Ground Control

I'm feeling very still

Space Oddity

Rare, not to be able to sleep, or maybe I just missed the bus tonight, and so why not take up Oberon Onmura's Facebook invitation to check out his new/old install,    Slow Chaos.

FB said I'd find it at the LEA Self-Curated Gallery. The good people at SLURL.com very kindly saw fit to open SL in Phoenix, my first Phoenix outing in months (I heart Imprudence), so I found myself wearing boots, sandals, and about thirteen different prim skirts, not to mention two different sets of hair.
But it's bikini weather.

Having always been a bit of a LEAgnostic, it was interesting to
look around a bit; there's a whiff of clubbiness to the whole concept that doesn't appeal much to me - one can't help not being surprised to see all the big names represented.
Not that they're not good, they are, but it's rather ... how can I put it? Corporate? All the good old reliables, plus a shoal of naff remoras, like Giovanna Cerise. A gallerista would ferret out some shy unknown and blow you away with something different.

Tiredness, perhaps; but whenever I see Oberon's work, even though, yes, he's a scripting genius in his own right and alll, ...one always thinks a little bit about the great Zachh Cale, is all I'm saying.  That was where Slow Chaos got its first outing, I believe, a million years ago - back at project Z.
It is hot, and foggy outside. We're all tired of heat, and tired of wet. but better make it hot and foggy at the LEA. It masks the sim's wearisome sense of burgeoning achievement, a bit.

Slow Chaos stands alone, by which I mean it stands the test of time and context, because it forces you to look at space in the most reduced and elegant way. Two blocks stand poised to burst into a stream of blocks, like unread books, glowing from charcoal grey into sunset red, and then fading into blue. Depending on where you stand in relation to them. they move like a cloud of angular swallows, making sudden swirling turns, and in their turns, they make you turn, turn in on yourself, the size of your avatar, your range of unnatural motion, forcing to the surface thoughts of the a/o you wear, and notions of flying, and floating, and standing still.

You do none of these things, it is all an illusion, even apparently touching them is just pixellated fire-rings, no more. But the sensation is all the stronger, since these prims take you seriously, move you, and move with you, even clinging to your body at times.

Then, when they fold into themselves, and seem to have been motionless forever, just for fun you sit on the still singleton prim and find that you become one with their movement, or perhaps they willingly simplify their bee's-dance business, to allow you to join them, turning and swaying.

 And sleepily, I remember riding about on a thing like this at the Black Swan, so long ago, and I try to recall, there was a necklace, and a cloud of prims and newbies falling from the sky... and it's hard to say whether it's the rocking motion of the prims, or the lullabye recollections of far-away times, or Alo, freshly awake in far off Italy, telling me it's time to go to bed, or whether all these, and the fog and the greatness, and the magic of scripts beyond my ken, I feel myself slipping away; hoping this slow, sweet chaos will still my dreams.