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Jem sent me some photos she’d squeezed in recently, but didn’t have the chance to write up.  As it happened, I’d recently re-read Norman Spinrad’s Child of Fortune, which I recommend to you at some point; and the size of some of the flowers in LEA15’s Gardens By the Bay reminded me of that book.  If you don’t get the context of the quotations, I suggest you buy the book.  It is fun, it is erotic, and it will make you think about what our society could be like if we tried out the social philosophy of Sunshine’s Second Starfaring Age.

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The Red Death had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores…. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents of half an hour.

But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the knights and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys…. [Security was] within. Without was the Red Death….

…When the eyes of the Prince Prospero fell upon this spectral image (which, with a slow and solemn movement, as if more fully to sustain its role, stalked to and fro among the waltzers) he was seen to be convulsed, in the first moment with a strong shudder either of terror or distaste; but, in the next, his brow reddened with rage.

“Who dares,”—he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who stood near him—”who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery? Seize him and unmask him—that we may know whom we have to hang, at sunrise, from the battlements!”…

…At first, as he spoke, there was a slight rushing movement…in the direction of the intruder, who at the moment was also near at hand, and now, with deliberate and stately step, made closer approach to the speaker.  But from a certain nameless awe…, there were found none who put forth hand to seize him; so that, unimpeded, he passed within a yard of the prince’s person….  It was then, however, that the Prince Prospero, maddening with rage and the shame of his own momentary cowardice, rushed hurriedly through the six chambers, while none followed him on account of a deadly terror that had seized upon all.  He bore aloft a drawn dagger, and had approached, in rapid impetuosity, to within three or four feet of the retreating figure, when the latter…turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer.  There was a sharp cry—and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet, upon which, instantly afterwards, fell prostrate in death the Prince Prospero….

And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall….  And the flames of the tripods expired.  And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.

Excerpts from the short story “The Masque of the Red Death” by Edgar Allan Poe (1842)

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“…For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go.  I travel for travel’s sake.  The great affair is to move; to feel the needs and hitches of our life more nearly; to come down off this feather-bed of civilisation, and find the globe granite underfoot and strewn with cutting flints….”

Robert Louis Stevenson, Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes (1879)

Welcome to the South of France!  I’m actually farther south than Robert Louis Stevenson got on his hiking trip, a self-imposed journey that resulted in his second full-length book.  And, really, I’m not even in France; this region, Flux sur Mer, does a good stand-in job for rural coastal France, though, and fits in somewhat with the theme of this month’s Uber collection, “Rustic.”

Stevenson was a traveler partly by inclination, but also partly for reasons of necessity; he suffered from wretched health for most of his life (though current conclusions are that it wasn’t tuberculosis, as often suggested), and made many journeys in search of a climate that would agree with his constitution.  This journey, however, was not one of those.  Rather, he was in part looking for material for a book, but also to forget about the married American woman, Fanny Osbourne, who he would eventually marry himself.  She and her son would end up following Stevenson in his travels, to America, and eventually to the place Stevenson settled and died in, Samoa; however, this was years in the future from 1878.

My travel plans were nowhere near as ambitious as Stevenson’s.  This was a morning visit to a French country town, and I dressed appropriately for it:  a soft linen dress, sandals, a big floppy hat and a colorful bag.

Last-minute discovery: I stuck my hand through the top of the bag (sigh). I want to show this lovely accessory to you, though, and here it is.

A stop for breakfast at a patisserie:

and I was ready to explore the sim.  (I leave this as an exercise for the reader; just follow the SLurl.)

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The details:

• Skin: Glam Affair Cleo (America – Clean B)
• Eyes: Poetic Colors berlin nights (small, bright)
• Hair: Truth Hair Armelle, with hat
• Dress: Zenith minority long dress (milk) (available at July Uber)
• Shoes: Pure Poison Katarina sandals (Colors) (available at July Uber)
• Attachments: SLink Avatar Enhancement Feet (Mid); Slink Avatar Enhancement Hands (Casual)
• Accessories: Eudora 3D Rustic Tote Bag, Maxi Gossamer Savannah earrings and bracelets (all available at July Uber)
• Makeup: Blacklace Beauty Hi-Gloss Lips Clear 50%; Baiastice Rio eyeshadow (mod 2)

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Warning:  The following contains photographs of frontal nudity, and may be considered Not Safe For Work/School.  If you come to this article via the main page, and click on the Read More link, you’re acknowledging that you’re of legal age and have no qualms about this.

Welcome to Hangars Liquides, which resembles the San Angeles of Blade Runner and the original Philip K. Dick book, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, in many places. Dark in many places, gritty at the least in most, and yet with a compelling attraction that draws you back.

