The Boxxe
I know nobody reads this stuff. That’s why I like posting here. Kind of like Robert Munroe’s relaxation excersize where you put all your troubles into a mental chest and then envision it floating off into space, so you, for the moment, can forget about them and the anxiety they create. In this case I have built a single prim. A square, unassuming block that, if I wanted, could store my entire 20,000 item Second Life inventory. I may decorate it… I may not. Doesn’t matter… I have the perfect hiding place for it. “Hiding place?” you ask, “We thought this was a float off in space dealie.” Well, it is, but these “anxieties” are special to me and I need to know where they are even if I don’t, at the moment, want to deal with them. So, hiding them, in plain sight but, in a place I only go by mistake, where anyone could stubble upon them, my vast collection of treasures, would amount to the same thing. Here, I would store all my lovely snapshots, all my SL memories, all my paintings, all the wonderful gifts people have given me over the years… my poop gun, my strap-on guitar, all the evil weapons Treminari gave me, my fabulous collection of ColeMarie partical emitters, all my hopes and dreams… and my beating heart.
Many people believe that when starting anew or, ending an old, you should just scrap everything, a clean canvas, vacuum those cobwebs…
Not me.
Someone important in my slife made those cobwebs or I would have deleted them a long time ago. Everything that anyone has ever said to me, or done for me, shapes my avatar, my corporal pressence, by muscle or scar. It’s a beautiful creation, a mass of pixels, an everchanging portrait, and to just… stop, would be criminal. To delete, unthinkable. Like putting your whole life in a golden chest and then setting it on fire… cremation.
