Garden City …100 Percent

The Garden City fundraiser was created to benefit those affected by the devastating earthquake that hit Christchurch New Zealand for the second time in 6 months, only to cause much more damage and loss of life.  Moved by the tragedy, a small group of inworld creators are offering wonderful creations, with 100% of the proceeds helping New Zealanders. 

I have not been to New Zealand but I understand it is a beautiful country.  I hope to travel there some day.  In the meantime, fashion events where the proceeds help those in need always appeal to me…particularly when it is 100% of the proceeds.  I love beautiful fashion and truly it holds even deeper meaning when the purchase of it goes beyond making me feel good and works to make a real difference to those in a time of need.  The Garden City fundraiser runs from February 26th through March 5th.  You’ll find it to be a cozy event, set in a cleanly laid out area, with a small number of designers and their wonderful items for sale.  As always with fundraisers and fashion, it’s wise to dress for lag.  The items I feature in this weblog entry all come from Garden City (except the jewelry ensemble that works so perfectly with the gown).  The items include a large contemporary skybox, a gorgeous gown, beautiful hair, and lush eyes all found exclusively at the Garden City fundraiser.  See below for fashion details and slurls, and thank you for all of your wonderful help.

Fashion Details:

Garden City slurl

Gown:  “Coppelia” in Sea Note from Evie’s Closet

Hair:  “Alright” Essentials Collection in Red 08 from [elikatira].  The Essentials Collection at Garden City comes with black, white, blonde (two shaes)

Eyes:  “ForgetMeNot” from Shine (Garden City purchase comes with five eye colors:  buttercup, forgetmenot, koru, orchid, stormy)

Skybox:  “Chic Studio” skybox from Designer Prims Contemporary Home (90 prim skybox that comes complete with a pool and animations, shower, light beams, house controls, texture changes, security system).

*Necklace and earrings:  “Sanctuary” in blue from Cocoon Jewelry.  *Cocoon Jewelry is not exhibiting at the Garden City event.  I love Cocoon Jewelery for its incredible beauty and intricate detail and thought “Sanctuary” ensemble worked so perfectly with the gown from Evie’s Closet (which is at the Garden City event).

 

Waking the Sleeping Integer … 14

Ch 14 ~ The World on a (Wireless) String

Today was the day.  Megan just about catapulted out of bed a full half hour early, beating out the morning ritual of her smart phone sounding the alarm.  A quick 15 minutes later, after attending to the matters of personal hygiene, and Megan carefully yanked her outfit off of the hangar in the closet — where the frock had hovered in a holding pattern in patient anticipation of this very day when it would finally drape across Megan’s body, step outside into the world, and see the very bright light of this very bright day.  And how was this day bright, Megan confirmed in her mind.  The possibilities for her future nearly blinded her, but she didn’t shield her eyes or any part of herself from those possibilities.  Instead, Megan was fully jacked into and jazzed up about the path that lay before her because today was the first day of the future:  a final interview awaited, one for that coveted position with that high flying company doing that way-cool jazzed-out thing that the market just loved loved loved…which sure beat doing things the market just loathed to pieces.  Especially in these times.  The economy sucked rocks for the past two years — didn’t it know it should shape up because Megan was finishing her last year in grad school? — and the economy outright sucked boulders now since she hit the job market half-a-year ago.  But all of that was about to turn around.  By God…if not by Wall Street.  Who the hell could count on Wall Street except for Wall Street anyway?  (I’m sorry, but that’s precisely what Megan thought…no point in trying to sugar coat it.)   Because on a wing and a prayer — in this rocking slick suit that Megan wore close to the vest finished off with her skirt and its back pocket that she slid her smart phone into close to her hips —  today was the day that Megan cracked the world wide open, started her future and claimed permanent residency on Cloud Nine.

She strutted her stuff, professionally appointed suit and all — a crisp navy blue jacket paired with a white shirt, a patterned shock of scarf inked in neon red, and a tightly fitted skirt — out of the house and forward along the sidewalk to her car.  She was in motion.  Forward motion, baby.  Her hips swung, her tooshie bounced.  And yes.  All at once.   Entire worlds rocked and swayed and moved.

