Part Two~The Colored Dreams~Diary Entry # 6 The Last Entry

I invite you to listen to my reading of this last diary entry, over a beautiful mood weaving music track. It should hopefully add another dimension to the story for you.
Just click on the link below “Diary Entry #6 The Last Entry″ to enjoy the mp3 recording while you read along or just look at the pictures, as if I were in your room, reading it to you out-loud Diary Entry #6 The Last Entry

Have you ever read something written by yourself and felt it was a stranger who held the pen?

 Have you ever read something written by yourself and felt it was a stranger who held the pen? I am doing this now as I sit in Ismara’s bedroom, trying to recapture from these diary entries, that at times seem like the delirium of a mad woman, some thread that ties this all to me, to my life and my reality. It makes me feel like I am returning from a journey, or more like retracing my steps back to the beginning of that journey, and most of it seems like a dream. I say most, because I feel every now and then a sad twinge that this Is my diary and it almost is familiar. My heart beats thaddumps in an ever increasing rate, as I read each line, each scene becomes alive, and if I still don’t feel it happened to me, Oh I feel it happened to someone I care for.
Even the diary entries, the first ones, were not accepted as real, but more like an extraordinary lucid dream, an erotic fantasy self induced by subconscious yearnings, not able to be felt in life..and this sadly I agree is also my story too.

I accept the premise that I wrote this…all of this,and not remembering is not even a problem, because as I turn each page, I am becoming more involved, and oddly enough I notice, that I see scenes in my head, that come up in the diary a few pages further on. I am seeing them, feeling them before I have had a chance to read them.How can I describe here, in this very same journal, what I am unwilling to believe, or unable to remember happened to me, and yet, I know it did. It is as if I had been a victim of amnesia, and now I know what a truly horrible feeling that is. I have been exhausted for days, and sort of depressed, at times confused and I wonder and worry for my sanity. It is my handwriting, there is no doubt in my mind, but the places, and the entities I describe in sometimes very elaborate detail, so far are totally not recognized by me.
I have tears that sting and fall at any moment while I am reading and a terrible sense of loss, the loss of understanding that this is being recounted by me because I experienced it. I didn’t make it up, I accept that I didn’t, and yet how real can any of what I am reading truly be? I see I fell in love with an entity from the parallel world I seem to have entered almost by chance at first and then by will, as it becomes obvious that this world took hold of me, and pulled me in deeper and deeper.

After a few pages of jumping around in no special order,I am suddenly reeling in a dizzy vortex of almost remembering a name, “The Intimate,” he says.. “Call me my Intimate and I will call you mine.”
It hits me like a swollen river, these words, because I know I love this being, and it all begins to flood back in my dry empty lake of dust and transparent memories.
I press the diary to my chest and cry out-loud, “Ohhh my Intimate.. I remember you..I remember you. Are you really still here?” A voice inside my own head, but not my voice at all answers me, “I am here mine..beautiful mine..I am here.” I am desperate to hold him and yet how can I? He and I are one, and there is no soft orb body to press against my throat. Oh, I remember how that felt..I am remembering how it all felt. My tears are of awe at how this strange diary tale, has turned one corner and all of a sudden it is my tale, my incredible life that I am reading, lived and chronicled here in my diary, the sublime love of two very different life-forms, yet love itself was what built the bridge to join them for awhile. I begin to shut down my thinking, my linear logic, and just remember that state he showed me, and to empty myself and let him take me over. A small grabbing of fear invades my heart, and it cramps and miss-beats, but love, the love I know I had and still have for him, tells me it will be o.k, it will all work out and be o.k. I listen, the diary laying in my lap, my eyes closed I only listen and pray he will speak again to me. This is not madness, I keep reassuring myself, this is love and remembering.

“I don’t know how you came to us…”

“I don’t know how you came to us, and I don’t know why, beyond we were destined to meet. That first day, I looked up through one transparent layer of my resting level, and there you were standing over me. You were body, a beautiful body, with legs and arms , the appendages my kind find so unattractive, and yet I felt an orb pulsating inside of you, and I was inflamed with desire for you. I grabbed your leg and pulled you down close to me..I reached through the floor in my way, with my powers I made my most sensitive parts into a hand of energy.and held you to me, so that I might  feel and touch and explore you..every smooth curve, every warm throb, showed me, you accepted and welcomed me doing this to you. You wanted my touch as much as I wanted to feel you and it was a moment I will never forget in all my existence..spontaneous, wordless, touch, and desire. I held you and I let you know I approved of every inch I traced and squeezed. We don’t use bodies for our most intimate release, but we use our thoughts, our minds our colored imaginations, and yet feeling yours respond, as my mind was too responding, filled me with a future desire to enter inside of you and fill you from the inside out, enjoying every ripple and shiver your body would give to me in response. Ahh mine, I have never felt this before , with anyone of my kind..and I knew I would be lost in you, if you returned, and if you never did, I would be haunted for all my time left alive and conscious.”

It all returns to me, all the sensations of being with you

“It all returns to me, all the sensations of being with you, my Intimate, oh but what has happened that you are without form, inside of me, in my reality? How can you be alive and why did I forget you?” I lie down on the couch and instinctively stroke my throat as I feel his warmth inside of me at this point, and I imagine I am pressing him to me, and his words begin to ignite me as the experience itself did that first time we chanced to meet. “What has happened that you are here? I don’t remember preparing for your crossing over..I don’t remember that part at all,” I sigh. I feel heavy in my head, and maybe it is because you have become part of me. Is it possible to stay this way…forever? My Intimate, I am wondering if you really are all right?” Worry seeps again inside of me, not for my precarious sanity, which I do feel is being stretched to its limit, but rather for your continual existence and safety. I know the answer before you even think it inside of me.

