nicer--it feels distinctly odd.
On the plus side? The uberbitch comes out to play on stage, because--even though we have a security manager at the club--I'm the main person bouncing people, especially people who end up on stage. And I have no compunctions over doing so. I give three warnings and I ban, which poofs whomever back home, no doubt confused as to why they're no longer in a strip club.
But that's it. Everywhere else? Good gods, I'm nice. It's slightly nauseating.
Okay, we're just about to open. That is all.
(And I know, I know, I gotta change my userpics. Mrrrr.)