M is for Myg

Live your god damned dream

Archive for July, 2007

Mistaken for Strangers: Met a Stranger 2.5

Felt like the damn subway car was sitting on my chest the pressure was so intense. Like my lungs were caving in…and then that creepy whispering sound in my head.

“Vvvertebratus…daemonicon…sssanator” the wind? Uh uh. Didn’t sound like the wind that time.

over me

Though I couldn’t see my attackers any better than I could see shadows in a dark room, they sure as hell had a presence. That presence seemed to say, “You’re dead Myg.” Or something. All I know was that I couldn’t move, and it was really rather uncomfortable being pinned to the floor like that, smelling piss and last night’s spilled booze, thinking I was going to bite it. Again. Read more


(n)eXt podcast from 7/23/07

Clockwork week of 7/23

Does that look like I’m looking back to last night’s awesome party or just some poseur trying to show his “good” side? Don’t answer that.

Here is the podcast and setlist from the new music hour:

(n)eXt | 23 July 2007: Right click here to download the podcast.

Interpol – Mammoth 4:13
The National – Mistaken for Strangers 3:21
Battles – Atlas 7:07
Your Black Star – The Break 4:38
Holy Fuck – Lovely Allen 4:29
Para One – Midnight Swim 5:02
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah – Satan Said Dance 5:32
LCD Soundsystem – Someone Great 6:26
Spoon – Black Like Me 3:26
Les Savy Fav – What Would Wolves Do? 2:57
The Moths – Games 2:46
Kings of Leon – My Third House 4:03
Christopher Roberts – Blood on Our 4:02
Tranzmitors – Plastic Genocide 2:52
The 1990s – See You at the Lights 2:55

Jump below the fold for some ridiculous commentary on each of these newly minted tracks.

Read more


Far from fields | Met a Stranger 2.4


I was worried. Why would a demon be so interested in Myg? That was the big unknown. The n or the x in the equation of Myg’s life. And knowing Myg, it was likely a complicated differential equation. Neither of us come from idyllic circumstances.

I IM’d Myg to see what she was up to. “Later,” she replied. I could tell she was still ticked off at me for moving the club down the street without consulting her. She’d jetted, irritated, right after brunch.

When later rolled around and I tried again she just sent: “. . .” She didn’t show or respond by evening–when we were supposed to meet to go over architectural drafts for new construction. She didn’t come home at all that night. I went looking.

She wasn’t in any of her usual haunts. Not in the watertower hiding out close to home, not at The Block, not in Tableau, not Reforma, Relix, or the Wastelands, and not even with Lisa and Vanny. Normally, I don’t worry. She’s good at taking care of herself. But this wasn’t normal.

Mygdala March in Topgol 3

If there was something nefarious going on, there was one way I knew I could find out.

I was reluctant to call them. It had been years and we hadn’t parted on good terms, and nekos aren’t the sort of beings inclined to be real understanding of human foibles. I called Tober because I figured she’d be the least pissed. She didn’t believe it when I called, but showed up.

Tober and Burgess

After my embarrassed attempted apologies, Tober told me to shut up and explain why I had called. It took me a solid hour to relate the events of the spring to her, and as I did, I got more and more upset. Someone or something was out to get Myg–it wasn’t just some jilted guy with supernatural connections or bad karma from adolescent Ouija board misuse.

Tober listens

“I’ll help,” Tober said. “But you know who you really need if you want to get the word out.”

“She’ll never do it. She’s never forgiven me for leaving the clowder.”

“Just talk fast when I get her here.”

“No, wait, let’s think for a minute, there’s got to be . . .” but Tober was already IM’ing.

Tober tp’d JB in without telling her why. I was all set to start explaining and pleading right away, but my throat got tight and my mouth went dry the second her pink hair rezzed.

JB, Tober, & Burgess confer

Her eyes narrowed when she saw me. “What’s he doing here?” she said to Tober. “Better yet, what are you doing with him?”

“Just listen to him, JB, for me?”

nekos listen

JB was not happy, but was quiet as I went through the whole tale again.

“And why should I help you?”

I was at a loss. “I . . .” started to say.

“No. Don’t you even think about that. You left right when we needed you and you never came back. Now you want our help?”

JB is ticked off

“Please, JB.”

.::Met a Stranger Season 2 Navigation::.
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Go here for the Season 1 Index


Clockwork schedule, week of 7/22

Clockwork week of 7/23

Mainline, Topgol, (227, 140, 55) [SLurl]

Schedule as of 7/22/07

Monday 6-7 p.m. SL time
DJ keTchUp spins freestyle – old school punk to IDM

Monday 7-8 p.m. SL time
(n)eXt with DJ keTchUp
new music Mondays with the latest indie rock, glitchiest idm, electroclash, blog rock, postrock soundscapes, and digital tweaking.

Monday 8-9 p.m. SL time
Esteban gets down wit da boogie
shake it for an hour with the Anti-Monday mix

Wednesday 8-10 p.m. SL time
DesertWolf brings you a rock soundscape that will make you think the weekend came early.