“My truth and my love, we can not stay this way much longer…”

“My truth and my love, we can not stay this way much longer… We must make haste for I don’t think, now that you know I am here, your sense of reality can hold me inside of you, without you losing your mind, and I too need to have my housing, my own space to fill up with my essence and my essence alone. I hold back inside of your mind, but soon I will not be able to, and what comes pouring out of me will fill every chamber and you will be incapable of living your life…you will go mad, and will be sentenced to madness with no hope for a cure, and I too will be locked away with you. Death would be better than that my sweet mine. Death would be so much better.” I need an orb for us to survive, but now, more than that I need you to join with me and let me heal you and believe me with all you know is true, I never meant to hurt you. I would never want to hurt you, or see you hurt ever again. I will leave you and go to my nonexistence, rather than watch a tear of sadness fall from your eyes because of me, or a glint of madness shine because I overloaded you. Empty yourself and I will make you mine one last time before we separate. We could not be more intimate than we are now, but close your eyes, and remember the feeling of me against your throat, flowing into you, floating and filling all of you. Ahhhhh mine….”

I close my eyes as he asks of me…”

I close my eyes as he asks of me, and put aside the warnings, and all the dangers that we could face. I let him take over the very neurons of my brain. I feel him undulating, seeping inside my soul, and I gasp, a wordless gasp of once again experiencing more than any human being is prepared to feel..I shudder, and I breathe, and I cease to exist for more purpose than to feel myself dissolve into him. Places we can know have no names, and no words were ever invented for them, but we can visit them, not by choice, but by invitation and by grace. No devil is he who has shown me this truth, but a rare being whose world has taught him other knowledge. I tear into small pieces of myself and let him swallow me in, drinking me down as each piece turns to liquid, my memories, my future dreams, my love for my sister, my art, my crazy doubts, he drinks them all out of me and fills me with the most sublime longings, yearnings and electric desire until I overflow and give it all back to him in a continual spherical cycle that makes me cry out and moan as I remember he and I shared these ecstasies many many times before..and there are no words that come even close to describing the incomparable joy of a union such as he now shows me. He invades my arms, my legs and makes me thrash in delirious satisfaction..I give him my body, I give him my soul, my every prayer is for his lips to taste, my every  ticking minute of my life, I give to him now..if he wishes to take over my body, forever, I will leave and give it to him willingly..No other love, or lover will ever be enough for me, so why live, if I can’t live alongside of him?

I see myself back in his world, floating in waves of weightless fulfillment

I see myself back in his world, floating in waves of weightless fulfillment. I am not sure if these images are coming from me or from him, but they pull me into a languid tranquility, as I stretch out hovering, in a space that we created together, that could not exist for anyone but us. I let out an involuntary sigh, one of the deepest contentment. This state is what he calls “healing me” ahh but it is so much more than that. It inspires and stimulates, and makes me fearless, and focused and nearly invincible. I don’t even move my lips, as I say “I love you.” I don’t even hear him say the words, but am just filled once again with an electric charge that says “I love you too” in a way that only he is capable of conveying to me.. After many minutes of silence on both our parts, the energy slowly recoiling back into him, my heart beats returning to normal, I open my eyes, but what I see, is not the familiar room of my sister, but something else so shocking to me, I cry out as if hurt. “No!”
It is a vision of a truck’s headlights, the rain pouring down, and the certainty that I am driving right into it and there is nothing I can do to avoid, swerve or escape this head-on crash. If I hadn’t just been “healed” I most certainly would burst into sobs and protests, but the calm lets me see it all the way through, and when my vision turns translucent and bright, I hear him say, “Just drink it like a good girl.” Then everything goes white.

“Am I going to die soon?” I ask him inside my mind

“Am I going to die soon?” I ask him calmly inside my mind.
“We will all die sooner or later” is his answer and then he tells me to listen very carefully to what he wants to say to me.
“Is there an orb, a sphere suitable for me in your home? I need to move out of you today if possible, I want to protect you and your stability, but I feel my true essence clawing at my own restraints, and soon it will be victorious, and we both will be the vanquished.
“I had a vision of a truck on a highway..a rainy highway.” I say, “do you know what this can mean?”
“Well if it is raining, just drive very carefully. I imagine that is all it means.”
“I don’t mean to insist mine but time is racing away, and I must have a place I can be inside, outside of you. There is not much time left.”
“I bought a glass globe when we had talked of you attempting a cross-over. I’ll get it now and you can tell me if this will work or not, but my Intimate I am troubled by the dream and I cannot just brush it off for now. I’m sorry, but I remember I saw this dream before, in your world. I saw it one time before”

“I don’t want to talk of this now,” he said sternly

“I don’t want to talk of this now,” he says sternly. “Our lives are not just controlled by our dreams, be they wishful thinking ones, or nightmares, and without alarming you, I wish you to understand, I must leave your housing and pass into another as soon as possible. This is all we must think about now”
I  am remembering…memories, like movie previews flashing across my inner screen. They banished me from his world. They tortured me and gave me nightmares, and this truck was in the nightmare they forced me to see, but I keep silent here, and go to find the orb and bring it to him as quickly as I can. I lay it on the bed and ask him if he feels that this will be a good housing for him. It looks like many of the ones I saw in his world, yet those were not made out of hard glass, but something else, a material that breathes and hums, and does not exist on our plane.

