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INKsters is a competitive writers' group founded by ItsNaughtKnotty Cannned (aka INK) within the 3D virtual world of Second Life. We host daily writing contests for members to participate in for a chance to win a L$ prize.
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2008
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June
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- June 30: Office Romance
- June 29: Baby Trump
- June 28: Floss Dammit
- June 27: Viking Funeral
- June 26: Screwed Up
- June 25: Water Cooler
- June 24: Substitutes
- June 23: Beware of God
- June 22: Killer Whale
- June 21: Homeschool Prom
- June 20: Boxed In
- June 19: Soccer Moms
- June 18: Panty Dreams
- June 17: Buy Now Pay Later
- June 16: Ring the Bell
- June 15: Ball Bearings
- June 14: Aches and Pains
- June 13: Super Sneeze
- June 12: Euphoric Eulogies
- June 11: New Accounts
- June 10: Restore Points
- June 9: Democratic Process
- June 8: Robot Power
- June 7: Office Life
- June Entire Month Listing
- June 6: Zen Pirate
- June 5: You Are Here
- June 4: Getting On
- June 3: Note This
- June 2: Ritalin Fix
- June 1: Chatty Dogs
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June
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3 comments:
Water Cooler
This is the age of telecommunications. We have more ways to talk to each other than ever before in history. Everywhere you go you see people with cell phones glued to their ears - but are we really communicating?
What are we saying to each other in what passes for our day to day repartee? What we are thinking of for dinner? What we are thinking of buying - or have bought? The price of gas? How angry we are with the world?
Second Life is a world that is absolutely 100% based upon communication. Without our ability to communicate, there is no connection, no reality, no meaning to our animated avatars and their creative efforts at self-expression.
Obviously, as a society, we need to learn to communicate more, and more effectively. The need is obvious in the number of people reading out to each other in virtual worlds. The need is so obvious in an actual world where miscommunication abounds and connections go missed and unacknowledged. The need is crucial where we are all too quick to respond to a perceived insult with an assault, a gun, or a bomb.
We need to talk more - all of us. And we need to listen, to hear one another, and to keep asking questions until we are sure we understand what each other is saying.
"Weapons of mass destruction? What weapons of mass destruction?" What difference could have been made, what lives could have been saved, if we had actually taken the time to find out what happened on 9/11 instead of jumping to conclusions, making assumptions, and refusing to listen to anyone.
Genuine honest communication is the cool, clear water of life. Let's use it to find each other and make a difference in a world that has stopped listening.
Cyara Demonia
Water Cooler
The effort was enormous. It took her hours to find a company to rent her the cooler and dispenser on such short notice, and they would only deliver it to the curb. She did her errands and got home in time for the delivery ... only to wait another hour and a half for them to come and dump the stuff in front of the brownstone.
She wasn't expecting the weight. The compressor motor and freon tank were heavy and clumsy, the outer shell, flat sheets of pressed metal had sharp edges underneath. By the time she staggered up three flights of stairs, her fingers were cut and bleeding. Putting the base on the floor, she went down to the sidewalk for the bottle.
It was gone of course.
She called to get another bottle, then put the bricks she'd bought that morning inside the cabinet, bracing it so that it could take the weight. Lifting the cooler onto the cabinet re-opened her cuts. She made a mental note to get a tetanus shot.
A double honk from the street below sent her rushing down the stairs for the new bottle. Her hands, sweaty and bleeding, kept slipping on the slick plastic of the heavy container. Five times she stopped on the stairs and landings, supporting the bottle on her knee as she dried her hands on the seat of her jeans and tried to get a better grip.
Finally the bottle sat on the floor of the living room. She pulled off the heavy blue plastic seal, tilted the bottle slightly to get her fingers underneath. She lifted the bottle upending it into the cooler and dumping a couple of gallons of springwater on the cabinet and rug.
She dried everything as best she could, went into the bathroom dropped her jeans and rinsed the worst of the bloody smears out in the sink then tossed them, her t-shirt, and underclothes into the laundry hamper. She took a shower. When she walked into the bedroom towelling herself, the bedside clock read 5:17.
She pulled on clean jeans and a cotton shirt then went back to the bathroom to smear first aid cream on her fingers and wrap them with a strip of gauze bandage. In the living room she settled on the sofa to wait. She rehearsed her opening line ... it couldn't sound too accusatory. She had to deliver it cheerfully and perfectly. She was so pleased with herself. This was going to work.
The key turned in the lock and the apartment door opened and shut. She heard him put his briefcase on the hall table, open the closet and hang up his jacket. He walked into the living room and sat down on the other end of the sofa. He looked at the water cooler.
"I thought we should talk more!" she said brightly.
"That would be good," he said quietly. "It might have been better if you had shown up at our counseling session this afternoon."
- Kryllan String
Water Cooler Imagination
[Gm] I imagined we should talk more but
[Cm] now I hear your droning voice and I
[D] know I was unimaginably
[Gm] wrong
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