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Let us go then, you and I,
When the forums are spread out against the screen
Like a supermod etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted threads,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in OMGNYC
And unmedicated schizoids on GI:
Trolls that post with a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead us to an overwhelming question . . .
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In Tell Us Stuff the bunnies come and go
Talking of the cats they know.

The r@ccoon that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The r@ccoon that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the page,
Lingered upon the injokes and memes
Let fall upon its back the wasted hours,
Slipped by OIT, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft night in MTF,
Curled once about the forums, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the r@ccoon that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to bitch and snark,
And time to wait for Martin to come back
To lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred PMs,
And for a hundred visions and revisions [edited by user at 4:17 pm],
Before the taking of Botox and tea.

In Tell Us Stuff the women come and go
Talking of their menstrual flow.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dot?" and, "Do I dot?"
Time to turn back and scroll down the page,
With a macro in the middle of my sig--
[They will say: "How his wit is growing thin!"]
My avatar, mounting firmly to the chin,
My pop culture reference rich and modest, but asserted by a simple gif--
[They will say: "But how his repertoire is thin!"]
Do I dare
Bitch At Admin?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:--
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with Firefox Tabs;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from OMA.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all--
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all--
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it a promise of shirtlessness
That makes me so digress?
Up for 20 minutes, PM if you missed.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

. . . . .

Shall I say, I have right-clicked saved
And watched the post counts rise from
Tori fans in faerie-wings, in dim-lit basements? . . .

I should have been a ragged horsecunt
Scuttling across the inter-nunt.

. . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Typed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the screen, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ADP,
refresh my User CP?

But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen Goatse posted under a spoiler,
I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen Master Shaman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the crumpets, the astrophysics, the tea,
Among the Plus/Minus, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Martin, come from the dead
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"--
If one, quoting herself, what she'd said,
then write: "That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the Gift Exchange and @ Awards and CD Spin,
After the TL ; DR, after the flames that trail along the floor--
And this, and so much more?--
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a YouTube link threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."

. . . . .

No! I am not an Admin, nor was meant to be;
Am an ex-mod, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a thread or two,
Advise the team; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
my massive post count makes me bold.

Shall I boost an old flame war? Dare I beg Lantom's return?
I shall change user-names and post awhile in Rant.
Where I have heard the retards singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them posting gifs on the waves
Posting inanely, cute animal pics
In the forums' basement, where none can hear you scream

We have lingered in the chambers of the damned
By Rant-girls wreathed with tildes red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

- Michael Collins

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