It’ll never catch on, part 528,913…

It must have been 5 years ago. I was sat on a bus struggling to get my precious Xperia 1 to let me blog. I had tweeted about my frustrations, venting how hard it was to wrangle a post out of the device because the app WP had released didn’t cover the god-awful Windows 6.5 Sony had crippled their wonderful device with. My thoughts were picked up by a fellow blogger and one of her regular commentors mocked my desire to blog on the go. He found the very idea that someone would actually enjoy blogging on a phone laughable.

And yet here I am, 5 years down the line and with 99% of all my posts are written on my tablet or phone, which goes to prove that the internet is becoming more and more mobile for me all the time. That and what an enormous tit that commentor was, but then of course he always was.

 

A Much Changed Forest…

I took the long journey back to the forest yesterday but even the strangeness of my dream could not have prepared me for what I found there. The gridquakes I had heard about, often third or fourth hand from people who knew that despite my distance from the world Cowell & Kahruvel still meant a great deal to me, had wreaked havok through the ancient woodland and nearby village. It broke my heart to see so many familiar old landmarks gone, washed away into the void or desecrated by hateful thugs possessed by desires I would never, ever understand. Still, even though the tower had finally crumbled into the sea and the aqueduct had collapsed over the cliff, the forest itself still felt warm and inviting and I had a warm glow of nostalgia as I walked beneath her boughs. Even passing the spot where I had found the backpack that had transformed me so long ago made me smile a little.

But that smile faded as I came across the ancient landing stones near the border with Noyo. In my last visit Salazar’s archaeological dig had uncovered a circle of stone posts around a central dais and I had detected a weak, blue light rising up the stones and dissipating into the atmosphere. Although the stone circle had always been called a landing point, in truth I had no idea what it was for and the blue light inside it was just as mysterious, but now I found the site in an awful state of disrepair! All but one of the stones had gone, whether by the efforts of looters or the vagaries of grid stability I could not tell, but the rhythms of the blue energy had obviously thrown into discord and instead of a bubble of energy gently rising up the stones, now great arcs ballooned off into the air and crackled all around me.

“Impressive, huh?” came a voice behind me. I spun around with my heart in my mouth only to find my old friend, and follow half-gazelle, Shigeko Tachikawa stood looking at the light show.

“Shig! Wow! So, you see it too, huh?” I said.

“Yeah, I see it. No one else seems to, I’ve been watching and no one stops, just me, and now you. Oh, and hi by the way,” with that she hit me hard on the arm.

“Ow!” I said, “What was that for?”

“How long have you been away? How long?” she replied, emotion strong in her voice.

“Ahh, yeah, that,” I said sheepishly. “Look, I’m sorry, I’ve been busy…” I trailed off and offered her the kind of big toothy grin that often got me out of trouble, and occasionally got me in more.

“Yeah,” she said with semi-mock hurt, “Well just don’t do it again, ok?”

“I’ll try,” I said but knew I couldn’t ever keep such a promise. The lure of other worlds was always going to be too strong to ignore. I turned away from my lie and looked back into the light, a large arc just passing us by and running over some metal equipment Salazar had left out nearby.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I’m not sure but my guess only Sal, or his gran, will know what to do about it. How about we take a wander down to the lighthouse and leave him a note?”

Shig beamed a smile at me and said “Race?”

I laughed, “Yeah, why not but you go easy on an old guy, huh?”

She laughed back, “Never!” and pushed me to the floor. I landed with a thud in the dust of the trail and she shot off like a rocket over the hill. I jumped to my feet and shouted after her “You cheat!” Ha! Who was I kidding, there was no way I’d ever beat her. I set off at a trot down the path but as I passed the pile of Sal’s equipment I turned back for one last look at the energy bleeding and arcing from the old stone. What the hell did it all mean? I must speak to Sal.

 

Osprey in Tyria?

I’d know the handiwork of my old SL-mate anywhere!

SL:

Tyria:

See more of Osprey’s damn fine work here & there.

 

#SL: Salazar’s ArcheoExpo 2011

I’ve been so wrapped up in playing LOTRO that I had forgotten to upload & post my pictures from the ArcheoExpo Salazar arrange in Cowell this year. It was a really fun event that Sal and many other worked really hard to make so enjoyable and here are my photos from it (did I mention I got to see a Starax Wand in action? No? Well I did and it was bloody brilliant!)

