I don’t want to be dismissed as crazy, even when I do things that might be considered crazy. I am writing a second blog, a mere 2 minutes or less after ending the previous one, but that was Jeff, and this is supposedly written by Orange Jeff. It’s going to be obvious to anyone that Orange Jeff is Jeff, or rather there is only one Jeff, and he’s the one capable of typing actualm words instead of just moving his fingers in a literal gesture of typing.
Still, Orange Jeff is a thing. He has his… DO I say I?
Take two.
OH! I got a clapper board in SL today. I’ve wanted one in real life for so long. I had a passable prop clapper that I found once in a party store. Ironically I loaned it to a great friend for her Oscar Party, and it was destroyed by kids and never seen again. It makes the cut in the story to say I had one once.
Once.
For about 3 weeks.
How many lending stories exist because the ending is, and I never saw it again, or, he broke it.
How many lending stories end with, and I got it back? Less, because that’s not a story.
“If you lend something, make sure you make it into a great story, because if you lose the item, at least you’ll have that”.
11:12pm. I am not ready to test the drowsy cold meds and fall asleep yet. I have not had a good writing binge in a long time.
In both universes, I get excited at the formation of new ideas that could potentially be the solution for me. I am better at understanding the way I have been living, and what my brain does. Through weed, acid, ecsasy and everything ele, I have learned a great deal about who I am.
Many would argue, and I could not defend, the drugs themselves have probably contributed to the way I am too, and most probably exaguarating the negatives, however I am still respectful of the process and journey.
I am a hippy, ashamed to appear as a hioppy. In Second Life, my shame has no purpose. Like touc and smell, these are concepts left behind in my real universe. Orange Jeff has confidence, pride and no fear. He is a 27-ish immortal being that can’t be hurt, mingling in a universe without the obvious issues of our universe.
In Second Life, the people you deal with are real people… but you have to deal with them without knowing thgeir age, gender, race or class. Almost everyone is a gorgeous babe of 27is or a handsome man. Most of them are white.
Now of course, you can’t hide behind the mask if you’re OK with presenting yourself as an asshole. There are a lot of assholes in Second Life. It offers them a unique opportunity to be proud of their ignorance they may not have in their real everyday unmaked life.
The Internet in general has seeen thebvrise of public assholes conceiled with anoniminity. No longer to bigots have to ruin a perfectlky good pillow case by cutting eye holes out of it. Comments are anonymous.
In Second life, this more often than not works out to be a good thing. It’s easy enough to avoid major assholes, but it’s nice to be able to talk with lesser assholes who you know might hate you as a colour or race different from their comfort zone, and not have them know.
It also allows for people to actually be somebody else. In my writings, I have been using the phrase “we write our own stories” a lot. The power that comes from this realzation is strong in the universe of our human self, but in the universe of avatars, you can write and design and create everything. You can be a man, woman, baby, fox, Giant Robot, Vampire, lesbian, dishwasher repair man, or anything.
I choose to be a smart, funny, well spoken gentleman who isn’t super hot, or a cold hearted asshole. I can be the Goldylocks of myself.
In the Universe of Second life, if I build it, is is.
In the Universe of our first life, if I believe it, it is.
In one way, I’ve been using Second Life as my practice universe. I try my best to build relastionships and keep people happy, but I see my faults and try to correct them. I try to evolve.
No, I do evolve.
“To the future, it’s all stories. Reality is how you told it. There is little difference between the two universes when told as a story five years hence.
Ok… I can’t claim the experience of bungy jumping or sky lining was as real for Orange Jeff as it was for Live Jeff, and I can’t ride a dragon here… but dating was raemarkably similar. Orange Jeff is a bit of a player… or at least a confident guy who can talk to, and awkwardly decuce women.
He is my goal. Sadly, there are enough diffeereneces to allow my negative voice keeping me back.
Orange Jeff has a coupleof projects. Things I could do in that world with or without help and a artner. Things that, like many of my ideas, can start off small for free or amazingly low budget, but grow to an income and business if done right.
That’s where I fail. I do not lightkly say I will fail. However, it is not emotional esteem that tells me to do it right, it needs to be managed by somebody who actually knows what they’re doing.
I missed the first big chance at being a millionaiire entrepeneuer … no, twice actually by thinking I or we could do it without help.
NetBound Communications could easily have been my life success story, but luckily I’m not the scapegoat for it’s failure. We all evolved. Lesson learned…
Now I use it as an excuse.
Iriniocally I’ll be using the Netbound name soon I hope.
The closer Orange Jeff gets to starting a potential sucvcess, the more I sabotague and try tio run away.
pause as the building catches on fire. Film at 11.
The old man who lives above is to old, and constantly sets things on fire in his kitchen. Tonight was the worst Ive seen. Thick clouds of smoke.
The whole house now smells of fire, and if I know this smell, it will forever.
End of stories for now. Line up single file outside with the doors open while it clears enough for me to go plug his detector back in.
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