To poem or not to poem, that is the question;
Whether ‘tis nobler in the blogsphere to suffer
the slings and arrows of daily posting,
Or to take a chill pill and post less frequently,
or oppositionally, not at all? To sink, to vanish
into the hinterland of the commentless and post no more;
and by commentless we say an end to anonymity
and the thousand natural urges trolls are
heir to: 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.
To not post, to refrain, perchance to have a life – ay, there’s the rub:
For in that cessation what words may come,
when we have shuffled off this electronic network must give us pause –
there’s the reverence that makes a mockery of this writing life.
For who would bear the trolls and tribulations of time,
the oppressor, the egotistical blogger’s contempt
for those less scriberly, the insolence of the blank page
and the spurns that impatiently unworthy take,
when the blogger herself might fill her page with a bare revelation?
Who would a blog’s burdens bear to grunt and sweat
under a dreary deadline, but that dread of some life
after the Internet, the undiscovered country from whose interests
no traveler returns, puzzles the will, and makes us post
those written words we have rather than fly off the handle
and post others that we know not of? Thus blogging doth make cowards
of us all, and thus the native hue of resolution is wallpapered o’er
with the frantic casting about for ideas, and enterprises of pithy commentary,
with this the bloggers current post goes awry, and loses the name of action.
Forward now, Blogger! To that Internet Archive we pray to no avail,
that all my sins not be remembered.
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