Early in the 21st Century, the Tyrell Corporation advanced robot evolution into the NEXUS phase – a being virtually identical to a human – known as a Replicant. The NEXUS 6 Replicants were superior in strength and agility, and at least equal in intelligence, to the genetic engineers who created them. Replicants were used Off-World as slave labor, in the hazardous exploration and colonization of other planets. After a bloody mutiny by a NEXUS 6 combat team in an Off-World colony, Replicants were declared illegal on earth – under penalty of death. Special police squads – BLADE RUNNER UNITS – had orders to shoot to kill, upon detection, any trespassing Replicant This was not called execution. It was called retirement.

— Opening to the Ridley Scott film Blade Runner

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If El Greco had painted miniatures in his prime, no bigger than your hand, infinitely detailed with all his sulphurous color, elongation, and anatomy, perhaps he might have used this man’s body for his art. The colors burned in three dimensions. They were windows looking in upon fiery reality. Here, gathered on one wall, were all the finest scenes in the universe, the man was a walking treasure gallery. This wasn’t the work of a cheap carnival tattoo man with three colors and whiskey on his breath. This was the accomplishment of a living genius, vibrant, clear, and beautiful.

Ray Bradbury, The Illustrated Man

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Ray Bradbury, one of the founding authors and Grand Masters of science fiction, has been dead a little over a year now. Today is his birthday (born in 1920 in Waukegan, Ill.), and I decided to take a look at him, in part by letting you take a look at me interpreting, like a pale ghost, one of his more famous anthologies: The Illustrated Man.

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“Every day we should hear at least one little song, read one good poem, see one exquisite picture, and, if possible, speak a few sensible words.” — Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

For once, I’m going to intrude a little Real World info into a virtual-world blog, other than a tribute, biography or obituary.  Why so?  Well, because Second Life is as much influenced by the Real World as sheer imagination; after all, something helps inspire our imagination at some point or another, be it a song, a movie, a photo, a painting or a book.  Anyone who helps spread the importance of Spreading Ideas and Thoughts, and any good vehicles that do so, are high on the list of this Bachelor of Arts in Humanities, your humble servant¹.

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Photographed on the Unter den Linden, 1920s Berlin.

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NOTICE:  The images in this article are nude, and may not be considered safe for work or other situations.  By clicking through, you agree that you understand this, and are old enough to be responsible.

(Details to be updated later….)

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…Is this the Region, this the soil, the clime,
Said then the lost archangel, this the seat
That we must change for Heaven, this mournful gloom
For that celestial light?…

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Perhaps one of the things I like about Lieutenant Eve Dallas, homicide cop for the New York Police and Security Department in the year 2060,  and the reason I chose her for my own entry to my Blogger Challenge, is the complexity of the character. Eve’s author, J. D. Robb – better know as the romance author Nora Roberts – has had about 40 books to work out her personality, and her relationships with Roarke, her multi-billionaire Irish husband; her partner and protégée, Detective Delia Peabody; her ex-grifter rock-star best friend, Mavis Freestone (Eve was the one that busted her and brought her into the straight and narrow); and the many other characters that have built up around her over all those books. Eve’s past is assuredly scarred; abused massively as a child by her father, despised by her mother, she escaped from that situation by killing her abuser while still a girl. The trauma left her memories of the event blocked for years, and it’s only recently that she is able to cope with recalling them, and only then because of the love and support of Roarke, whose own childhood, as a pickpocketing urchin on the streets of Dublin for his Fagin of a father, was about as vicious as hers.

She has grown into a woman with a passion for justice, a drive to see those she stands for receive what compensation the system can offer the dead, by putting their murderers away for life. She’s tough, no-nonsense, and often has little patience for any around her who cannot accept her viewpoint. Only since marrying Roarke has this altered to a degree; having someone who can love her for all she is has allowed Eve to sometimes lower her ferro-cement-coated, meters-high defenses, acknowledge the friendships and relationships she has built, and just be plain vulnerable. Roarke is there to love her, to hold her and keep her together when the nightmares strike her in the dark, as they have often done until the past year or so of their time, and to work with her to close some of the knottiest murder cases served up to the NYPSD in the post-Urban Wars years.

