They build it up just to burn it back down

[sovay]

Hello, Dreamwidth.

Technically I have been here since 2013, but then LJ was home. It is no longer. I have not yet deleted my livejournal of the last thirteen years, but I expect to post to Dreamwidth only from now on. (I'll have to reword my Patreon.) It's a little disorienting. I don't usually spend so time on this side. Everything looks familiar, but not quite right. I'll have to get this journal looking more like itself. At the moment I just seem to feel very sad. I have never lost an online community before—much less one with as much emotional history as LJ—and it really does feel like a death or an exile. So much of my coming back to life was on LJ, my relationships with the people who are now my husband and my lover. It was the first place I was known as Sovay. I expected to stick with it until they turned out the lights, but instead somebody stole the lightbulbs and asked me to sign a confession I couldn't read to get them back. It might have been collateral damage to strong-arming someone else, but it was damage and done. I might be grieving that a while.

But in the meantime I'm here. So who's here with me? Sound off.

Comments

[nineweaving]

With you. Love you.

*hugs*

Nine

[umadoshi]

I've considered DW my online home since I migrated here however many years ago (which was admittedly made easier by the fact that my then-primary fandom of many years had basically gone dormant and a lot of people I knew had drifted off), but part of me still mourns what LJ used to be like. And I'm still just helplessly angry about how consistently and repeatedly they've treated the users badly while people tried so hard to hang on to what we/they had there. ;_;

Much sympathy, is what I'm saying. It's so hard. *hugs* I hope you come to find that here feels like a home too, but here is its own thing, and losing LJ is a LOSS, either way.

[kore]

Oh, hon, it's so awful and I'm so sorry. //hugs you

instead somebody stole the lightbulbs and asked me to sign a confession I couldn't read to get them back

What a way to put it. Yeah.

[ethelmay.livejournal.com]

There seems to be a blank account called ethelmay on DW, but I don't remember creating one. But they've just let me request a password reset on it, so we'll see.

I haven't accepted the LJ terms of use, but I was let in after a few attempts anyway.

[tiger_spot]

Hello. I am trying to take advantage of the change to look around and find some new people instead of reconstructing just those parts of my old friends list that have made the jump, so here I am!

I am in the queue to bring my posts across, but it is quite a queue today.

[ethelmay]

Let's see if this works...

[rydra_wong]

Here and listening. I'm so sorry.

[asakiyume]

Thank you for saying you're grieving, because that is definitely what I'm feeling. I started to think to myself that I feel like a refugee, forced to flee to a place I never wanted to go--and then got mad at myself for the grandiose comparison. But even though it's grandiose, it's the best way to express how I feel.

After you told me how to import other icons, I started doing it, and I felt miserable. It's not the same. My history, the reality of how those icons came about, is all over at LJ. ... I'll still be here, and I'm grateful to have a community here, but I'm definitely grieving.

I had to quit writing this comment so I could go upload my aquaman-is-sad icon. *sigh*

[kenjari]

I'm here. Yeah, it sucks. Although since most of my LJ-friends have been mostly gone from there for quite a while now, it's really the last stage of a longer process for me.
What I really mourn is the the lack of stability an longevity in any social media platform. It seems like people keep jumping to the new trendy or shiny thing, rather than sticking around and digging in to build something of substance anywhere. Sigh.

[moon_custafer]

With all the happened in the past few months, this just feels like one more thing.

[davidgillon]

Here already, but looking forward to meeting those who follow you from LJ.

[landofnowhere]

I've been lurking around here for a while, but I will actually subscribe!

I was actively posting a lot on LJ as a teenager in '03-'04ish (back when all my entries were public), and less active but kept up friendships there for the following decade. At this point it looks like most of my close friends have moved elsewhere, and I mostly use LJ/DW for reading interesting speculative fiction bloggers/other bookloggers; which I may be moving completely to DW for now. I haven't quite decided what to do with my accounts myself.

[larryhammer]

Am here.

[hawkwing_lb]

Also here. I am sorry.

[gaudior]

but instead somebody stole the lightbulbs and asked me to sign a confession I couldn't read to get them back

That is very well put. Hugs.

[gwynnega]

I'm here. Still waffling between actually deleting my LJ and just not cross-posting to it anymore. Even though I don't post frequently on my LJ the way I did years ago, it still feels like a loss.

[phi]

Yo

[julian]

Yeah, I hear you on the mourning.

Me, I'm finding I'm declining to let them chase me off, because it IS mine, and I, also, re-found my now-partner there. And it's mostly targeting other, Russian, people. And honestly, I'm kind of inclined to just stand there and be inoffensively queer at them, on my incredibly unimportant LJ. If they decide to close/censor my LJ due to my merely mentioning queer subjects, well, I'll take that consequence. And if they want to prosecute me... good luck with *that*.

(I had already accepted the DW/LJ fragmenting, so I'm less startled by that part.)

[pameladean]

Here already, but I sympathize with your sorrow. I feel very much adrift myself.
It's amazing and wonderful that people can build such close communities under the auspices of indifferent to actively-hostile entities.

P.

[lauradi7dw]

I have followed you, and sooner or later will try to track down others. I must have agreed to terms of service in 2004 when I started at LJ, but I don't think I have ever been asked to update to a new one. If I can figure out how to do it, I will probably cross post, unless they make me (electronically) sign something.

[jjhunter]

Here, listening.

[poliphilo]

I'm picking myself up, dusting myself down. There's a sense of dislocation but also the impetus for a fresh start. I've started tagging my archive going back to 2004; it should keep me busy for a good long while.

I'm crossposting to LJ, but this, I feel is now my home...

[spatch]

Now that you have gone away
Jody maintains your LJ

One! Two!

[teenybuffalo]

we are poor little lambs who have lost our way
*baa*baa*baa*

[kathmandu]

I believe I first introduced myself to you under my LJ identity. You were looking to get your hat repaired and I suggested asking at Goorin Bros. in Harvard Square.

Since then I think I've been commenting on the DW side.

Awhile back, someone pointed out that LJ (at that time) had the online population equivalent to a good-sized city, over a hundred thousand people with a large Russiaville in it. It was a community. People formed relationships and friendships and I've seen people bailed out of tight spots by online trust-networks pitching in to help.

Now we are dispossessed, and the thing that is still making me sad is ... most of us can go, but we leave the dead behind. Suzette Haden Elgin had an LJ; it replaced her newsletters as the place she wrote about linguistics and $life and there was a lot of really good discussion there. Her LJ was actually one of the first places I found, that motivated me to start spending lots of time online, and my gateway to the rest of LJ.

When she died a few years ago, her followers clubbed together to make it a memorial account, preserved online forever in exchange for a one-time fee and the promise that no updates or changes would be made.

I don't think there's a way to port that over, or any other accounts that had been preserved specifically because they were valued by many.

If we can still go read without being logged in, it may not be lost. But I too have that feeling of leaving a soon-to-be drowned town, knowing that you'll never be able to go back again.