Undead American Archangel Darkfold
in a doggy bed, for demonstration
purposes only

In Second Life, a virtual world without a theme or genre as distinct as those in games (World of Warcraft, etc.), people tend to explore aspects of themselves and their interests that they are unable or unwilling to explore in “real life.”

Or they may be seeking balance, creating personas sufficiently different than themselves, on some axis, that they can help them in the pursuit of a kind of wholeness.

So, if you are in SL and you meet a Cyber-Goth Werewolf Latex-Fetishist Dominatrix with a glowing blue tophat, that is more than likely a fine, civil, smart, and sensible person in there. But if you meet someone whose fantasy persona is an aggressively “normal” person, seeming to be a mild-mannered college student or the like, RUN!

Every department and group in every corporation thinks its name must have “Global” or “Worldwide” prepended to it, and that their unique symbol should be the Earth. Every department and group in every corporation also has an exciting new initiative called “Fusion.”

And the monk was immediately enlightened.

My friends and I occasionally engage in a form of madness known as Penkwe. The name “penkwe” is the reconstructed proto-Indo-European root word meaning “five.” This name refers to the extreme fiveness of the practice, in ways that will become apparent below.

I cannot tell you where this…let’s call it a “game”…comes from. It came to me from a dear friend of a dear friend, but if you can enlighten as to the origin or history of this particular form, please let me know.

But I can tell you what it is, at least as we play it. In the game of Penkwe, five people write five things each, using each time a given list of five words. The written pieces can be any piece of creative writing, either poetry or prose. Each can be a novella, a sonnet, a limerick, a haiku (if you happened to get five rather short words, a recipie, a catalog entry, a travel brochure, a short story, a eulogy, or indeed any of 308,358,830 other genres and forms.

It goes like this: There are five players and five rounds. In each round, one of the five players presents to the others a list of five words. They (all five people) then all have two weeks to produce a piece of writing using these five words, and distribute it to the others. So through the course of five rounds a total of twenty-five written works are produced.

Order of play: I recommend a random method of determining the sequence in which people serve as the word-giver.

Word rules: the words must be English, and cannot be proper nouns.

Variations: standard inflections of the word are permissible. So if you are given the word “perambulate” then you can use “perambulated” or “perambulates.” Other derived words do not count. Pushing a “perambulator” would not be kosher here. You could use the word of course, but would still be required to include a “legal” form as well.

Timeliness: This rule sounds harsh, but seems to be necessary in order to keep things going. If any player misses a deadline (does not turn in a piece of writing at the end of a two week round, or fails to give out a list of five words when it is their turn to do so at the beginning of a round), the game ends. Everyone can then decide if they want to restart, or if they instead want to stagger home, muttering about Boetian mooncalves and stinky cheese.

Optional Elements: It is considered polite for everyone to give some feedback on each piece, whether a full-scale critique or a brief comment. It can be fun to put all of the pieces into a nice anthology volume at the end, or perhaps to put them into a little Web site. One could even use blogging software to host the entries in the course of play, and use the blog engine’s comment functionality to record feedback right with the works themselves.

That’s basically it. A fun game, a way to unstick gummed-up writing gears with a low-pressure assignment, or an excuse to write bad poems; Penkwe can serve any or all of these roles.

Should you do it? Of course you should. You know you want to. Should I start one now? Hah. As though any of us have time. Still, it needn’t take up too much time…

Boo: Put out your hands like this.
Daddy: Like this?
Boo: Yes. Now play this.
Boo: [chanting and slapping hands semi-rhythmically]
Lemonade.
Crunchy ice.
Beat it once.
Beat it twice.
Turn around.
Touch the ground.
Kick your boyfriend out of town.

[a pause as she stares at me intently]

I win. Now let’s play cards.

Monk: Master, if an anthropomorphic panda and an anthropomorphic gazelle have offspring, would they be anthropomorphic pandas, anthropomorphic gazelles, or some horrible mixture of the two?
Master: You’ve never been on a date, have you?
And the monk was immediately enlightened.

Monk: Master, in the scene in Tranformers where the boy and the girl are making out on the hood of the robotic Camaro, is that a ménage à trois?
Master: Of course it is. Idiot.
And the monk was immediately enlightened.

Monk: Master, in the Parable of the Burning House in the Lotus Sutra, do the three carts represent early teachings of Buddhism?
Master: They represent the three ways I’m going to kick your ass if you don’t finish cleaning the toilet by the north gate. It’s disgusting in there. I can’t even go in.
And the monk was immediately enlightened.

Boo: We’ll play hide and seek.
Daddy: Ok. Do you want to hide or count?
Boo: I count. You hide.
Daniel. Great. Will you count to ten?
Boo: Noooo…
Daddy: Will you count to twenty?
Boo: Noooo…
Daddy: Will you count to seven and a half?
Boo: Noooo…
Daddy: Will you count to ten?
Boo: Yes!

Daddy: Ok, then. Close your eyes.
Boo: You hide. I hold your hand.
Daddy: You play to win, my little friend.
Boo: You hide over here.
Daddy: Ok. Then you’ll go count?
Boo: You hide.
Daddy: Right here?
Boo: Yes.
Daddy: While you hold my hand?
Boo: Yes.
Daddy: Sounds good to me. Ok. Consider me hidden. I’m hiding right here, down low like this.
Boo: You’re not counting, Daddy!

And it kept getting better from there… :-]

The only graffiti in the men’s room of the artsy movie house I visited the other night: a hole in the plaster adorned with a warning and cave paintings.