“I will try to pass into it…”

“I will try to pass into it now. Please mine, be very quiet and relax, lay down or recline, because the process of my leaving might make you very dizzy, as traces of your own life force will be pulled out with mine. It should be over with quickly, but I need you to be perfectly relaxed.”
I lie back and place the globe where he tells me it should be, not too close and yet not too far away. I keep my eyes wide open, as I want to see, if there is anything to see, how he moves from me into a sphere. I get a slight feeling of panic, but I consciously release into it, not fighting it, and it starts to subside, just as the first beams of heat begin to swirl around inside of me, not just inside my head, but all through my body, and finally I feel them penetrate my hand, and leave in a stream that goes into the glass sphere..It is happening, he is leaving, and I feel like I am almost about to pass out.
There is silence, but I wait for him to speak to me, before I utter a word. I feel the process has been completed, but until he speaks in my mind once again, will I know it was successful. I pray in my own way, and think only that he is now safe inside… that we both are now safe in one world.
Then I hear his voice, muffled, and not strong like before,
“I am sorry mine. I know you tried to help me, but this sphere will not allow me to live more than a few hours. In your world, I am afraid it must be made of pure crystal, and not common glass, that will not allow my facets to breathe, or to shine, and even communicate properly. I need 30 minutes to be left in a cool place, and then I need us to go to find this orb wherever we can. It is my only hope, as I will not go into you ever again, and upset your sanity. I love you mine, if need be, I will die for you.”
I start to cry, out of frustration and the fear that I might not be able to achieve the quest he has put me on, in the time left to save him. I hear the weakness in his thoughts,  pauses between words ,and they come to me labored, as if he is heavily breathing. I will do what he asks, and give him 30 minutes to re-establish his energy as much as he possibly can inside an unsuitable dwelling..

The phone call to the Crystal Emporium gives me  renewed hope…

Five minutes later, after a  phone call to the Crystal Emporium, I feel my hope  renewed . They tell me they will be open another 90 minutes and to please come, that in their showroom and warehouse attached, they have many 100% crystal balls. I am sure the agent I talked to was thinking I wanted one to see my future, but I really only need one to assure my future, as I have seen it… and it is by his side.
I take the time to write all these amazing new events in my diary. I make a few promises to myself, and the first is as soon as we get back, and he is safe in his crystal housing, I will present him to Ismara. I am not sure how I kept this from her so long, but she is my beloved sister and I will share this uncommon, unbelievable truth with her. I want him to know her, in all ways that they choose to know each other. She needs to understand there is so much more beyond what she thinks is reality. I want her to have her doors blown open by his presence and his teachings, just like mine were.  I know he will also be her liberation too, if she trusts me, she will learn to trust him as I have learned. Ismara is the other side of me, and if she will accept to join me in experiencing the Intimate in all his power and knowledge, and love, she will be set free, and this is the greatest gift I could give her. My tears flow like small prisoners who have been already freed, I perceive a great sense of hope that all our lives are about to change, maybe not on the arbitrary time scale and schedule we try to force life into but, in its own time, it will see us change, and radically. We will be transformed.
I look at the clock and put down my pen, closing my diary. After our  meeting with Ismara, I will start a new one, and encourage her to keep one too.We are setting out into unknown and very uncharted waters. The diary is our anchor and our history, our log and our memories.

“I pick him up carefully and make my last promise…”

I pick him up lovingly, protectively and I kiss the glass many times and feel a slight humming vibration inside. I whisper to him,”All will be just fine” and make my last promise, to put him safely on my lap for the whole ride, and because it has begun to rain very hard,  I will make sure I drive extra carefully tonight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

to be finished..in an Epilogue written by the Intimate…
*please see my comment below for a list of the previous chapters

Karima Hoisan
July 19, 2011
Costa Rica
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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

 

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Second Life + Real Life = Artistic Magic!!

Emile Stratten (Sands) and Karima Hoisan

Emile and I, as advertised, were part of an exciting joining of Second Life and Real Life for the dual -world opening of Littleone Aries/Monica Linville’s latest exhibition “Organica”
While we were gathering in Littleone’s own “Aries Gallery STNY” in-world she was hosting a cocktail party to celebrate her Real Life show of her work at “The House of Creative Soul” in Saratoga Springs, NY. They could peer in and see us and hear us, while we were able to join them visually through a live feed on Ustream.

The place quickly began to fill up as we took turns reciting our poetry.

It felt very special to us to be reciting in SL knowing perhaps we were touching someone briefly in Rl with our words and music. Everyone who attended at the Aries Gallery looked very stylish,(as we tend to do in Second Life) and there was a feeling of celebration and coming together, all  the while, surrounded by the beautiful paintings of Littleone/Monica, whose bright colors and abstract beauty lit up the room and made the patrons glow even more brightly.

Very stylish Aussies: Missy Rothmanay and Sanne Burns caught by the paparazzi

Phillipe Pascal was the gracious host for the evening and also kept Littleone’s avatar in world while he was in contact with her in real life. The confusing logistics did seem to work out quite smoothly, and before we knew it, our reading was coming to an end and all present seemed to enjoy the hour of poetry and music we had prepared for them. Then we were totally ready to kick up our heels with the rest of the guests and enjoy the classical/jazzy/bossa nova guitar of Voodoo Shilton. I had never heard him before and was truly amazed at how good and how versatile his music was.