The screen flickered to life just as Megan entered her all terrain vehicle, painted in an Electric Shock Yellow hue.  Somehow the color was appropriate.  Sure, it was bold, but it suit her.  She had washed the vehicle and vacuumed it and put a shine to every inch of its detail.  No one would care or know that the rugged earthy bit of machinery was incredibly reliable even if out of warranty.  Megan still babied it like it had just been driven off the lot, and it gleamed extra bright today.  All anyone would see was the blinding sun of her wheels, the blinding sun of her personality and talent, the blinding sun of her brilliant career. 

Look out World, here she came.  Literally.  She arrived at precisely the same time as she had plopped her plump rounded tooshie onto the upholstered driver’s seat.  She came or the World came — it was difficult to say which came first — but there the World was, and in it, so was Megan. 

Except the base of her spine wasn’t so much fleshy anymore.  Not that this was all about her backside, but the fact of the matter was Megan was flying by the seat of her, well, skirt, in this instance.  But in this world, her skirt was more like a shredded loincloth and her backside was so chiseled you might as well pick your handholds and foodholds and climb up it.  Above her rather unforgiving thighs and wrapped tightly around a waist that just about taunted for a fight, Megan wore a thick, weathered belt that carried an assortment of cruel weapons.  She hardly needed any of them by the size of her hands and arms and upper body, all of which was punctuated off by torn elven ears and the low-rumbling scowl that rode the tail of a firery cresting mohawk.  Body poised and flexed for something not yet visible, she stood in watchful wait for a problem that every one of the massive fibers in her body told her was about to erupt into this World.   And then it did.  Because life was filled with challenges and the life of an Orc was no exception.

“Can you move it along!” she barked at the long sea of traffic that snaked before her eyes.  As if to emphasize the point, she leaned forward enough to just about smother the steering wheel with her breasts and barked into her front window for a second time.  Megan was usually cool as a cucumber but she just *hated* being late and this unexpected mob of vehicles was about to seriously take the shine off of her day. 

“ARRCKKK!” the Orc boomed incomprehensibly before catapulting onto the mass of bodies that formed around the front grounds of the fortress.  

“Outta my way!” she yelled before swerving wildly across three lanes of traffic, just barely threading the open spaces within a hair of her life and that of everyone around her.

A giant ladder arched itself up into the sky and wound itself up into the air, as if biding its time before it landed on the turrent of the fortress keep.  The Ocr lunged wildly forward and clutched at a rung, then swung her powerful body heavily forward and around until her clawed feet and treetrunk legs fixed themselves onto the handholds.  She clutched a jagged knife between her foul teeth and leaned forward in an impatient wait that gathered in thick darkness for the chance to mow over anything that got in her way.

“HEY!!  Loser!  Where did you learn how to drive!!”  She tore the words out from over her shoulder and flung them at the driver of a semi that came barrelling down the ramp. 

Hurling herself off of the ladder, the Orc suddenly ripped the knife from between her teeth and lashed out wildly in the air at anything within arm’s length until she crashed with a punishing thud on top of the turrent and rolled onto the floor of the stone walkway.  Miraculously, no one was hurt.  

Heart pounding and she was certain her eyes flaring, Megan floored the pedal with barely a second to cut in front of the speeding truck before she launched her all terrain vehicle and her highly aggitated self onto the exit ramp.

It was a wild, bumpy chaotic ride from the highway to the side roads but somehow at last, Megan’s vehicle screeched into a stall in the parking lot of the high-flying company that did all the latest things that the market just loved loved loved.  As she manuveured the vehicle, her body rocked side to side until she slammed on the brakes.  A beep and a whoosh eminated from her smart phone through the tightly woven fabric of a skirt that threatened to suck her hips in down to the tops of her kneecaps.  She made a mental note to check the device later.  But for now, she kept it tucked securely in her back pocket, she smoothed her face, caught her breath, grabbed her portfolio, and dashed out of her all terrain vehicle to leap across the parking lot to the building.

