When I was many years younger
I discovered myself in wonder
In an expanse which never before I had seen
With contents that never should have been.
An area so low, so base
Enclosing those who had lost grace
Where lurked lurid, aberrant texts
I was guileless and thus, utterly vexed.
Only after some time did I understand
Where the mouse held in my hand
Had transported me — under the counsel of
Incognito mode, I had discovered in the computer
An inventory of transgressions,
Things with which most my age had obsessions
With descriptions so expressive.
I felt as though I were walking amidst those delinquents
The screams and groans could not be extinguished.
As the inventory I perused,
In my mind’s eye, I glimpsed the first people
Heaving, breathless, flagging,
And a frog riding upon a unicycle
“Whaddup!” the frog cried, a blur on his journey
The subsequent stampede muffled his voice.
So the file of those who, in their lives,
Had lagged in the revolution of screens and pixels
And had not pursued the noblest of goals:
Understanding of the most virtuous, extraordinary
Mode of art, the meme,
Sought that which they never attained while living.
Curious to recognize the members of this group,
I studied the text but alas
No glimpse of their identities was offered.
Perhaps, upon hearing gasps for air so desperate
It was realized they could not talk.
I scanned further down the page, in my mind’s eye
And encountered a set of people, timeworn and hoary,
Excluded from the annals of meme-history
And abandoned by their kin’s memories.
The denizens of the second ring wept
For they were forgotten by the living world —
A fitting punishment for those who
Had used antiquated memes unironically.
They had been erased by history, as
The memes they so adored should have been.
Next to these shades were buried their beloved NyanCats.
The area they occupied was shielded by
ಠ_ಠ, frowning, perpetually disapproving.
As a new set of shades arrived, it unveiled their sins
And arbitrated new locations for each.
If once it blinked, the newcomer found himself
Weeping, an old man, forgotten by the world.
The eye continued blinking as I read on
I envisioned an empty plain with those who
Had glutted the supply with crude memes
Made without regard to situation or context.
Relegated to communicating as though
In a TOP TEXT / BOTTOM TEXT meme,
These shades uttered only half-sentences.
Their use of cheap memes in every situation
Had made them unable to communicate:
They had fashioned inordinate amounts of memes
Without context. Like the art they had deprived of meaning,
So too were their words.
If only they had heightened their meme-quality!
Moved by their plight (how effortless it was to avoid!)
I scrolled down.