Voodoo Shilton was nothing less than fabulous!!

The party continued on at The Aries Gallery for another hour much to the delight of a good crowd who stayed on until the end and we saw at one point Monica (who is Littleone’s ‘avatar’ in Real Life) wave to all of us..and yes the magic was felt like a small current that circled the room.

Handsome Hoyt Heron and beautiful Isabel Hermano ( in white) caught in the lens

I think all who were there would agree, the SL part of the event was a great success, and it looked like the RL party was wonderful too. I am awaiting details from Littleone about how we were received and will add a footnote. We only wished we could have cloned Littleone to be in both places at the same time. Who knows? In a few years that might even be possible and we can project ourselves to several different spots in several worlds on something like a Live Hologram-Stream. All I know is… this little taste of combining the artistic worlds, has left me hoping to be asked to participate in future ones. I already think I heard Emile’s wheels turning in that same direction so …stay tuned….

*I want to give a big thanks to Sanne Brune for snapping the photos I have used here.
Comments are very welcome and if anyone has some more pictures of the event, please send them to me at karima.hoisan@gmail.com and I will be happy to add them

** Thank you to Missy Rothmanay and Isabel Hermano for more photos sent to me. I include some of them here below

Littleone Aries whose beautiful paintings can be seen behind her

How it looked from our view

A birds-eye view of the event

"I eat color and it makes me dance...."

I would love to put a name to this transluscent glorious being....

Such elegance!! Even the dog had on a designer collar

Lots of illustrious friends and family came..

Everywhere...beauty and color surrounded us..how could we not be inspired?

Another special thank you to my dear friend Theodore Hoppe for the pictures he also sent me below.

A nice shot of the official poster of the dual world event

Littleone Aries with her colors glowing behind her

Emile thinks to himself,"Not one more Shirely Temple Cocktail for Karima please"


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Poetry Reading for Art Opening “Organica” SL/RL July 14th 3pmslt

Poster by Menubar Memorial

On July 14th at 3pmslt Emile Sands and I have the great honor to perform a live reading together for an exciting new art opening.
While the Real Life exhibition of Monica Linville (Littleone Arias in SL) is taking place at the House of Creative Soul in Saratoga Springs, NY, the Second Life simultaneous event will take place at the Aries Gallery STNY, and we will be seen and heard reading there by not only the audience in SL, but also in the gallery in N.Y. through a simultaneous broadcast. Those gathering in SL at Littleone’s gallery will also be able to see the show in N.Y. through a live video stream. This is a first for me and for Emile and we are so excited about being invited to participate. Littleone is a very accomplished and amazing artist, and I have written several original poems inspired by the paintings for this show. After our reading, classical guitarist Voodoo Shilton will perform at 4pmslt.
Come join us for this exciting and innovative collaboration crossing into and joining two art loving worlds.
Thursday, July 14th 2011
3:00pm to 5:00pm SLT
Emile and I 3pmslt-4pmslt
Voodoo Shilton 4pmslt-5pmslt
The Aries Gallery STNY

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A Net Full of Eels

Slippery eels sliding through the net holes

A Net Full of Eels 

Slippery eels sliding
through the net holes
the mesh,
somewhat large,
it can’t contain them all.
Suspended,
how they eye the water world
of survival far below.
With all their strength and agility,
they wriggle out of certain death,
in their quest to live,
they choose the desperate fall.

Many upon many cascade
in painful belly flops.
They beat the water
with their blackened forms.
Some gracefully,
like rigid,
high-dive athletes,
push through head first,
puncture the ocean surface clean
breaking every written
record, barrier – norm.

It is so painful
to watch their struggle end.
I root for all of them
to make it through.
But, some have succumbed

to being out too long.
The sun is hot,
the distant drop
into their element, the water,
if not done
just exactly right,
would likely
kill them too.

I am more amazed
than repulsed
by what I see,
for their slithering,
brings out
primal anxiety,
and makes me shake.
Still, a small compassion
rooted deep inside of me,
stirs, as on the docks
they start to fade and bake.

“Oh Allah bless the fortunates
who never knew the net.”
“Bless those, who grew in strength,
and made it safely home.”
“Bless the ones caught up,
who never could escape “

Karima Hoisan
© 2007
*please see my comment below

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The Color Of A Soul

The color of a soul, is it like a rainbow?

 I invite you to listen to my mp3 recording of this poem to the music of Amr Diab.
Just click here to play it: “The Color Of A Soul.mp3”

The color of a soul, is it like a rainbow?
Does it change with seasons, decades and living life?
Or is it one constant hue that perhaps mirrors,
all those subtle flecks of hope and dreams, and strife?

I saw yours, I saw it when you thought I wasn’t looking
The color that jumped out at me and cried,
“I am alive and living inside an oh so tiring time
Understand this is my true shade deep inside.”

When you marched over mountains, your color warmed you
Laying in your bed it made you sleepless on haunted full moon nights
It brought you brilliance and impatience, and a solitary path
Like hot embers it glowed inside you, and lit your inner light.

I saw yours, I saw it when you thought I wasn’t looking
The color that jumped out at me and cried
“I am alive and living inside such an exciting time
Understand this is my true shade deep inside.”

I think we have a color that carries through the seasons
It could be heady white or dreamy whimsey shades of blue
but some souls, glow in quarries of a deep creative passion
inflamed in orange-splashed red, and one I see that has this kind is you.