Furry Rabbits dashed incredibly gracefully, even when they wear stiletto heels.  Ears fluffed back, eyes peeled open, and her nostrils whiskering the air, this Furry Rabbit like all Furry Rabbits stayed alert at all times and mapped out a route before one even made itself known.  Like the path of least resistance to the building.  Megan’s gaze locked onto the set of revolving doors that made for the fastest route into the all-glass and steel facility, then with her eyes, she mentally outlined the full length of the path as it passed the main and guarded entry desk and into the bank of elevators.  She scampered lightening fast across the clearing and into the safety of the pumpkin patch where she burrowed clear into the thicket.  Satisfied, she blinked her big almond shaped eyes and with her furry paw smoothed the tufts of hair around her eyebrows.  And then she sighed a sigh of calm because now — tucked into the back of one of the elevators behind a thicket of professional type people — Megan had smoothed the near panic of the morning commute out of her hair and face.  She was well on her way to retrieve the carrot of a brilliant career with the added bonus that she could bank on arriving a pleasingly 10 minutes early for an interview for a new job that was going to launch it all.

“Good morning, how are you?  Megan Than here for a 9:00 interview.” 

“Good morning to you too, Megan.  Have a seat please.  I’ll let them know you are here.  And good luck, by the way.”  The receptionist smiled.  It was a warm smile but it didn’t promise anything…like insider knowledge about the interview process.  Still, Megan took it as a good sign that the receptionist wasn’t aloof.  She returned the smile with the best Miss Congeniality expression that she could muster up as naturally as possible given that she was so incredibly excited that her energy flirted with nervous disaster, and after she thanked the receptionist, she quietly yet with a pleasing amount of self-assurance claimed the center chair in the waiting area.  When she sat, another beep and a whoosh sounded from the back pocket of her skirt but had barely registered in her mind.  Yet like all of the times before this time, the beep and the whoosh had occurred even if Megan hadn’t acknowledged it.  But, how could she at this moment?  The competition that began to file into the waiting area was thick and openly threw daggers at her.  The thing is though that Megan would have none of their negativity.  She was too excited.  Because my God…here she was!  Well, really…it was really more along the lines of:

“Anddddd here she is!  Miss Virtual World of the Metaverse!”  Impossibly long, impossibly gorgeous, impossibly sexy with all of her features impossibly refined and beautiful, and her mouth impossibly drawn in the most emphatic expression of confidence that anyone could ever dream of mustering.  Yet Megan managed to muster it even beyond the extraordinary because the competition had challenged her to a deathmatch stare down.  Nostrils pinched to the extreme and lips drawn so full yet so fiercely clamped together, it was a wonder they could even breathe.  Stare down or no stare down, Megan had won and won clearly, so inhale all of the regalia of her beauty contest royalty she did.  She smoldered in her gown as she glided down the catwalk.  She set the world on fire with her Editorial Hairstyle and her layers of baubles around her neck that draped in worship on her curved back. She commanded the center of all attention, Megan did…even in the center chair of the waiting area where she suddenly dialed back the ramped up self assurance and lifted the corners of her mouth into a smile that broke the polished veneer away and that was delivered warmly to the Interviewer.

Gosh but this interview went fast.  From the time they sat down in the conference room (where another beep and a whoosh echoed distantly down her ear canal) to the time when the Interviewer wrapped things up, it turned out they had talked for a couple of hours.  And in that time, Megan stepped fully into herself and emerged as a masterful artist.  She painted a very clear picture of the value she could provide to the company.  Painstakingly yet with a real enthusiasm, she described every detail of how she could create worthwhile solutions that the company hadn’t yet envisioned.  She presented and examined the Muse within the torus and the sphere, the cone and the prim, all the basic building blocks for creation.  She demonstrated the language of building:  the stretching and rotating, texturing and coloring, flexible paths and glow, hollowing and twisting.  She laid out the heart of creation whereby piece by piece, link by joined link, she built an expansive vision for creating an environment that nurtured imagination, for encouraging the unbounded exploration of creativity, for fostering the realization of outright innovation as the aim.  At last her ideas encouraged a conversation and their exchange of ideas and views reached a point of mutual understanding, mutually envisioned potential.  Then when Megan asked if she could describe anything in more detail or answer any other questions, all that she heard was:  “Welcome aboard.  When can you start?”