 

#SL: My but how time flies…

Wow… tomorrow marks exactly a year since my story marathon Steal Head ended. A whole year. Now that has really gone by quickly. To think how much has changed since then – how much of a high I was on. A few more months writing Gang Wars and that would be it for my time in Steelhead and SL, pissed off by a couple of tossers so much that I decided to give another game a try, a little thing called LOTRO… I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; I actually have a lot to thank Sheriff Numbnuts and the One-Armed Wanker for

Do you know what… it’ll be my 5th anniversary in SL on the 19th too. Blimey.

 

 

Farewell again, Adric…

Bloody internet with it’s bloody ghosts going and upsetting us all again.

Periodically, usually about once a month, I check on Adric’s site. Today the click came back with the host’s page rather than his. This made me very sad and rather angry.

*raises a glass to Cousin Adric again*

 

SL: It’s not you, it’s me…

Somewhere, god alone knows where or when, I once described my feelings towards SL as a relationship in its final stages where, instead of a clean break, there was a repeating pattern of arguments, splits & reconciliations in which both parties knew the relationship was doomed but didn’t know what to do about it but both damn sure that when the next big argument came along they’d be off. Well that time has come.. except the final argument never happened, rather there was an entirely surprising turn of events that led to the relationship falling apart.

Like a good soap opera storyline, the end for me and SL didn’t come in one of my regular explosions of bad temper and swearing (often caused by lag or crashes or chat channels not working, or photos not going to flickr). No, the end snuck up on me suddenly. It was the equivalent of meeting someone new at work and going home and blurting out to your missus that you were leaving right there and then.

The new woman was LOTRO but she was not the reason I left SL. To be honest, if not her it would have been someone else. I’m sure SL felt the same way about me.

The sad truth is I had not been happy in SL since the end of TSMGO. I looked everywhere for a creative community and found only cliques and barriers. The few chinks of light I did find were too elusive to follow for long and when you throw in someone who really didn’t want you in his house, well lets just say I’m not surprised my eye went a-wandering. After all, how long do you keep head-butting a brick wall before your much admired perseverance becomes your much mocked stupidity?

So I spent a night with my new woman and fell in love. Sure she’s not as flexible as the old one and she doesn’t know my ways yet (or I hers) but in truth there are many similarities… it’s just that this new one is better in bed. Much.

Sorry SL. I didn’t mean this to happen. It’s not you… it’s me.

 

Sinatra Cartier’s Spook House has closed – a sad day for SL History Buffs…

It’s with a heavy heart that I heard from my mate Shigeko that the wonderful Spook House in Noyo (a long time landmark in for anyone interested in the history of SL) has shut down and gone. There is a LM giver that directs you to Sinatra Cartier’s copy in Natoma so we haven’t lost this wonderful build forever, but Noyo seems a little emptier today and given all the changes in the surround sims as the Forest of Kahruvel slowly contracts and de-rezzes it feels as though many of the old lands and my old haunts (no pun, etc.) are slipping away. Anyway, lest I get too maudlin I urge you all to head over to Natoma and take a ride on the Spook House – and while you are at it catch Sinatra in one of his concerts because frankly he’s bloody brilliant!

My first (recorded – I had visited in 07) visit to the Spook House in Feb 08

The same site in Noyo today

My Road Trip in Noyo
http://headburroantfarm.wordpress.com/2008/02/19/bb-road-trip-silence-in-spooky-noyo/

My Road Trip in Natoma
http://headburroantfarm.wordpress.com/2008/11/22/my-second-life-road-trip-10-prim-overload-in-natoma/

By pure chance I recently filmed my journey through the Noyo Spook House

 

It’s you, stupid…

Have a look in the mirror. Go on, have a really good look at your face. That face that stares back at you. Those eyes. Those eyes belong to the reason Second Life is shit. You are the reason the Lab employees go home crying at night, you bastard!

I’m not going to link to Uncle Hammy’s Glorious Revelation of The Ultimate Truth (can you guess why?) so you’ll have to google for it, but trust me when I say he proves conclusively that Second Life’s woes (I’m not sure what they are, but if Hammy says we have woes then we bloody well have woes!) are down to you – yes you!