Karima Hoisan
July 6, 2011
Heresy of The Intimate Kitely
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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

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Heresy Of The Intimate

Heresy Of The Intimate Kitely-Virtual Worlds On Demand

If you are following my Colored Dream Series, you will know that in Part Two we meet a sphere with a very strong essence called The Intimate. From a parallel world he comes, and our Karima of the story falls madly in love with him. Part dark… part light, he is an enigma and a paradox and he has finally found a place to rest after being ejected from his own world for loving one he should not. This story is about to come to an end, and perhaps I am prolonging that eventuality, by finding myself in another virtual world (a heresy in its own right I might have said a week ago) creating my imagination’s virtual abode of the Intimate. How did this happen?

Locus in the new Red Period

Locus is now moving into the new Red Period or as I have said to the creator DB Bailey, it has the Bailey Touch, everything and anything he touches lately on his sim has turned to red. Locus, through all of its changes has been where I shoot my photos for the Colored Dreams, a continual inspiration, and I would say a sort of mystical leader that moves the story in other directions  than I am even planning, just because the sim is always in a state of flux..morphing from one beautiful stage to another, sometimes more subtle and sometimes like now, earthquakingly  powerful with shifting appearances and mood. While this Red Period was being developed in SL, DB got involved in a new virtual world just starting to rise out of the virtual waters called “Kitely – Virtual Worlds on Demand” He invited me to see his build there and of course how could I refuse? There is a small hitch that in order to visit someone’s world or acquire your own you need to be a Facebook user (and I am so not into that but…) but I already had an account and it is the policy at the moment. So, I befriended DB (David Denton) in Facebook, and went to see what he was up to in Kitely.

The pastel dreams on Kitely are alive and growing

The pastel dreams on Kitely are alive and growing, and I found myself in the dubious pleasure of being a noob again with bad skin, no AO and well, all the rest, but it was great pleasure to see the new build coming to life and to have my eyes opened up to the possibility of inhabiting more than one world, something I have been doing in the “Colored Dreams” for the past few months. I have been sort of a rabid supporter of Second Life, even with all its faults, it is not easily beaten. I have never been interested in the many alternative worlds that have been springing up right and left, but I see in this one, Kitely, where basically you pay for the time you spend there, and you pay quite economically, the possibility of maintaining an island as almost your own art installation. Here you can work, build and create and then invite your friends to see it, and make another. This is what I would love to do,  even though I know almost nothing about building (and it shows) I do know how to let my subconscious pour itself out on a sim, and I feel this system makes that very possible. I won’t go into a sales pitch for this new world, just say I am enjoying it very much on many levels and that I had a chance to have a small email chat with the CEO and Co-founder Ilan Tochner and I really liked what he said, and I quote him,
“I’m very happy to see Kitely used for art, one of our goals was to enable people to easily express themselves and share it with others.”
Since there is nothing for sale, and I don’t know anything about importing more than script codes and textures, this will be a challenge, but a creatively addictive one I already see. I wrote a post a few weeks back saying “We are what we watch” well now I am beginning to see, ” We are what we write” as I slowly open up the possibilities of a parallel universe in the virtual sense. I am writing my last chapters of the “Colored Dreams”, sipping coffee in my tent overlooking a hostile landscape with dabs of colorful beauty. I have even had a few visitors, and two after being there, created their own worlds. I see this as not a replacement for Second Life but a great compliment to it.

A dear friend and I in my tent on the hill

They are offering a trial period now, as it is just beginning and is in beta, to create your own world and they will give you the credits to be able to see if you enjoy it, before you have to pay, a good marketing idea, as it is very, in a nice creative way, addictive. As I said before I am not promoting this world for any other reason than I just feel very excited about it, and am so glad DB Bailey dragged me there kicking and screaming my mantra “I don’t want to go to any other virtual worlds”

meditating on the rocks with a visitor

I leave you with this last image of a rotating light sculpture I have created using mostly tricks and mirrors and shabby building technique, but as DB mentioned when he came to visit, lots of drama. I have maybe 3/4 of a sim left to do and about 96,000 prims to spare. Just that fact alone makes my heart sing out like an operatic soprano.

Dreaming the dream out-loud on Kitely

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Too Far For Me

I am going to share my first machinima made in Second Life, with all the apologies beforehand, as it is far from perfect, yet I do think it worth sharing. I committed many novice mistakes in filming it, equivalent to putting my fingers over the lens on a still camera in some takes, but I decided to share it anyway, as most of you who read my blog, are also my friends..and the rest I hope you will be, so I am going to take a chance and post a YouTube of it. The song I picked for the video is a Hank William’s classic.
It is also in honor of my new little shack on the tracks given to me by a good fellow train enthusiast and buddy I met riding the rails when I was writing the Train Saga poems and posting them here on my blog. It is situated diagonal, across the tracks, straight up a hill, from the very green train station of Epirrhoe, on the Mainland, and amounts to having one of my dreams in SL come true; that of having a small shack by the railroad tracks, the other, which I am still waiting for, is to wake up in my RL bed some morning and have the exact same proportions, look and skin of my avatar..still working on that wish. The poem was written a while back before I was even train riding, but it seemed to go well with what I finally could film(the back of me in most cases *smiles) We have close to 80 Sims of RR tracks and free trains are to be had. It is an amazing side of our SL many of us (myself included before) have totally overlooked. So… I present to you now Too Far For Me and I will post the poem below the video. Enjoy!