Thursday 7-9 p.m. SL time
DJ keTchUp spins IDM, downtempo, chill, and other esoteric electronica

As you can see, there are still some open slots in our schedule. If you’re a dj who thinks your style might fit in well at Clockwork, drop a notecard on me with your tastes and maybe a setlist. I’m looking for fun people with serious taste in music. Not crowd pleasers, but taste makers. DJs who can turn people on to the good shit and not be a dick about it. Pay is tips only. You gotta just love it. If you want to make $$, get an MBA.


Blogher in Second Life next weekend. Woot!

Thank god the women are listening.

Blogher is having it’s big ass convention in Chicago next weekend. Well, I can’t be in Chicago, but thanks to the forward thinking women putting this together I can still go to the conference. See, these smarties are hosting a complimentary event in Second Life at the same time. Wow, what a great idea!


So refreshing, too, to see a big organization actually figure out what Second Life *is* good for. Like bringing people with common interests together across continents. See corporate America, was that so hard?

Somehow, I was asked to do the “meet your fellow blogger” activity in Second Life. I’m honored, to say the least. So, say you’ll be there. Promise? Okay good.

I’m on at 8am SL Time, Friday 7/27/07. And with that kind of spotlight I’ll be doing something goofy, you can bet on it. Then right afterwards you can see the mighty Vint Falken. on a panel with theDivaRockin of podcasting and dj’ing glory, and Koz Farina, creator of the second life blogHUD.

But if you want to go, you need to register. Then you’ll get the info about where, etc.

Check out the schedule here. And register here. (Don’t be fooled by the registration form! It’s painless and free to register. You too, men!)

Until then!


The Moody Hypothesis

I have not been clear. In earlier posts, I have struggled to make sense of certain suspicions, certain contradictions about our lives as avatars, yet even as some things seemed to become clear, others faded in my perception, as if I were making my way in a fog. I was sure only of one thing: things were not as they seemed.

I am now convinced I have made errors. No matter; all truth is built upon ruins. I no longer believe, for example, in the parallel world of flesh-humans. Or, rather, I believe that the world of flesh, once ours, has been taken from us.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

In an effort to make headway, I have decided to proceed scientifically, with a hypothesis to be tested through a series of experiments. In this way, light may shine where once was dark.

My hypothesis may be summarized thus: we avatars do in fact exist as material, fleshly human beings, and we do in fact inhabit a material world much like the one we know now as “Second Life.” In some way, however, that reality has been erased from our perception. Somehow, we have come to believe (have been made to believe?) in an entire other world in which we exist as different selves: so-called “RL.” We furthermore have come to believe that our avatar-selves are invented fictions of those RL false selves.

A chart will be helpful:

graphic revised 7/22; click for larger version.

Such a phenomenon has several possible etiologies. Perhaps we suffer from a collective insanity; some trauma has forced our psyches into the creation of this false world and our false selves. Some vestige of reality remains as those false selves interact though the delusionary safety of computer screens and keyboards.

But this seems unlikely. The truth is that the invented world of our false selves is much more traumatic and stressful than the wantless life of freedom we have as avatars. It would not make sense to invent such a bleak and violent habitat if the unconscious goal were protection from trauma.

I suspect something more nefarious. I am loathe to articulate what is as yet a nebulous conjecture, so I ask you only to consider the potential control and power made possible if something or someone were able to control our perception of the world and, indeed, of our very selves. Some part of me knows, knows who I am. I am Esteban Moody, and I have lived for centuries. I create matter from the void, and I fly effortlessly upon the air. I am man and woman made whole in one person; I have known the dreams of millions. Yet how perversely I believe I am someone else. Who could this person be? It matters not, from where I stand, some pale man or woman alone at a desk — I perceive this dimly — blinking his or her eyes at some flashing lights.

I suspect that in our true lives as avatars, we have existed for thousands of years. I suspect that some force entered our reality some four years ago and engendered the perception-control transformation outlined above. I suspect that force — an alien consciousness? AI gone berserk? an avatar somehow infused with godlike power? — is, in a word, vampiric. It drains us daily of our life — by what means I cannot fathom, toward what end I dare not guess.


Welcome, Ghosts: Met a Stranger 2.3

The train made an abrupt halt at the Grey Avenue Station. I can still hear the wheels screeching, a horde of evil spirits on holiday.


For several seconds the doors stayed closed. Just as the panic crept up the back of my skull, they slammed open onto a dead platform, teasing me. Again, no lifeform in sight.


The emptiness of towns is part of this life. But now the desolate streets and quiet tall buildings damn well caused me angst. I couldn’t get over the gut pangs–something bad was going to happen. I could feel it.

Then it did.
Read more


Message to Esteban

It happened again. Last night while I was working I suddenly found myself outside the box.


Only this time I might really be nuts because I ran into a little green dude wearing a space helmet.

I don’t know. Maybe it was just a dream.


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