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Escape from Abbotts Aerodrome

I have decided not to finish this year’s attempt at a NaNoWriMo story. It’s now day ten of thirty, and I haven’t made any more progress. So instead, here’s the opening to the story. Yes, the character is named Cubey Terra, but it’s not actually me. It’s a story about an avatar. Just so we’re clear.

Standing motionless, behind closed eyes Cubey inhaled the chill morning air and flexed his fists against permanent half-numbness in his extremities. As he closed his fists tighter, he could hear the glove leather creak under pressure. Gusts tugged at him, swaying him forward and back by centimeters. And between breaths of pure air, in the distance was the drone of propellers and the thin howl of jets. The wind pushed again from behind, making him step forward to keep from falling. He opened his eyes. Continue reading “Escape from Abbotts Aerodrome”

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The Oldbie

They found his avatar standing motionless next to a pile of prims, slumped at the shoulders like a marionette whose strings had been cut. T1g3r bumped Daisy45 to get her attention, “Hey Daze, take a look at this guy.”

Daisy45 sidestepped T1g3r’s aggressive moves and zoomed her camera toward the motionless avatar, orbiting her view to examine it from all sides. It was a male avatar, shorter than average, with unfashionable, helmet-like mesh hair that hugged his skull like a lump of clay. He wore a tight-fitting charcoal flight jacket with the words, “Abbotts Aerodrome” printed in gold across the back, and on his feet, to Daisy45’s amusement, were default avatar shoes. Not even prim shoes: just textured feet.

“Phht, some noob,” she smirked. “Default hair and shoes. Let’s go.” And with that, Daisy45 turned to scout for more interesting material to scavenge, with T1g3r scampering ahead on all fours. Honestly, Daisy45 found T1g3r’s presence annoying, but useful. He had a way of sniffing out previously-undiscovered content.

For several hours, they had been combing the remains of this grid. It wasn’t glamorous work, but for every unique new texture or object they could scrape from this dead world and upload into the OpenGrid, they earned gridbux for new toys and an item of clothing or two. Maybe even an upgrade to their avatars so they could get into the popular sims. Enough, eventually, to leave behind the salvage business altogether and earn full grid citizenship. Daisy45 suppressed a sigh at such distant goals. Here in the decay of the first grid, all of that seemed infinitely far away. Continue reading “The Oldbie”

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Bad Poetry of Second Life, Part 5

Honestly, I didn’t think this through completely when I started posting the old “Bad Poetry” entries. Whatever readership that I had previously has now been driven away — if not completely incapacitated by vile verse and dreadful doggerel.

This is, of course, the fifth part of my oh-my-god-why-are-they-so-many-parts series exploring real examples of poetry written by Second Lifers. In late 2003 and early 2004, I held a series of Bad Poetry Contests, in which avatars were given only fifteen minutes and 8 sort-of-random words in which to create the most painful poetry imaginable. All of these poems were improvised. All of these poems were better off never having been written in the first place.

Today’s entries originate from the evening of November 18, 2003. The words: dinosaur, extinguish, hiccup, mime, poultry, uvula, vaccinate, and wobble. I’ll start with my own contribution to this festival of nausea. Continue reading “Bad Poetry of Second Life, Part 5”

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Bad Poetry of Second Life, Part 4

The date today is, of course, 10/10/10  (alternatively, it’s 10/10/10 if you use European format). To nerds all over the planet, it’s obvious that 101010 is binary for the number 42, which is the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything. As far as significant dates go, this is a big one.

Honestly, it’s unlikely that today’s selection of bad poetry will answer any ultimate questions, but they would most likely please a Vogon.

To those who don’t read this site regularly: In 2003 and 2004, I held a series of “Bad Poetry Contests” in which contestants were given 15 minutes and a selection of perhaps-not-so-random words to write a poem so distressingly awful, it could be considered a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands. Today’s selection is from November 11, 2003. The random words: gourd, hemp, indigestion, kangaroo, pelvis, salad, skimp, and zither.

First up is the esteemed architect, Lordfly Digeridoo. Continue reading “Bad Poetry of Second Life, Part 4”

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Bad Poetry of Second Life, Part 3

Welcome to PAIN. Muahahaha! This, of course, is part three of a too-many-part series of actual stinky poetry written by Second Lifers (see part 1 and part 2).

Back in late 2003 and early 2004, I hosted several poetry contests. The challenge: in only 15 minutes, and given eight random words to include, write a poem that’s so awful, your eyes bleed from the reading of it.

In today’s installment, we turn the wayback machine to November 4, 2003. The random words: deposit, dolly, erogenous, flipper, giggle, sublime, slimy, and tapestry. Continue reading “Bad Poetry of Second Life, Part 3”