She smiled in that electric shock yellow all terrain vehicle for quite a while before she revved the engine.  She relived the conversation — especially the part of the job offer — and just about did back flips.  Her mind threw a tiny party, delivered on the wings of a euphoria complete with particles and dancing.  My God she was hungry after such a coupe!   So hungry and elated, in fact, that she finally managed to pull her mind out of her reverie.  Either that, or the incessant beep and whoosh finally tugged Megan by her chin and forcibly drew her attention to her smart phone.  She yanked it out of her back pocket.  She stared at it. 

“Oh my goodnees,” she laughed.  She rolled her head back onto the headrest and kept it there for a few seconds while she snorted at herself.  At last, she rejoined her chin to her chest and gazed again at the image on the screen of her smart phone. 

“So much for butt dialing,” she smirked out loud.  “Looks like now I’m butt logging into virtual worlds.”  She shook her head and smiled.  “I always enjoy being a tiny.  They are fun.  hmmmm though…I do wonder what else I was this morning…”

And with that, she leaned forward and tumbled the keys in the ignition.  She suddenly had a hankering to find the biggest stack of waffles out there in the worlds.  Because without question today was the day for it.

Nanowrimo10 total word count: 2,410.  Total wordcount to date:  37,700 of 50,000 (not including this notation).

Waking the Sleeping Integer … 13

Ch 13 ~ Vision So Easy Even a Monkey Can Do It

Kafakl eklvio weireavu aroeulase!! wkleje woiguiobjae aoziuler O3ENONNDNEEEEEEEEEEEE!

“wouroewulwr WHAAGBAIDBOICE OGIJAOIGJAOJGA AHHHHH!  Daljkl.  Dfakjldjakjf.  REvioearmnklv dklrje ab0opviz as nwejloba tnedec=edkljgjla adjl — jwowowh….woenahhh!!!”

Wld.e.

Xomwm tjak aae e afalboa eowkcl Pdaljk e Welwl a Wwld.d.akfjdlkjakldfjldksj=-enoelkovkeoriu!@)9813409il 123941084194 valkjlsd,esc09werlqwjgnaoisutjhg rewoijrlwejrekje

wkoerjlewrjkl.

Youojgakljktlewj, iotuietjh, alkjdfkajj & alkjdlakjfl ubaiouyoiuer; noiu lkjaklj lqwuygour Qkseruoi Rcvilur Berlkublu. Kafdkal Lmeakr — baiparl qwemrqwe cxoo302mclkc dadf acvap AA adjf mladkj woZwlemrlw — biao &^ andlf 109dsfkjl bbbaaaaaahhhh! Nioajer Pasq[q[wer[p…Qdkljsf Ekljklfj….}asdkfaksd[fwalrwww…Xwer Zemeo…p1w4 fkjvv lkwlermv; ka;lrerr lrewlww qoasflerj2, 1,dodifuor adfla adofal aofde.

Bkokf.

Kkolff.

Lofkokfbb.

Xoivuulrs surlblva.

“Odakljfaiiiweeuooo, pglakmveeeeeaklfkalzy:  Yaszzy, Blizzazyarey, :& Yafammerazy.”

“Yaszzy, Blizzazyarey, :& Yafammerazy?”

“Da!!”

Brook raised a hand.  His fingers articulated through a dance of sorts, almost as if they questioned the very air in the room of this particular Meet and Greet.  He scrunched his face in a bit of contorted confusion.  The wheels of comprehension turned but he couldn’t really say where they were going.  So, finally Brook asked out of the side of his teeth,

“Uh…could you repeat that vision again, Mr. Leader?”

