An honest pilgrim, being thirsty for
Knowledge and coming to a desert, saw,
Like a mirage afloat on moving hills,
A curious temple built from human skulls.
Wetting his lips, the wanderer croaked “Ah-ha!
This must be the famed Wikipedia
And these the skulls of selfless editors
Who gave themselves up to its noble cause,
Working long hours, transcribing stuff like monks,
Debating meanings and debunking bunk.
Here I may rest my weary feet at last,
Reporting on the sciences and arts.”
As he made for the temple, it withdrew,
As all mirages always seem to do,
For Wikipedia is just hot air
And all it is both is and is not there.
Before too long, because he persevered,
A man who smiled or seemed to smile appeared
From indoors, though the doors had remained closed,
For Wikipedians cannot be opposed
By facts like walls, being expert in the art
Of passing through all spaces like a fart.
“I am your guide!” the seeming substance said
Then through a labyrinth of strange rules led
Or seemed to lead the puzzled pilgrim on,
Until the meaning of the rules was gone.
“Forget the rules for rules are always old
And lack suspense. All you need be is bold!
Ours is the knowledge anyone can edit,”
And then he vanished almost as he said it.
The faithful pilgrim took him at his word
For what seems nonsense isn’t always absurd.
Scouting around, he found an article
So bad it seemed quite diabolical,
The subject pederasty in ancient Greece,
Nothing of interest to today’s police,
All written from an ancient point of view,
Citing just ancient sources, nothing new.
Disturbed, suspicious, he deleted it.
What happened next, what hit the fan was shit.
The article released a hideous form,
A monster in whose hair snakes hissed and squirmed,
This one her puppet, another one her stooge
Coloured with her mascara, smeared with her rouge,
All dripping poison, spitting out abuse,
Thinking as she did thoughts odious and obtuse.
“You stinking vandal, look what you have done!”
She said, they said, speaking in unison.
“Restore our words, our meanings, spellings, tenses,
All our elaborate cobweb of consensus
Or else!” The pilgrim, not sure what to say
Made himself scarce to fight some other day,
But every day turned out just like the first,
Himself reviled and his reverts reversed.
There is but one way to defeat true horror:
Heroes must scare it shitless with a mirror.
The pilgrim donned a wig of rubber snakes
And laughed because they looked such obvious fakes,
For satire was his weapon, truth his shield,
And justice would supply a level field,
Or so he thought. Where was real Justice then?
It wasn’t in that world of virtual men.
The monster – the real one – flew off to court,
Fuming and fretting, bilious and distraught,
Puppets and stooges augmenting her cries:
“The pilgrim is the Devil in disguise!”
The judges shook their jowels as if shocked:
“Guilty as charged – indefinitely blocked!”
Incensed, the pilgrim shook his fist and laughed
To see how mad and bad things were and daft,
Shouting abuse, confined to a small cell,
As lonely, cold, reviled and scorned as hell…
They said he had betrayed the covenant.
Hypocrisy and lies make good cement.
Now his skull too stares from the pediment.
I’m still working on it but this far from the event motivation is a problem.
Current edit: 23 May 2014