A Soliloquy of Discernment
It was a dark and cloudy night as a gentle rain fell across the placid terrain textures of the Confederation of Democratic Simulators.
From a small corner on the quaint Quay of Locus Ameonus, AbbyRose Abbot’s dog Dream wails a mournful sound into the night as if curious to the sounds in the dark ether, but perhaps also with a tinge of melancholy……..soulful….and dumb, because after all he is but a prim dog she got for 1 Linden on a dollardays sale in Marketplace and he really has no idea what the heck his script is barking at. I tediously come to this deep understanding within myself.
But alas, slowly comes a fleeting break in the clouds and the Linden moon shows a corner of its majesty like the beauty of sparkling diamonds glimmering from the abysses of a cow patty.
Strangely enough, this bothers me and not to the least extent. Not so much because I am both surprised and disappointed at this respite in my moment of solemnity and enjoyment of a serene, tantalizing, yet disconsolate moment in my private cosmos—Not because a ray of light begins shining in an area of stark darkness in this sordid life, ripping a moment of self-gratifying grimacing from me like a sadistic dentist pulling a wisdom tooth when I never had any wisdom teeth to begin with—but because I am fascinated at how round objects like the moon can have corners.
I take advantage of this hiatus in humbling gloom as green and yellow lights from the mini-map coupling with the gentle rays of moonlight act in tandem to interrupt my somber disposition. I slowly cam across the sim to a very remote location and woe be unto me at the site that greets me under the watchful visages of my camera, my ever-faithful friend, my eye in the sky—my reliable confidante in time of question and confusion.
There I see a mottling corsage of virtual people in all arrays of poses, engaged in seemingly intellectual discussion and I become enthralled with the effulgent, cerebral exchange. I know almost immediately that I am outside my sphere of comprehension and at least a glimmering moment of sadness replaces the twinkling of gloom I was rather subliminally enjoying. I’m strangely enough thrilled with this new lugubriousness. I feel almost emotionally home again.
I begin with determination to decipher the chat is it slowly expands across my viewer, grasping at straws of eagerness to develop a sense of understanding toward the meaning of each eloquent word.
A large woman is there. She is commanding in her presence, seeming to have an almost surreal persona that screams the demand: bow to me oh ye masses of plebeians. And she speaks loudly, almost menacingly…..everyone is momentarily silent, seemingly terrified of the awe and might and power of this moment: “Hypocrits…… Bible Thumpers! There will be no ease from your suffering when you enter the fiery pits of the inferno,” she screams at the gathering crowd. It’s as if she has begun to preach. She commands my attention, but then goes silent.
There is no response from the crowd at first, then an avatar suddenly blurts, “THUMP THUMP CRANK CRANK!”
The concourse seems confused at first, but another adds clarity in the form of verbiage, soft at first, yet with a commanding presence of the English language that seems almost as a Shakespearean sonnet, “I have been mightily threatened to be ravaged by a prune….the plebians are coming for me with tator chips! I think they must have a few pitchforks too. Run for your lives!”
The mystery avatar suddenly jumps to it's feet, this time screaming, “THUMP THUMP CRANK CRANK!”
A young man is there as well and adds to the discourse, “the Aedes Deorum!…..the Juno Caelestis may fall to the ravages of sophisticated savages…posters with the lines of Sophocles's Antigone on public land have been brutally beasted….La réligion romaine archaïque shall rule supreme. The Sancta holidays are holidays organised by the Collegio Sacerdae! Long live ROMA. The Xigalias are coming, the Xigalias are coming….the Ceasars shall rule...Visigoths, Visigoths!
An eerie silence sets in as the crowd hesitates momentarily. Then as if awakened by a distant clarion call, they issue a single response almost in unison…… “huh?”
“I think he means, thump thump crank crank.”
At first I am puzzled. Is this banter above me intellectually? Am I, just a mere mortal, unable, perhaps due to my less than privileged common-class upbringing, or perhaps to something else far beyond my feeble understanding, unable to accept my plight to simply suffer in lack in acumen of discernment for such noble meaning of discourse?
What is this fate that the universe has bequeathed me seemingly to lie outside the mortal precepts of universal human comprehension?
I must only conclude, thump thump crank crank. It is the only life-rope of understanding that I may reach out for at this unsettling moment. This comforts me mightily.
