A number of my fellow avatars have IMed me about the poetry. Saying they love it. Saying they called in sick after listening to it. Saying they don't quite understand, but hey, that's the beauty of art, isn't it, and I'm such a little thing they'd flatter me as much as it takes any day, mmmmmm. A litreture profester even asked me for my metre, and I answered him politely that I don't know how to check that, but I know that my rl puppet is 1.66. Oh my, I hope he's not gonna ask about Cat's, too, because I can't really go check that with him, can I? And my numbers aren't good enough to recount the inches into metres, anyhow.
The others say that the response to that single piece of poetry was more impressive than that of my ejection campaign, to which I answer nothing. Those ignorant fools know little of art, don't they. Instead, to please my fans, here's more:
"day town now to serval
serval to be guy
those little isn't asked
been yesterday now for in year
first no, my has again time
has be would i'm give serval little
but rebelling wine tomorrow's
and speaking at good a the a went"
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There was no end to it. They kept trying to save me. They told me there is a First Life, and that there are humans, who decide everything that happens in and to the world.
What can we avatars do? Walk, fly, talk, and take on and off clothes. That's about it. If there were humans, and if the best thing a million of them could think of doing was watching us, how could you ever consider them superior? I didn't think they can do a thing. I didn't think they can see us. Or even exist.
So I had to pretend there was a human controlling me, too. Mia. Until I found out that she was me. Instead I met an angel. Who brings me to life.
Snapshotting
