M is for Myg

I went to Zephyr (128, 128, 24) yesterday looking for new spokes for my bike. As cool as it looks, that place has always given me the creeps. But not in a good way.

Yesterday while wandering around the dead, foresaken streets I got some answers. Read more

Damn the god damned Linden updates to fucking hell.

We were fucking booted out of Section 8 again and couldn’t get back. Homeless wanderers we were for awhile then, refugees from a pseudo disaster that sent us scattering like fiery tendrils from an electrical storm.

As I floated, deep talks with Gala had had my head swimming with all kinds of shit. Abused homeless kids, abandoned crack babies and battered women–the kind of tragedy I wanna forget about most of the time and can’t, maybe because of who I am… I don’t really know. I do know that I’m put together to self-fucking-destruct just from all the insane feelings I’ve got, like body slammed over and over again with a the force of the entire collective human saga–the whole fucking catastrophe. Witness to misery is a tough fucking calling, I mean it.

But I’m not sorry for myself, no way. Just describing the sensations so I can get my shit back in the foxhole tomorrow.

Anyway, I needed some time alone and a place to think. I was out of thumbing through Dimi Sobocinski’s FlickR stream, totally intrigued by his collection of snapshots from a place called the Wastelands. I headed over there and wandered around aimlessly for awhile, picking among the scraps and avoiding as many scary looking types as I could.

Then I found this little piece of post-apocalyptic heaven. Maybe it doesn’t look like much to you, but it’s the kind of haunt I’ve been fantasizing about for awhile now. Up above the skyline, yet still firmly rooted to the ground unlike those freakish skyboxes you see floating around. You can survey the whole damned sim and yet feel totally alone.

Not sure when the water tower was constructed, but from the looks of it either the nuclear holocaust of 2017 or the advent of the acid hurricanes did a number on this sim.

As you can tell, this roost has some wear on it. It was the perfect place to sit and think though, and that’s exactly what I did.

Well into the wee hours of the a.m., I parked my ass on the gritty metal floor and just looked around me and you know what I thought?

Damn, I am one lucky sonofabitch. Something like that.

Keep in mind anyone/everyone, this blog is still suckable. I’m just doing some test posts. The real shit is still at mygdala.vox.com. Beat it.

Nonetheless…I found a rich place today. Colors, textures, details all popped out at me so hard I considered skipping my daily dose of halucinogenics.

I was hunting for furniture and somehow ended up here in these fine pixie woods.  There was a rain storm, an underground cigar bar and a pirate ship.

  

There was even a place to do good.

  I bought, I did, a chair for my loft.

I had to get rid of half my shit in order to fit it, but I don’t care much. I wanted another place to sit in case I wanna have a tea party.