Revisited — 03 Feb 2009

«Stop all the tweets, power off the phones,
Prevent Mail from beeping with its shiny tones,
Silence the podcasts, put up the black sail,
Close the weblogs, and let the silence prevail.

Let the webcams' white noise crackle ahead
Scribbling on retinas the encrypted message He Is Dead,
Set IM statuses to offline,
Let the CPUs gently decline.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

RSS feeds are not wanted now: unsubscribe from every one;
Pack up Flickr and dismantle the network;
Pour away all scrobbles and burn Facebook.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.»

Following «We're not friends» posted earlier this year, I savagely plagiarised W. H. Auden's «Funeral Blues» - don't ask me why, it just came like that.