 

Kafakl eklvio weireavu aroeulase!! wkleje woiguiobjae aoziuler O3ENONNDNEEEEEEEEEEEE!

“wouroewulwr WHAAGBAIDBOICE OGIJAOIGJAOJGA AHHHHH!  Daljkl.  Dfakjldjakjf.  REvioearmnklv dklrje ab0opviz as nwejloba tnedec=edkljgjla adjl — jwowowh….woenahhh!!!”

Wld.e.

Xomwm tjak aae e afalboa eowkcl Pdaljk e Welwl a Wwld.d.akfjdlkjakldfjldksj=-enoelkovkeoriu!@)9813409il 123941084194 valkjlsd,esc09werlqwjgnaoisutjhg rewoijrlwejrekje

wkoerjlewrjkl.

Youojgakljktlewj, iotuietjh, alkjdfkajj & alkjdlakjfl ubaiouyoiuer; noiu lkjaklj lqwuygour Qkseruoi Rcvilur Berlkublu. Kafdkal Lmeakr — baiparl qwemrqwe cxoo302mclkc dadf acvap AA adjf mladkj woZwlemrlw — biao &^ andlf 109dsfkjl bbbaaaaaahhhh! Nioajer Pasq[q[wer[p…Qdkljsf Ekljklfj….}asdkfaksd[fwalrwww…Xwer Zemeo…p1w4 fkjvv lkwlermv; ka;lrerr lrewlww qoasflerj2, 1,dodifuor adfla adofal aofde.

Bkokf.

Kkolff.

Lofkokfbb.

Xoivuulrs surlblva.

“Odakljfaiiiweeuooo, pglakmveeeeeaklfkalzy:  Yaszzy, Blizzazyarey, :& Yafammerazy.”

“Yaszzy, Blizzazyarey, :& Yafammerazy?”

“Da!!”

“Hmmm,” Brook mumbled.  He thought for a bit.  Folded his arms.  Moved his eyes.  Tilted his chin.  Slightly raised an eyebrow.  Nodded his head as if in agreement and decided right then and there. 

He would listen to the rest of the vision by actually turning on his audio. 

 

Nanowrimo10 total word count: 320.  Total wordcount to date:  35,290 of 50,000 (not including this notation).

Wild Horses

 

I’ve written about my friend Shenlei Flasheart alot over the years.   Shenlei is an accomplished fashion designer in that place called Real Life.  She is also an accomplished creator and long-time explorer of virtual worlds from Second Life, Open Sim to Inworldz and more.  Shenlei is a member of what I call the Second Life Early Adopter Cohort.  She and mutual friend Callipygian Christensen are two of few people I know who rezzed even before I did more than four years ago.  They are both grand souls and very talented:  Calli, with her beautiful photography and her wonderful range as a DJ of jazz, blues, and gospel music at various venues.  Shenlei’s talents run deep and are varied as well, from creating beautiful Victorian inspired fashion, mentoring aspiring designers, writing books on the topic, and creating wonderful communities.  One of Shenlei’s latest endeavors finds her as co-owner of a lovely Equestrian Lifestyle Estate called Carriage Trade.  For this community, Shenlei has launched a new line of dresswear — In the Habit — that caters to the fashion needs of anyone (male and female) who admires a polished outdoors look.

 

I show four items from In the Habit (photographed at Carriage Trade using a windlight setting), beginning with the beautiful “Michele Dressage Hat.”  I love this hat and can’t even begin to say how delighted I was to receive it from Shenlei and to discover that this wonderful creation was named after me.  This is the first time I’ve known for certain that an item was named after me.   There’s something very flattering about learning that somehow you inspired a creation.  And what a gorgeous creation this is.  This lovely hat comes in a range of colors, but I chose to show the red because it’s my favorite color.  It’s just so vibrant and happy.  The flower and lace bouquet on the back brim is simply spectacular and adds a gorgeous feminine presence to the crisp lines of the hat.  I pair my red hat with the Thorobred Fashion Scarf (natural white), the Ladies Hunt Coat (without shirt and in brown) and the Full Seated Breeches (in gray).  I love the clean, refined designs that Shenlei makes look so incredibly easy to achieve when they are so very far from easy to do.   All of these items as well as the other lovely items in the shop that I don’t show here come in a range of color choices.  It’s a delightful surprise to see how all these colors work so beautifully together.  You can go for a monochromatic look, or a traditional pairing of complementary colors, or you can make your look entirely your own by selecting an unexpected mix of colors.  It’s really pretty foolproof.

