Mister Prufrock’s frequent visits
Behind the curtain of the screen
Lost among anonymous keystrokes
The Internet
The Internet is for …
The Internet is for …

And in the room horny men come and go talking about how much the cam girl sucks

Grab you credit card and start yankin!
Discreet billing.
No adult mentions on your credit card statement.
Mister Prufrock’s name won’t appear.
Mister Prufrock’s peers will never know.
They shall say, “What the hell is Cyberweb?”
“Who the hell is Prufrock anyway?”
They will never notice.
They will never understand.
The bank will think it’s web space.
And the Admin doesn’t care.
Neither does the girl.
Just a name in an anonymous channel.
That’s what you want isn’t it?

And in the room horny men come and go talking about how much the cam girl sucks.

“No!”
“Damn she looks good.”
- Tehcamgirlsux has been kicked from chat-
“Any time now.”
- Hey baby stick it in jur ass! -
“Any time now someone is going to realize the brilliance of this.”
- Tehcamgirlsux has been banned from channel -
“There must be someone in here who will notice.”
- Hey I’m a girl and I love what you do -
- Ohh baby that was great! -
- Do you like girls? -
- I’m giving you a ten! -
Perhaps the girl?”
- Hey where do you live? -
- Close up please -
- I wish that was me right there -
“Maybe I’m just a retard.”
- Ok guy’s show’s over -
- Thanx babe see u 2morrow -
“But I haven’t finished yet!”

And in the room horny men come and go talking about how much the cam girl sucks

Beating the evening furiously
At one and two and three o’clock
With slippery hands
Coaxing out the last drop
Spitting frantically
Begging for release
And seeing it was a soft November night
Four o’clock in the morning
Sticky hands
Weary and alone
Curled into a fetal ball and fell asleep.

Withered fingers play melancholic melodies upon the keys of a synthetic surface, bringing forth emotions of stagnation and decay. The soul burns for retribution, demanding reparations for a life cleft in twain from an organic rot deep within a broken coccyx. Time hammers upon the anvil of destiny ceaselessly, irrevocably, and brutally despite those being molded from the fires of Hephaestus. It isn’t supposed to be fair. It matters not to the greater powers. We must need flee like ants evacuating a flooded tunnel, desperately seeking to rescue the seeds of its future. They will not know vengeance for the fall of their comrades. The child with the magnifying glass is too damn big!

I have seen my putrid flesh served upon a silver platter like tartar delicacy, cutlery laced with the blood of my rectum. I have inhaled the fumes as they purged the sickness from my flesh with the fires of man. It is an unpleasant smell. All the while I felt nothing.
Alas corruption cannot be destroyed so easily. It must make sense somewhere in the mysteries of the universe, for it happens. However, the reason of it all eludes me.

Powerlessness is a frustrating state, which when merely accepted can destroy the morale of man. A small part of me wants to fight the futility, like a duty to myself. Like a man plunging headlong to a lost battle, trying hard not to let reason deter him from his glorious end. A responsibility to his pride. To submit in the face of the flow of time, the universal healer of all things, is the surest path to self destruction. I will endure, even though I know I cannot win.

I don’t suppose, that I could impose upon you, good ladies, to cut me a tidbit of thread, weave the hole shut, and tie it off for me? You’d really be doing me a great favor.

Lying upon my mattress on the floor, my hairy chin propped up by two pillows, my hands extended in front of me, fingers dancing across the keyboard as if playing a complex tune with some foreign instrument. The net at my disposal, and the imaginations of a repressed individual having spent too much time upon the floor, for the seated position was inappropriate and uncomfortable. I feel my body degenerating in this enclave, several feet below the surface of the earth. From time to time I venture out into the bright sunlight of the world, only to return exhausted and nostalgic of the life I have left behind all those months ago, a life which I long to return to, one who’s reunion is certain and elusive. If my time down here in this prison like place has taught me anything it’s that I truly value more all the things which exist outside the fictitious realities of a computer screen and written word. I’ve learned my lesson Life. I know I’ve been negligent. I know I have to learn responsibility and purge the causal comforts associated with that which I take for granted. I must begin to regenerate and strengthen. I no longer wish to waste away upon the floor. My resurrection is at hand. It is time. Release me.

One of the first things I got into when I first plunged myself into the world of the internet was the IRC chat rooms. I must have been about 15 years old when I first entered one for the first time. It was one where people met to talk about Japanese cartoons. In time I made some friends and migrated over to one of the larger networks, EFNET. We spent hours every day talking about random shit. Then of course the older people all started traveling to meet each other, and eventually have sex. It caused a lot of drama. The most typical story would be one member or the other would be in an online relationship, travel to meet the person in question, screw like rabbits, and then the following morning whilst the partner was taking a shower, use their computer finding out, reading chat logs, that the individual was having cyber sex with about three of his/her friends in the channel. This would result in channel scandal, and members of the chat room would takes sides and eventually split off into two separate rooms, only to have the process repeat itself in some other parallel scenario. Being one of the youngest members, we just sat and watched all the drama. It was very educational.

In time, I got fed up with the constant repetition of it all. I considered on several occasions to go meet some people myself, but it never really worked out seeing as I was too young to travel alone to visit complete strangers. So I left.

Every couple of years since then, I stop and think about what happened to those people, and how the chat rooms would have evolved since those days. From time to time I act on my curiosity. I download a copy of MIRC and travel back to EFNET which is all but deserted these days. #cyberheaven, #17-25, #chathouse are completely empty save for #loonybin where the IRC bot Johnson still stands guard from an attack. Otherwise it remains lifeless with no sign on activity since the days we once hung out there.