Her clothing style is as no-nonsense as she is; in fact, it’s no sense. She’s satisfied with whatever she pulls out of the closet as long as it fits and isn’t covered in bloodstains. Having grown up a ward of the state after running away from the killing of her father, Eve never had the opportunity – or inclination – to learn social graces, or the money to indulge herself in clothes or makeup. She’s actually very uncomfortable with the purchasing power she can command as the wife of possibly the richest man on the planet. To her, spending time in a store – any store, no matter what it is she needs to purchase – is the equivalent of a session on the rack with the Inquisition, and she’d probably look rather outrageous at times if Roarke didn’t vet her choices before she drove in to work. Roarke, of course, knows how looks matter; it’s all part of the game of presentation for the wildly successful industrialist. It amuses him to see Eve’s reaction when she discovers yet more fabulous suits or dresses hanging in her closet, put there by the “clothes fairies” (meaning Roarke and his majordomo, Summerset).

She takes as little concern in her face as in her wardrobe. Her brown eyes (“whiskey-colored,” as Robb often phrases it) rarely see shadow or mascara, unless she is at a business or society function with Roarke (having been unable to weasel out of it); lipstick – “lip dye” – tends to smear when she puts it on; and she’s under constant threat from Tina, her very occasional hairdresser, to get a stripe shaved down the center of her scalp if Eve takes a scissors to her own “choppy” brown hair.

All this isn’t to say that Eve is completely unconscious of how important a look can be at times. She just isn’t usually worried about it. But, going into a meeting where she is confronting an incredibly dirty police lieutenant from another squad, she wants to present the impression that here is the equivalent in power to her adversary, and she knows that she needs help in putting it together:

When [Roarke] walked into the bedroom with a towel slung around his waist [Eve] stood in a short robe doing something he rarely if ever saw her do. Actively studying the contents of her closet.

“This is weird,” she said, “but I need to…. Pick something out for me to wear, will you? I need to look in control, an authority, serious. Seriously in charge.”

Frustrated, she circled her hands in the air. “But without looking planned or studied. I don’t want it to come off like an outfit, but–”

“I understand you.” He stepped in, studied the jackets first. He’d selected every one of them himself as wardrobe – much less shopping for wardrobe – was dead low on her list of priorities.

“This.”

“Red? But–”

“Not red, but burgundy. It’s not bright, not bold, but deep and serious – and transmits authority, particularly in this very tailored cut. With these pants – a serious gunmetal grey, and this top in a slightly softer grey – no fuss, no embellishments. The grey boots, as they’ll give you one long line, with the jacket as the subliminal element of authority.”

She puffed out her cheeks, blew out the air. “Okay. You’re the expert.”

Once she’d dressed she had to admit there was a reason he was the expert. She looked put together but not – how had she put it – studied. And the red – sorry, burgundy – did look strong.

Plus, if she got blood on it, it might now show. Much.

“Wear these.”

She frowned at the little silver studs he held out. “I hardly ever wear earrings to work. They’re–”

“In this case, just a bit of polish. Simple and subtle.”

• J. D. Robb [Nora Roberts], Treachery in Death, chapter 4. Copyright 2011 by Nora Roberts; published by G. P. Putnam’s Sons / Penguin Group (USA). PS3568.O243 T. 813.54 [dc22]. eISBN: 978-1-101-47586-7.

 

As can be seen from her reaction to the simple stud earrings, her tastes in jewelry are also beyond basic.  Bling has never played a part in her life until she married Roarke, and it doesn’t particularly now, when she could afford to put a major dent in the stock of both Tiffany’s and Cartier’s in one day.  There are only two pieces of jewelry that she regularly will not do without:  her wedding ring (which I left out here), and a large teardrop diamond pendant, also given to her by Roarke.  Occasionally, she’ll wear a set of earrings that were supposed to have been owned by Gráinne, the Irish pirate queen and warrior.  Roarke, though outwardly an agnostic at best, is not above giving her talismans for aid and protection; indeed, an inscription in Irish on the inside of her wedding band is a spell of protection — which seems to have worked, especially when combined with Eve’s ferocious fighting skills.

If you have a taste for police procedurals with a science-fiction tang and a good dollop of pure sexy romance, check out the In Death series.  Eve is a fascinating character, and worth the investment of reading time.

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The details:

• Skin: PXL Candy, sunkissed, nude lips, light eyebrows
• Eyes: Poetic Colors (Dark wood)
• Hair: Amacci Doris (dark brown)
• Top: Persona Iris knitted top (grey)
• Pants: MOLiCHiNO Kay pants (mesh, XS; grey)
• Blazer: Entente Classic Blazer (burgundy; perhaps too bright for this instance, but here it is)
• Shoes: Feets SL Arizona boots (grey)
• Jewelry: YavaScript round stud earrings; Classique Simplicity teardrop diamond pendant
• Makeup: Blacklace Beauty Hi-Gloss Lips (Clear 50%; put on her to give her lips just a little shine and wetness.)

Photographed in New York NYC region.