When you visit In the Habit, do check out the rest of the Carriage Trade community.  I had the genuine pleasure of participating in one of the first video productions (below) for the community when I rode Sali, a very friendly and strikingly beautiful horse avatar whose easy going personality and superb horse skills speak volumes about SL’s wonderful horse culture…a culture that, prior to this, I didn’t realize existed.  When you view the video — created by Carriage Trade co-owner Georgianna Blackburn — and watch the playfulness of the horse avatars, you’ll see what I mean about their wonderful nature.  (Sali and I open the video.  Sali was a horse of a different color at first.  In the beginning of the filming, Sali wore a champagne tail and mane, and then switched to a black tail and mane to match my jacket.  For my part, I was the hair of a different color.  I started out with the long curly red hair and switched to a champagne-cinnamon color to match Sali’s coat.)   

There’s so much to say about Carriage Trade and the wonderful creations and equestrian roleyplay you’ll find there, but it will take more than one entry to do so.  In the meantime, take the slurls and cantor or gallop on over there, where a Horse Shoe Hunt is also underway verily as we speak. 

Fashion Details for the shop “In the Habit,” which can be found in the Carriage Trade Equestrienne Attire courtyard:

  • @CT@ “Michele Dressage Hat” in cherry
  • @CT@ “Fashion Scarf Thorobred” in natural white
  • @CT@ “Ladies’ Hunt Coat” in brown
  • @CT@ “Full Seated Breeches” in gray

About Carriage Trade and its current Horse Shoe Hunt:

  • Carriage Trade is a lovely region that includes 7 rental homes, 6 retail establishments, a public livery with rental stalls, a community glasshouse, a plein air art gallery, community jumps, and a large, central park suitable for daily gallops.  There are regularly scheduled human-horse (quad horse avatar) events, including fox hunts and weekly park rides, as well as various other activities such as lectures, talks, and games and treasure hunts. 
  • The Carriage Trade Horse Shoe Hunt began January 29th and runs through midnight on February 28th.  Hunters are looking for 24 commemorative bronze horse shoes, each containing something special for horses or humans.   There are 12 horse items and 12 human items to add to the fun!  The Horse Shoes are hidden throughout the estate on the ground and arena levels and may be hidden in shops, public areas or parks, and possibly in the public areas of the livery.

 

Waking the Sleeping Integer … 12

12 ~ In an Instant (a rambling exploration of the act of reflection in the digital age)

In an instant, I burst forth into the world.  Where I arrived from and how I came to be, I couldn’t quite say, but it was as if I had been completely curled up with my feet all tucked under me and both elbows on a thigh and the curl of my hand holding up my head, and then I blinked — a very sudden spontaneous blink from out of nowhere — and a curtain lifted from my view, and I opened my eyes to see for myself that, yes, there I was, all newly born into the fully developed, now-lithe now-curvy now-tiny now-robust body of a 20-some-year-old, yet wobbling about on my legs and feet like an infant on its hands and knees, and jerking my head left and right in an immediate and messy attempt to find context here, in this place where I was born, a place called the Orientation-In-an-Instant Center.  At least that’s what the sign promised the place would provide, but at first glance, I found no evidence to suggest that the promise of conveying immediate understanding had been upheld at all.  There were signs everywhere and things to touch and things to poke and other things to zap and somehow vaporize into.  At least that was how it seemed.  But despite all the arrows pointing here and there and criss-crossing like a street side signpost that called out by name all the spokes on a bicycle wheel as it lay on its side and spun itself into circles, I found myself admiring the Orientation-in-an-Instance Center for at least trying to be the one place that even made an attempt to provide some kind of perspective to the chaos that — as the immediate word in the sim had it — lay in impatient wait for those very fresh of all newborns — those immediately born like me —  to explore.   Still maybe there might be the possibility of a future instant, of a future moment of reflection.  But that moment of reflection wasn’t now.  Because now was now.  And now again.  And again and again and again, until…