It’s not lag. It’s not the viewer. It’s not high prices. It’s not the fact the Lab is competing with land owners and renters. The shitty customer service. The fucked chat. No. It’s you and me not just shutting the fuck up and sitting quietly like the open wallets we are spunking wonga up the Lab’s leg like a sex-addled ATM. That and the fact you just won’t let him have facebook-humping-SL dream and cruelly insist on keeping your name secret so you can hide behind a made up persona, you cowardly shit!

So listen to Uncle Hammy, keep your miserable whining to yourself and keep paying the bills so the Lab can have more parties Hammy can crash and twat on about.

Fuck me…

 

Roleplayers of Rank – a post in which I swear. A lot. Seriously.

I’ve never fancied roleplaying in a military or police structure, at least not an authentic sounding one where players take on ranks. Partly it’s my inherent dislike of being told what to do, partly it’s my lack of interest in replicating the intricate structures of organisations I have little (or less) interest in in real life, but mostly it’s because roleplayers seeking rank are almost always insecure, egotistial, elitist, piss-stains of the lowest order and I don’t find being around them to be conducive to my desire to be happy.

Before you get me wrong, I am *NOT* taking a shot at military/police/organisational RP of any era or genre, or the people who take part. Honestly I am not. Many a good WW2 Unit, Roman Legion or Star Fleet Corps exits in SL and I know at least one casual roleplayer in SL who plays as a Navy officer and she is, frankly, lovely. I’m emphatically, totally and definitely NOT talking about these.

No, I’m talking about the type of Jonny Big Bollocks who votes himself the top of the, let’s call it, Castle Defence League or Metropolitan Constabulary and sets about strutting around like said Big Bollocks were something all and sundry should get down and pay homage to. These are the actions of a fool. An idiot. An insecure child. A cock.

To them RP is merely a way of encircling themselves with liggers and dolts who constantly feed their voracious and vacuous egos. On top of that they tend to be shockingly dull folks seemingly incapable of friendly chat & banter and instead cursed by the need to be constantly aloof and superior, an act that does not endear them to me and instead fills my mind with the desire to repeatedly punch them square in their wizened, redundant love-pump until their either their pelvis shatters or my fist explodes.

Why so angry Mr Burro? Why so shouty about these (soon-to-be) dickless wonders? Well, I’m glad you asked. It is because it does me good to be shouty. It makes me feel better. I don’t cope well with bottling things up and of late I’ve been doing just that. Not any more. I’ve popped my own cork, so to speak…

You see, when it comes to play I like collaboration. I want collaboration. I desire it as a randy Mr fox desires a pretty lady fox flashing her come-to-bed-eys and flicking her lovely brush at him. I <3 collaboration. I believe in friendly, open, enthusiastic roleplay. I want to bring folks in to my stories (and visa versa). I want them to run with ideas other than mine. I want the whole to be far, far greater than the whole. I, dear reader, want people to play together and have fun and not complete.

And yet I find myself surrounded and bested by small minded, jealous, parochial, cliquey cunts who need to create ranks in order to feel they have respect when, in fact, they have confused respect with resentment (not an easy mistake to make given their default feeling to any ideas not their own is resentment, but they make it all the same).

So fine. Great. Be the big old General. Pin the shiny badge on your chest. Just as long as you get to dictate just who can play (and, more importantly I suspect, who can’t) with who and where and when, I’m sure you’ll be happy. Except you won’t. It will end the same way these things always do, but you are just too fucking dense to understand that, aren’t you. When it all turns in on itself, when all the resentment (sorry, respect) and bitterness and back-biting that you surround yourself with brings it all crashing down, you’ll down what you always do and will slink away to find somewhere else to infect like the virus you are. There’s always another sim, another group, another community you can insinuate yourself into and poison.

Stay and fight Burro Boy, I hear a lone voice cry. Stay and see your vision through! No, I answer back. Fuck it. Fuck them. Fuck the horse they rode in on. I’m not a fighter, I’m a lover. Not a lover of virtual lady gazelles you understand, but rather a lover of fun and open creativity and a million concepts Captain Dipshit and his merry band of uniform wearing, rank-wanking numbnut shitsacks will never be able to understand. Fuck 'em all in the eye.

Besides, they’re not the only ones who can move on.