Wednesday, January 11, 2017

Nostalgia and The Doll Palace

I am twenty years old, which means I am old enough to have nostalgia for the "old internet" but still too young to truly understand what the "old internet" was.

I have always loved dress up games, and in loving them I found a few precious sites.  The Doll Palace.  Dressupgames.com .  Websites I used very early, always finding the same games again and again, always excited to see a new one and determine quickly whether or not I liked it.

I found The Doll Palace in probably 2007, two years past its heyday but one year before its death.  The short-lived editorial section was new, but I didn't know that.

Like everyone, I crafted dolls.  I couldn't find the 'av chat', didn't know how to access it with anything other than (yuck) premade dolls.  Premium was a lost cause for me; I never displayed interest in it, as I had only ever been interested in buying Toontown's membership or Neopet's premium.

But I quickly found "Dolls and Stories".  As a writer, I wrote.  I added my own tales to the collection that was there.  Poetry, too, and short stories.  As Unistray208, at the time.

As always, I left.  As always, I returned.

But by the time I returned it was 2009 or 2010; the Doll Palace was dead.  The mysterious webmistress, Jessica, had disappeared.  I still didn't figure out the Avatar Chat, but I quickly went back to the Dolls and Stories.

That section of the Doll Palace, so rarely untouched by anyone but prolific, passionate writers (as I'd like to consider myself) I imagine was active until the very end.

Now my account was Ilyria, or something akin to it.  I crafted a tale of a mermaid in the deep-sea, protecting aquatic creatures considered extinct.  Trilobites, I remember specifically mentioning, because I had just learned about them in one science class or another.

I wrote a short story series about a girl 'moonstruck', because in her world stars didn't exist.  It was decent, though years later once I made my next return I would cringe at it.

I escaped the constraints of her, when I came back in 2013, 2014.  I became Kunabee.  And, as always, the Dolls and Stories section was active.  This time however, there wasn't a flood of stories.  There was a small group of regular writers, good friends who had had their friendships formed on The Doll Palace.  I was 'Kunabee Sakura Tiger', my full online name, formed from years of playing on the internet with people and my many name changes.

I wrote, as I always do, and I was welcomed into the fold of less than ten people.  I have vague memories of them, I can form their individual personalities in my mind when put to the task, but I can't remember the specific number or usernames or what, exactly, they wrote (beyond the one-time theme we all participated in, where we all talked with our characters).

This round I found the avatar chat, and I sat in it, alone, with something other than a premade avatar.  I explored, I looked, poking around.  Before it had always been busy; now it was curiously empty.

But the Dolls and Stories was where I belonged.

Some clever, crazy girl who had assigned everyone last names dubbed me 'McKangaroo', and until mid to late 2016 I added it as a second last name before at last shedding it.  I remember deciding "you know what, Kunabee Sakura Tiger McKangaroo is just too much".

I wrote, and they wrote, and it was good and fun.

But like always, I disappeared.

Today, nostalgia overcame me.  I opened thedollpalace.com to be greeted by a "the doll palace is undergoing daily maintenance, please wait a few minutes."

Excitement rushed through me.  Was Jessica at last returned?  Was the site getting an update?  So I waited.  And then rationality returned.  Had The Doll Palace at last closed its doors?  After eight years of sitting, untouched, allowing us few nostalgic folks to return to play with the dollmakers, Google declared it has.

But Google also allowed me a portal; yummilicious.com, the last update in 2005, but owned by the Doll Palace.  With the same makers.  No Dolls and Stories, and garish coloration, but makers that can give me the brief feeling I had in the Doll Palace.  The first sense of community I felt, WE felt, but unable to relive.