*a footnote my YouTube was banned in Germany I guess because I used a Hank Williams’s song but odd it was Germany and not say Alabama…funny

Too Far For Me
for umahamd
~^~
There is a distance

that can’t be breached,
not with any effort
not by any cost.
We are all little mirrors
of the first Big Bang,
in the flux of Life and Love
some things left behind
get lost.

There is a distance
that can’t be reached,
not with nostalgia
nor by traveling miles.
We are constantly expanding,
saying hello
and contracting
while waving goodbye
to the scenery
in motion
of our history’s past
judgments and trials.

There is a distance
that can’t be beseeched,
stopped in the dust
of our lover’s new track,
we sit confused and weep.
Where all words fail us
in our pain,
where we fall for a minute
from the earthly plain
in one sudden derailment
from the moving train,
that just left the station
without us.

Karima Hoisan
2007 Jordan
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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Posted in Machinima, Poems, Slices of Second Life | Tagged , , , , , | 20 Comments

Part Two~The Colored Dreams~Ismara Re-Opens The Diary

The face spoke to me in the voice of my sister

The Face spoke to me in the voice of my sister. It was Karima’s cadence, and tone.
“Find my diary and finish reading it. Do it” It was so clearly stated and so commanding, as if an order were being handed down from this giant ruler hovering in front of me, and I was the chosen one to do her bidding. Even though this was a dream, I felt the urgency in her voice, and I knew that I would comply as was demanded of me. The sheer size of the one who captured my attention was enough to make me reverently bend down in humble acceptance of my own small size and lack of power, but the voice was my sisters’, there was no doubt in my mind. It didn’t beg or suggest, it said ,”Do it.” in that bossy way Karima could talk to me when she was really serious about convincing me to do something for her. I answered her back,
“Ok. I will.” and then after getting over the shock of hearing her voice so clearly in my ears, I said more tenderly,”I will do this for you as you request.”
Then I woke up.

I laid there for a long time trying to remember…

 I laid there for a long time trying to remember more parts of the dream. Oddly enough, this strange cathedral or whatever it was felt familiar. The face, although sort of hazy also seemed like someone or something I knew, or had seen before, perhaps a statue, a movie star from the past, not sure what, but the message it brought to me was more like a vision than a dream. I have had visions before, I told Karima about a few, and one I never told her, but I wish I had now, as it was a car accident, so real I woke up in a sweat. I had this maybe only a few weeks before her own accident, that put her in an irreversible coma and carried her away from all of us forever. My heart was pounding like when I would awake from a nightmare, but this felt more like a scare, the kind of feeling I get sometimes when I am drifting off to sleep and I think I am falling and I  jerk and gasp catching myself, the adrenaline pumping freely. Where does a message like this come from? Is it really from Karima? Can I trust it is not just a part of me giving me some very bad advice, advice that goes against what I had already decided, which was to never pick up her diary again?

Before this night, several times and at strange hours

 Before this night, several times and at strange hours, wide awake, I would get the urgent sense to go into the closest and finish reading my sister’s last words. I know if I talked about this with my friends, for instance, all of them would tell me I was crazy to have put it away as I did. I had even asked myself many times, if Karima would have reacted as I did, taking her personal dream-life so personally, and I had answered myself, no, she wouldn’t have done that. I guess I have always taken things more to heart, and where she could get over anything quickly, I couldn’t, and they would lay inside festering and bothering me, returning again and again in my mind. The dream, although upsetting in the way it woke me up, was what I needed to finally listen to those inner voices, that had been whispering and softly nagging me since I put it away months ago. I remembered there were only a few  entries left. She didn’t write in it every morning, just I guess when there was really something to write about. I sighed and got up. I went into the closet where there still hung some of my sister’s clothes. Her odd way of dressing, stylish but from another era, hung in hangers in front of me. On impulse I decided to slip into a little french thing she had bought right before her accident, and putting it on, I felt more connected to her, more ready for her to share her last thoughts with me.

I sat down on the wood floor and opened the diary…

 I sat down on the floor and opened the diary. In my way, I offered a little prayer to re-entering my sister’s dream world. “May it bring me peace and closure,” I whispered. She was saying how she was tortured by not being allowed back into her dream world. It seemed weeks had past and she had not had another. I tried to always hold my mind open without making judgements, the most important one being, if this was real or just her incredible imagination. Real begins to bend its own definition when I think of it in the phrase real dreams. Yet something in the way of her telling it, relating it to her diary was so very real, beyond lucid dreaming as she had first herself called it. The fact is, I decided to see this experience, as she did, as I always trusted my sister in her perceptions, well almost always.

The barrier was always the beginning

The barrier was always the beginning, it was the frontier between our world and the one she went into. I read, and I pictured her climbing up it, peering through it, desperately wanting to get to the other side. She had found an entity, an out of body lover, who obsessed and possessed her. As I read, I actually changed my feelings from fear for her to a warm envy that began to spread over me. Maybe envy is too strong a word, but I saw she had found something very special on the other side of the barrier, someone who truly loved her all of her. That is a dream come true for most of us, and I knew it was hers, as it was mine. She had found it. I still hadn’t. Twins are so close in so many ways, and we can fill in the gaps for each other that others leave in us, but when it comes to falling in love and surrendering to that love, well these are spaces we can not fill, and when one has that, and the other is still seeking, hoping, I think that slight envious nerve gets touched, as mine did, and was part of why I locked her diary out of my sight. Of course she was right to not share this yet with me, it was new and it had no name, but it seemed very real to her, she lived it as a reality, and the more I read, the more pages I turned, the more I felt it wasn’t just a dream. I felt her incredibly lucky.

