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Sometimes a picture tells more then words. So why not telling stories with pictures? Do you have a picture that tells a story, known or unknown, you can  post it here. Maybe some text to add the pictu

One last kiss in Paradise with thanks to @Saskia Rieko  

Great idea, Hox. This is my arrival at Moon Base 3 from the surface of the moon. (I've got a number of others in this story line I might or might not post here!) http://maps.secondlife.com/s

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The idea for this picture was initially suggested to me by the so-called "Sea Henge," a Neolithic archaeological site in Norfolk that featured at its heart the stump of a tree buried upside-down, as though in offering to an inverted world of the dead beneath the ground.

The site was possibly (probably?) a mortuary centre. One possible updated meaning for the inverted tree seemed to me as a sort of emblem of our increasing inverted relationship with our natural environment -- a troubled relationship that was only beginning in the Neolithic. What if burying a tree upside down represented at a symbolic level also a kind of burial of the natural world, a representation of our strangely backward attitude towards an environment that we are literally killing?

The next step -- imagining the inverted tree as a flaming warning beacon -- was an easy one. We are burning our forests, hundreds of square miles at a time.

Will the light shed by their dying flames be sufficient to illuminate our self-destructive idiocy before it is too late?

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9 hours ago, Scylla Rhiadra said:

1003639020_BeaconBlank.thumb.png.3a84d955b595f5b1f92b4127bd11273c.png

The idea for this picture was initially suggested to me by the so-called "Sea Henge," a Neolithic archaeological site in Norfolk that featured at its heart the stump of a tree buried upside-down, as though in offering to an inverted world of the dead beneath the ground.

The site was possibly (probably?) a mortuary centre. One possible updated meaning for the inverted tree seemed to me as a sort of emblem of our increasing inverted relationship with our natural environment -- a troubled relationship that was only beginning in the Neolithic. What if burying a tree upside down represented at a symbolic level also a kind of burial of the natural world, a representation of our strangely backward attitude towards an environment that we are literally killing?

The next step -- imagining the inverted tree as a flaming warning beacon -- was an easy one. We are burning our forests, hundreds of square miles at a time.

Will the light shed by their dying flames be sufficient to illuminate our self-destructive idiocy before it is too late?

Very neat image and story. Thanks.

See if this helps with your green-funk... This tech company is aiming to plant 500 billion trees by 2060 – using drones

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Creative Writing Prompt: What happened to my husband’s limb? And what is he shielding me from when he knows I am the greatest danger to myself?

(I cannot come up with something whimsical at the moment so I leave it to you folks, but my answer is: He lost his real one after moving around excess prims in our house.)

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Edited by Yuumo Ichibara
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Creative Writing Prompt: We all have stories to tell. The stories we tell others about ourselves are always different from the stories others tell about us. What tales do you think these beautiful souls would tell? Would you trust their word, or would you rather stay faithful to the story you narrated for them?

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1 hour ago, Love Zhaoying said:

Creative writing prompt: Who would you ship together as a couple (who are not usually a couple), and why?

From the picture? I sense chemistry between the two gentlemen in suits. The guy behind him is checking his ass.

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On 5/21/2021 at 11:03 PM, Scylla Rhiadra said:

A pretty universal story, this one . . .

   Scylla gazed into the garden, lingering on the fringes of the shadows, observing, plotting; an internal conflict reigned in her head as a part of her wanted to slip back into the darkness and let them embrace her, take her mind away, to allow time begin to heal her so that she could find a new path and move along - whilst another part of her wanted to break the glass and scream her insides out at them. Unbeknownst to her, she was not the only voyeuristic entity plotting in that room, for behind her on the wall was mounted the skull of a creature craving retribution every bit as much as she, and unlike the conflict occupying Scylla's mind, theirs was a conflict which had long since escalated to the drawing of blood . . .

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2 hours ago, Orwar said:

   Scylla gazed into the garden, lingering on the fringes of the shadows, observing, plotting; an internal conflict reigned in her head as a part of her wanted to slip back into the darkness and let them embrace her, take her mind away, to allow time begin to heal her so that she could find a new path and move along - whilst another part of her wanted to break the glass and scream her insides out at them. Unbeknownst to her, she was not the only voyeuristic entity plotting in that room, for behind her on the wall was mounted the skull of a creature craving retribution every bit as much as she, and unlike the conflict occupying Scylla's mind, theirs was a conflict which had long since escalated to the drawing of blood . . .

Um, yeah, no. Not that story.

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La Couturière

"Jusqu'en 1931, mon arrière-grand-mère habitait rue Chabot à Montréal, dans une chambre louée à l'arrière d'une grande maison appartenant à un banquier et à sa famille. Pendant la journée, elle travaillait à la confection de robes pour Ida Desmarais, qui s'était installée sur la rue Sherbrooke Ouest. Et la nuit, elle se faisait des robes à la maison. Belles robes! C'était une femme très élégante. Je pense que le bruit de sa machine à coudre l'a finalement amenée à être expulsée de son appartement, mais au moins elle avait l'air bien."

[A story of old Montreal: "Until 1931, my great-grandmother lived on rue Chabot in Montreal, in a rented room at the back of a large house belonging to a banker and his family. During the day, she worked on making dresses for Ida Desmarais, who had settled on Sherbrooke Street West. And at night, she made herself dresses at home. Beautiful dresses! She was a very elegant woman. I think the sound of her sewing machine eventually caused her to be kicked out of her apartment, but at least she looked fine."]

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