Now, of course, newer, brighter doll makers have come into play.  Dressupgames.com has gotten an update as of a couple of years ago, one I personally do not like, but it still lives.  Dolldivine has the community that The Doll Palace once had, yet its community is only reachable if you pay the two dollars for two years pricing (which I do).  In this community I see young girls reaching out, making dolls.  Thirteen and fourteen year olds - and in some cases, those as young as ten - making dolls.  Better than anything we made at thirteen and fourteen in the doll palace, and some who are just as bad as we were.  And then older girls, girls who I could even call 'women' - Olga, the mistress of Dolldivine is a mother - making fantastic art, observing the younger folks of dolldivine like guardians.

Azaleasdolls.com, where Azalea works closely with Olga and who has made dress up games with her, yet her website doesn't afford the sense of community that dolldivine does.  Rinmarugames.com with her manga makers, created by her and another: PrinceofRedRoses these days, though Mileysknight for the first one, and for four pages (never to be complete) of a second one.

One wonders if the community built up with the Doll Palace is now for the elite, a paradigm shift from social communication being free to paid; but Neopets still exists, and last I checked (less than a year ago, more than six months ago) Neopets still has a community that's shifting.  For two or three years its roleplaying boards were dead, mostly silent, updated with a bump every three or four days, but now they have returned.  Gifted and gifted school roleplays don't rule them, but they have a new stereotype, and there are 'literates' versus 'illiterates' once more.

I hold out a hope, that old friends will find me.  In my old Unistray208 accounts I do everything I can to leave a trail to Kunabee.  And, of course, I'm Kunabee.  Simply googling the name will lead you, ultimately, to a website or two I'm still active with.

But there is nothing like the old days, and in many ways I hope I am not found.  Believing that my old friends have had and found happiness, have created beautiful, brilliant lives for themselves, have grown up and danced away but always kept that same, basic sense of wonder - it's a sweet belief.

Still.  I leave the trail, the breadcrumbs, and keep the hope while I hope from one website to another, while I find my niche of These Are Where I Go, where I disappear for months only to return much later.  My habits are still much the same.

Habbo Hotel is still up, and still active, with updates both good and bad.  Neopets exists, as does Furcadia.  Old websites, places that are always changing and yet never change very much.  The same stereotypes will always return; new pre-teens and young teens will come with their 'lol random' and emo phases and grow out of it, shaking off the old as they adjust and redefine and discover new labels that fit them better.

The greatest hope I have is that they have the time I did.  That new roleplayers have their Mary Sues and then learn why the older roleplayers they so admire don't like them.  That their pre-teen and young teen selves will slowly grow and change and realize as they redefine and reorient.  That they will find some place, some group of people, to call their internet "home" and even when they grow so far away the distance seems irreparable, they will once more reach out and connect and hold the tenuous threads of family.

That one day, when they're twenty and twenty-one and twenty-five and even thirty, they'll be writing what it was like in their own version of the "old internet" and be filled with nostalgia and yet, that small, precious, pristine hope for the new, that they see their own paradigm shifts and are absolutely amazed by the human condition and the fact that, for all their differences, people are still terribly, terribly the same.

Sunday, January 8, 2017

Happy

the urge to be happy is buried deep, but there,
and even when darkness surrounds you light has a say.
suddenly, happiness! joy! when everything seems lost.
you're not alone, there's two you know.

such a small thing can a flower grow,
and though delicate, it's more than enough.
patience has our fingers crossed
when it's compassion there isn't a cost.

sunshine can be found in stormy weather,
when the blizzards and hurricanes toss you under.
take a deep breath and make life your own,
oh, harder to do than it is to say i know.

hope is hard to tamp down and hide away,
the heart may be broken but it's here to stay,
when you're doubting and lost there's still a way,
a door or a window or even a hole to escape.

to guard life few things are needed:
shelter, water, food, and friendship.
when given love a soul will blossom,
you're not alone, there's two you know.

when it's compassion there isn't a cost,
and never ever is all hope lost,
you can find happiness in the darkest of days,
it just takes a lot of patience and a little bit of grace.