She described the ecstasy of his entry into her mind

She described the ecstasy of his entry into her mind. She called him “my Intimate” and he called her “mine” The tears welled up inside me stinging my eyes until they let a few fall in drops. The more I read, the more I realized she had encountered the most ethereal of dreams, without bodies, only in spirit, they joined, they merged, and they loved. I breathed deeply and closed the book for a minute, holding the page with my finger. “Oh Karima, I didn’t have any idea,” I sobbed. I was feeling too much too quickly, so many realizations, she died so young, everyone said she never really knew love, and now I see, I am witness to the fact that she did. She was blessed by an experience, no one gets even if they live to be 100. Oh was this gift also her curse? “Was it worth it Karima?” Are you still somewhere, in some  world, on some plane still feeling this love. I cried and I cried. Then pulling myself together, as well I could, I re-opened her book, and continued to read.

I laid back on the floor and let her take me by the hand

 I laid back on the floor and let her take me by the hand. In a strange sort of way, the deepness of the love I felt this Intimate poured over my sister, his almost obsessive wanting of her, gave me now another feeling. I felt happy for her, happy she had these days, right before she would lose her mind, lose her life, any hope for one to her interminable coma, that finally was terminated two years after it began. Was a coffin lowered into earth, the end of this love affair? How will any of us ever know?

But my happiness quickly turned to shock and disbelief

 But my happiness quickly turned to shock and disbelief as I realized the next diary entry wasn’t written by her, or so it proclaimed, but by the very entity that loved her and now it seemed was living inside of her. This was a hard ravine for me to cross and still believe in the sanity of my sister. Was she now dividing into different personalities, falling into  psychosis? Oh Karima what was happening to you? Did madness descend over you and cause you to race out on a rainy night looking for your death? The writing of the Intimate was a desperate plea, for her to remember him,as it seems she had forgotten him, and I was not sure why? He wrote in her hand, so he said, for her to find and read it and know he now was living inside of her, in our world. Oh My God! Oh My God!

He was crying out to her using her hand, her pen, and her diary

He was crying out to her using her hand, her pen and her diary. He was begging her, now somewhere inside of her to remember what had happened. Obviously something did happen, and peeking ahead I saw there was only one long entry left, that seemed to go on for many pages. Now it was no longer about dreams, and dream worlds, it was about possession. My sister was possessed, but not by an evil ghost or the soul of someone dead, but by a lover who left his world to live inside of her. He called out to her to pick up her diary and read his words, in the hopes she would remember and know what to do. He seemed as desperate as someone underwater whose oxygen tank is on the red line, he seemed convinced he could not stay this way indefinitely. I grasped that he could not live in our world occupying the same space as my sister. It was that simple and yet my mind teetered on the edge of an abyss. Could all I was reading be real? I put the book down for awhile, and let my reason return to me. It had been stretched even beyond what I thought possible, in only reading a few pages.

Oh Karima my sweet sister, please come and fill in the blanks

Oh Karima my sweet sister, please come and fill in the blanks, come and ease my very deep confusion. I trust you, trusted you, and I know you always had your sanity holding up the rest of your beautiful artistic eccentricity. Under the wild newly budding artist, was brick and cement that held the structure so well, you could build it up to the sky without limit or fear. You were sane, right up to the end…or were you?

The Intimate begged her to remember the  torture  purging of him

The Intimate begged her to remember the torture and purging of him. I read it all absorbed in it so deeply, I would not have heard a phone ring. The tone, the voice that related all of this, a trial, being held in another world, with her already found guilty in abstencia, was not hers but his. I know I have heard cases of multiple personalities being so well developed they never crossed over one into the other, but wouldn’t I have seen some signs of this in her? The date here seemed to be just a few days before her accident. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention, as we tend to forget to do, when we are lulled into the false security of thinking all those around us, will always be there, so they become almost invisible. Rude awakening, when we have to face the sudden truth, they have been taken from us, and we never had that chance to stop what we were doing, that seemed so important at the time, and just pay them a little attention.

Her greatest torture was to see her future

Her greatest torture was to see her future, and I hung on every word, trying to know if she knew what soon would befall her, but it seems The Intimate chose to not reveal that in her diary although he knew, having also seen it clearly, and somewhere locked inside of her, she knew too. I was the only one who knew nothing, and it made me feel an aching pain of wanting closure, of closing the door on so much speculation, that had circled her accident and kept on circling for two years of her coma. Inside me this slow moving tornado was always circling, causing me a sadness like one low note repeating over and over, or the cry of a mourning dove, on a foggy hill, calling and calling. I never got that closure I so wanted. “Karima please, come close this door” I waited for two years for her to wake up. I had hope and lost hope, weekly, monthly. New treatments, new testimonies, new faith that she might rejoin us and live again, but always the door left open, when she finally breathed her last breath. Part of me was entombed when she was lowered down.I am fighting back the tears of my own self pity now, but part of me never came back from the cemetery that drizzily day, with her door swinging wide open, never to be closed it seems.

I read the final words….