In another instant, there was a mosh pit that looked more like a tightly etched alley whose sides were all squared off by walls that crumbled into poles that tangled onto slabs of broken concrete and yawned back up and out to the world through the mouths of graffit’d rusty empty barrels that looked as though at one time or another they must have carried some important things of great value but now the empty tattooed barrels lay on their sides stacked in disorderly bunches like a careless heaping and flinging of a herbal bouquet plucked fresh from a spice garden, laying as unmoved and as uninvolved as historic pillars with little surprise found in the present because they held onto onto a deep sense of knowing of the past that rose from the ground unrebuked as if pushed up by a time long since passed, a time that long ago resolved itself not to be left behind.  And instead of containers to transport precious items like fineries or spices or golds or grains or legacies, the rusty barrels now bore the burden of a gaggle of warm tushies from a throng of cat people creatures who sprawled in a languid manner on the barrels without a care or concern even as the containers angled precariously into the air and jostled with the tangle of pipes, while all the while elevating that pack of what must have been experienced cat people who twitched their tails in opposing rhythm to the flickering of their ears at every near-immediate sound that presented itself.   How a band came to appear on a catwalk along one of the edges of the mosh pit, I couldn’t say, but it did and from it a singer sang songs of things and people and experiences that must have been connected to some other time because the singer sang it now as if not truly understanding the meaning — this has to be so, because she lived only in an Instant — now that moment had passed, only *this* Instant…but it had passed again, and the singer ran to catch each moment in a panic even as she crooned out lyrics from a time that had long since passed but still she tried her best to reach back into the long tail of all things that had come before even the time when she herself had arrived and she tried her best to do so by summoning up all the emotion that she carried on the tip of her breath so she could lay it all out and spread it all on each chord like globs of icing on a cake only to hope that in this Instant — now that moment had passed, she hoped that now in *this* moment…but it had passed again even as she ran frantically to catch up with each fleeting instant yet she still hoped that somewhere in some moment she would hit the right note of a time and a story and an intention borne from a different age even though she would admit to you and to everyone within earshot that she had no sense of it all since she was fully a creature of the Instant, and as if in agreement, the ears of the nimble cat people found themselves twitching in opposing rhythm and hinting in acknowledgement with the singer’s own admission that they also had no sense at all of what those stories and places and purposes could all be about.   But maybe in a future instant, maybe the singer and the throng of cat people creatures and everyone else listening to the band would find a moment of reflection to try to understand the significance of what they heard before the commented on it.  But that moment of reflection wasn’t now.  Because now was now.  And now again.  And again and again and again, until…

