Mistah Krabs — he dead.

Press F to pay respect


I

We are the dank men
We are the meming men
Leaning together
Firefox filled with Tabs. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We kek together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Captions without text, reposts without replies,
Deleted accounts, URLs without internet;

Those who have looked
With direct eyes, to our laptop screens
Remember us — if at all — not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the dank men
The meming men.


II

Memes I dare not meet in dreams
In the Google Images results
These do not appear:
There, the memes are
Sunlight on a rare Pepe
There, is a Dolan smiling
And Supa Hot is
On the streets rapping
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.


III

This is the dead land
This is expired land
Here the .JPEG images
Are forgotten, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading meme.

Is it like this
With memes from a decade before
All your base
Belonging to us
Trembling with badgers
Lips that would kiss
Form mushrooms to snakes.


IV

The memes are not here
There are no memes here
In this valley of dying memes
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost culture

In this last of meming places
We grope together
And avoid outdated references
Gathered on this beach of the second net


V

Here we go round the power level
Power level power level
Here we go round the power level
At OVER 9000 in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the meme

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the meme

Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the meme

This is the way RickRoll ends
This is the way RickRoll ends
This is the way RickRoll ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.