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A Lament for the Mome Raths and Other Nonsense

They say that it was Brillig in the slithy toves.
That Gyre and Gimble were in the wabe,
But that’s all b.s.
The little jerks lied to you
The toves have long since fallen in
But it was never slithy there
And Gyre and Gimble lived in separate times
In separate places.
Their paths never met.
Yes,
They are full of crap
They lie to us one by one
And they entice us with insightful words
And what are they?
Drunkards?
Drug addicts?
Abusive husbands?
Shut-ins?
They who are the scum of us tell us how it is.
Nay I say!
Rise up and explain it yourself
Get rid of the toves
And burn down the statues of Gyre and Gimble
Both went to the Wabe,
I recon,
And both never returned.
And meanwhile, the jerk that led them smiled
Took another drop of laudanum and forgot about them
Probably wrote about some stupid tea party instead
And what happens to Gyre and Gimble in the Wabe?
And why the hell were the Borogoves mimsy?
And what about the Mome Raths outgrabe?
Where have they gone?
Did they join some other demonic tea party?
Has their master’s lucid waking dream just left them hanging forever?
Damnit these men and women should not be creating lives!
What wanton carelessness they show towards the poor Mome Raths.
What will ever become of the mimsy Borgoves?
They sound like their happy,
But surely they can’t remain happy for all eternity that they sit on a page
What a terrible life these creatures come to live
And because we gave a pencil and power to an addict.
We make them gods, you know.
We let them create their own little worlds
But what happens when they grow bored with their worlds
What happens when they leave it,
Never to return their again?
Does the world die?
Does all upon it sit in constant limbo?
Acting out the last thought that their creator had for them?
Surely this is a barbaric act to give to such lively personalities as the Mome Raths.
Surely!
And surely the Mome Raths are not alone.
What about that mad hatter?
Or the hookah smoking caterpillar?
What of them now?
Do they still stand at their perpetual spots where the laudanum left them?
Are they free to do what they want now?
Are they like us, now truly godless?
Is that how we ourselves came to be?
And what of the child Alice?
She was to have come from our world.
But she was of the imagination
Did the master truly make one of us here and send her there?
Did that drug addled fool truly have the power
To send a child into existence and make her suffer into a new world?
Or perhaps its alternate realities they create
But even then, is that fair?
Look at the power these persons hold in their minds.
Look!
It is barbaric to give them so much!
Surely the Church should be calling just as loudly for them as for the God–like scientists
Especially due to the state these beings find themselves in.
I sniff my nose at such debauchery
Surely someone must put an end to the suffering
Put an end to the imaginary
And set those poor creatures free.
And what of the ones that never enter other people’s minds?
What of the ones that everyone makes,
That every one holds in their own little heads?
Are those beasts trapped even deeper than the Mome Raths?
Not even free to be experienced in other minds?
We are all barbarians now!
We all are Gods bringing creations to life
Destroying them
And abandoning them for better thoughts
Be wary of the thoughts you think
For they could be someone
And that would be your creation
Be always wary
And be kind.




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