In another instant, I gazed into the reflection of a mirror and saw my face with wide eyes gazing fixedly back at me and all at once I heard the rules of the world quietly inform me that I was expected by some collective pressure to know throughout my life’s course without a moment’s hesitation the depth and multitude of exactly all of who I was, exactly what I believed, exactly how I fit into the world, exactly what path my life would take, exactly how I would shape that path and the path of others hopefully for the better, how I would handle anything I was unsure of and how I would learn and share anything I was sure of, exactly how I would grow and the impact I would have on others, exactly how I would not be defined by these rules of the world and at the same time exactly how I would keep my heart and mind open and not hold myself a prisoner to my own self-righteousness.  Oh my indeed but the world that quietly spelled out these life requirements spoke in riddles most of the time if you asked me or in a language I didn’t always understand at other times, and always with rules that seemed mightly steeped in a cultural self-righteousness, but I couldn’t say where or when the culture was that had collectively designed the riddles, had collectively created the language, or had collectively pressed into form the architecture of that self-righteousness so that every claim of “‘Tis So!” would hinge and lock so completely to every other claim of “Tis this Way and No Other Way!” until all at once I stood silentely before what I thought was my own reflection in the mirror but suddenly realized the vision I gazed upon might more accurately be a reflection of the rules of the world, and then suddenly I sang with a voice that came into my lungs from a source other than my own, from a time other than what I had known, from a meaning other than one I understood, and even though The Voice wasn’t of my own lungs and the time wasn’t of my place and the form wasn’t of my features and the original meaning was something a bit beyond me, I still felt myself standing in this present moment full into my own legs and I still heard The Voice percolating in my airways surging forward as if propelled by a force of understanding from some place within me irrespective of the fact that I hadn’t yet lived the experience of creating this song and I hadn’t yet lived the experience of reflecting on it much at all before an inspiration to write it made its presence known, but not to me because the Muse whispered the song’s inspiration to someone else in another time and another place to create, and still yet I heard the words as they poured in proclamations as if they had originally poured both through my heart and my mind and my very fingertips and through my lips:  I travelled each and every highway.  But more.  Much more than this.  I did it my way.”

In an instant, an unending assault of micro-montages made up from videos and words and characters and images and sounds hurled themselves into the digital air waves and sight waves and mind waves as “Enter” keys clicked and clacked in a rapid staccato that travelled the world at faster than lightspeed as if the urgency to communicate in not only an Instant but in *every* Instant travelled on the heels of a pair of New York City sized stilletto shoes that were worn with shredded stockings and that delivered the instantaenousness of ideas mingled with both sophisticated views, gritty views, advanced reservation views, drive through ordering views, curbside and taxi side views, pedestrian views, high flying views, and everything in between.  In this instance, every Instant was a holiday, a Communication Thanksgiving Instant with a gluttony of now information, now rambling, now provocation, now drama, now evocation, now noise, now playfulness, now exploration, now sharing, now consuming piled high on the overburdened tables of social media platforms.  I sat at the edge, near the kids table feeling the cat curl against my leg and the dog press the side of his sprawled-on-the-floor body onto the top of my feet.  I reached for the side dishes, the fast and tasty witticisms that tended to be passed furiously around the table from hand to hand because they tasted so good, because they were so quick and dirty and easy to pop into your mouth without much thought at all, in fact without any thought at all and in fact in no time at all those tasty morsels seemed to disappear from the dishes after all who sat at the table took their fill three or four or five times and waited with great expectation for the host and hostess to replenish the now empty bowls of witticisms which they kindly always did and which then prompted the renewed fury of passing the side dishes around the table at lightening speed yet again…and well, like everyone at the party I consumed as much as I could take in, leaning at first into the table with an eagerness to have a voice at the table, then leaning straight over and onto the table for support in an effort to forestall the feeling that my gut was soon going to bust, in an effort to take in a breath if not another zippy bitesize morsel from the ever growing sidedishes that seemed to be multiplying on their own, in an effort to save some room for the main course which would require much more thoughtful respect and more delightful attention to ingest…but after having absorbed as much of the fast and furious side dishes that I could possibly glutton myself on, I finally push myself from the table if only for a moment and waddle over to the couch where I instantly sprawl out in an effort to breathe, in an effort to stretch out my system, if only for another moment, if only for an instant, only to find that my system instantly drifts into sleep.  

And I awaken…in yet another instant, suddenly finding myself seated on a boulder with my elbow on my thigh, my chin in my curled fist, my brow furrowed in contemplation as if in wait of…in wait of an instant…and then it happened that instant of birth and being and loving and feeling and growing and sharing and consuming and expressing and journeying in the entirety of that full-bodied instant I watched in amazement as my life flashed before my eyes.  And I marvelled at the full glory of its 140 characters.

Nanowrimo10 total word count: 2,200.  Total wordcount to date:  34,970 of 50,000 (not including this notation).  This is turning into national novel writing half-year for me.  And with the way RL work has been, it could very well be that it takes a couple more months for me to write the final 16,000 (approx) words, but I will write them.