Saturday, January 7, 2017

the human heart

the human heart can love many people at once.
experience has taught me that love doesn't gather dust.

the human heart doesn't know jealousy the same way as the mind,
and success and failure just depend on whether you've won or lost.

the human heart is where all the hope exists,
and when it's too broken despair's all that's left.

the human heart doesn't understand about giving up,
it'll keep trying when the mind has said 'no more'.

the human heart beats in a certain rhythm
that's too easily thrown off.

the human heart has a voice of its own.

a body is just blood and skin and bones
and a heart that beats to separate you from stone.

the human heart is weak and tired and small
and contained by a rib cage that's too tall.

The Same Circling Questions

I know I haven't been writing enough
But the words have stalled.
I'm mourning something but I can't remember what.

I'd rather date an idea,
Makes it easier to live,
And daydreams don't break.

I've been counting my glasses,
And whether they're half-empty or half-full.
I'm beginning to realize they're all broken on the ground.

I'm not sure if my luck is good or bad,
If the timing is wrong or just a little late,
If I'm counting the wrong things and have been this whole time.

I know I haven't been writing enough,
All my goals have fallen flat.
I can't get enough out.

I'm locked in a prison but I'm pretty sure it's mine.
Success is an illusion and happiness will fall,
I'll count my lucky stars that I can still breathe.

My heart's heavy with too much weight
I've said I won't let it break me,
But God, I'm still so afraid.

What if I just make the same mistakes of the past?
What if it doesn't work out, if nothing's okay?
I want to go back, but I've never been 'fine'.

I've been counting the tears
That fall from my eyes.
Silently waiting in a pointless disguise.

If I was okay do you think I would write?
Or would I give up the poems and metaphors instead?

She Wrote Me a Melody

Everyone is still in shock
She wrote me a melody but it isn't worth much.
Why do I fall in love so fast?
Love isn't even so it can't last.

Why are so many stories the same?
Because breath is universal and winter is dark.
It's pointless wishing for summer to last.
I'm still hung up; can't get over the past.

If I whisper a secret phrase
Will it somehow free me from this cage?
All is well; this too shall pass,
This is hell; I'll come in last.

She wrote me a melody but it isn't worth much.

Saturday, December 3, 2016

Write

Maybe I'll write about tomorrow
Though today's not yet done
Of good days and bad days I've yet to pick one.

I know that day approaches, and the season is here,
Yet bundled up in me is a heart full of fear.

Have I done right or am I still wrong?
I'll sing my heart out with every Christmas song.

I'm a writer, a poet, that is exactly me,
And with my words, I'm hoping to fly free -
But I'm riding blind, this life I cannot see,
I'm trapped and I'm sinking into constraints of unwanted destiny.

I'll write you a tale of pirate's treasure,
Of friendship and love that is beyond measure.

Maybe you'll carry, maybe you'll ride,
Or maybe you'd rather just hide from your lies.

Tuesday, November 1, 2016

Tell Me I'm Good

Tell me I'm lovely, and worthy, and good,
Tell me you love me, and adore me, and should.
Tell me I'm beautiful, tell me I'm right,
Today is a day when the doubts I can't fight.

Tell me you've known me, and will know me for years,
Tell me that it's okay, you'll protect me from my fears.
Tell me that when I'm about to give up hope,
You'll tie me together with glue, tape, and rope.

I'm slowly beginning to fall asleep,
The darkness around me, and still I weep,
For the things that I've hidden and the things that I've learned,
And for every word said to me, it seems I have burned.

So as I rest, and as I change my mind,
I will remain here, loyal and kind.
To be forgotten and used, disbelieved and disliked,
At the end of the days, my own head on a pike.

Tell me you'll linger and not take me for granted,
Tell me that one day life will be enchanted.
Tell me that happiness will come if I wait,
And then to show me open up the filling gate.

Tell me if the world is snow white,
Or if the black has taken away the bright.
Tell me that by tomorrow I'll have found a friend,
And that THIS relationship may never end.

It seems I am fighting a lonely battle,
In which I am herded, a part of the cattle.
So tell me I've done even better than 'well' ,
And let me remember when my smile fell