I read the final words of the Intimate and I cried. I cried for them both. I guess he died or could not survive after she was injured. I will never know.There was one more entry and as I read the last page first, peeking to see who or what wrote it, I knew it was my sister’s voice. I sat back and I read the last chapter of her life that was recorded in words. “Karima no matter what, know how much I loved you.” Even such big points as sanity and insanity mean nothing now, the great leveler is death, nothing seems as important as the fact that she is gone and I miss her every day and every night.

She begins by saying how she decided to read her diary

She began by saying how she decided to read her diary, and she sat up in my room to do it too. After only a few pages she clutched the book to her heart and said out-loud
“ohhh my Intimate.. I remember you..I remember you. Are you really still here?”

Tonight I had a dream…

Tonight I had a dream after I finished reading her last amazing entry in her own words. It brought me so much peace and I am still not sure why, but I perceived my sister existed and she was close. I have decided to write it down as it seemed so significant to me. I stood on a small depression in a hillside looking out into a land I myself could never have imagined even in my dreams. It was hazy and beautiful in the most brilliant colors I had ever seen, like another dimension it called to me, but just when I was about to enter into this land, to walk down the mountain and be part of it, I awoke. I thought I heard a man’s voice call my name, but I might have been mistaken. The winds blew so sweetly and I heard bells tinkling from faraway. Standing there just looking in, I was filled with peace, and felt that the wind of this mountaintop was about to shut a door that was now only slightly left ajar… and I smiled knowing that soon it would close shut… when it was time.

to be continued…

Karima Hoisan
June 22,2011
Locus SL
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Love Tease

Love Tease~artist Rob Steenhorst

Love Tease

Inspired by the painting of the same name by Rob Steenhorst

I see two on a fishing trip, they are angling sportsmen on a loveless luckless night.
Smooth sounds of jazzy bars fly from their lips, like lures to wind, they cast to get a bite.
They fling their magic lines before the rain falls and gets their love boat soaking wet.
So desperate for a trophy and a prize, they toss them at some strangers they’ve just met.

“Baby baby… you are fine, I’d sure like to take you home and make you mine”
Are these ladies just the innocents in someone else’s game and perfect passion play?
“No baby this is not a line, I’d like to take you home and make you mine.”
Are they looking, to be loved at midnight, all night, hopefully for more than just a day?

I see two women out too late, in the wrong unlikely place, for finding what they seek,
being pawed and bothered, teased and followed, as their answer No! seems too oblique.
Walking faster, their gestures saying “No” I said, “No!” Why do you not yet understand?
While the hunters in the chase, pursue them hearing “No,” with their male desires fanned.

“Baby baby… you are fine, I’d sure like to take you home and make you mine”
Oh ladies are you the innocents in someone else’s game and perfect passion play?
“No baby this is not a line, I’d like to take you home and make you mine.”
Are you looking to be loved at midnight, all night, hopefully for more than just a day?

The hunter loves the hunt more than eating game, the fisherman for him it is the same.
These sporting types are proud to bag n’ brag, catch ‘n release becomes their biggest claim.
There’s only one who is what he seems to be, as humbly he sits straight up and begs,
The street dog will likely get more than all the others, who are tied up in their love tease on two legs.

“Baby baby… you are fine, I’d sure like to take you home and make you mine”
Oh ladies you might be the innocents in someone else’s game, and perfect passion play.
“No baby this is not a line, I’d like to take you home and make you mine.”
You’re looking to be loved at midnight, and all night, hopefully for more than just a day.

Karima Hoisan
June 21,2011
Linc Island SL
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*please see my comment below.

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Free Falling Flower

Free Falling Flower

 Free Falling Flower

The beginning is a tight-wound bud of choice

The beginning is a tight- wound bud of choice,
closed up around one tiny thoughtful seed
smooth and reckless in unknown potential
an egg of some rare and unnamed species.
Anything might hatch, anything might see the light.

Then the orchestration plays its song

Then the orchestration plays its song,
starving winds, a piper’s plaintive flute and bells
suspended bloom the breeze now coaxes patiently
and dancing petals bend and beg to open.
No one can stop revealing this unraveling.

The stem revolving, slowly poised and changing

The stem revolving slowly poised and changing,
just a dot upon the afterthoughts of dreaming air
whose breezes tease, exert control and mold
those petals pushing, straining out to open,
this flower stretched and groomed, designed to fall.

Ah, the leap of faith for blossom bravely plunges

Ah, the leap of faith for blossom bravely plunges,
the world below is like a mouse unto its’ hawk and dive.
and every part unwinds to rushing gravity divine
falling with no net or guide, just falling
perfuming sky, while cloud banks raise their flags.

Grace is not essential for a flowering offering

Grace is not essential for a flowering offering,
careening down abandoning both balance and restraint,
hidden petals whistling, twisting round on opening
It’s the plummet of the trusting bloom surrendering,
To forces pulling, unbinding cloistered beauty in descent.

Freedom's sigh escapes from lips of clinging leaves

Freedom’s sigh escapes from lips of clinging leaves,
all is open wide as in slow motion now it floats.
Who would be the one to pity this free falling choice of beauty?
Every twirl on every current, brings it closer to its marker
Every second in decline, sweet perfume paints the countryside.

And just before it makes a perfect upright landing

And just before it makes a perfect upright landing,
it somehow knows that this is where it was to be.
The seed it carries finds its way to nurtured earth and mud
What will it grow is not decided by the trusting carrier
Whose pleasure was to only serve the need, free falling was its destiny.


Karima Hoisan
June 18, 2011
Locus SL
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