That first month or so was the purest time. None of us knew anything.
None of us knew each other. We just knew we were making something;
granted it was something stupid, but never had I met and enjoyed such company.

Slab; white walls now cover up those white voices, while cubicles show us that we were perhaps never needed. We weren’t diversity in name only, even though that’s what the whole school probably wishes. Not enough of a response was given? All we had were our emails, never used along with our females, and I’m pretty sure we were all homeless at one point, double sided glass acting like our window-sill, where drawn on mustaches were eventually replaced by phallic symbols, and heartfelt messages about how we were all still single, and still had futures. We were hardwired for three years, to inspire mostly just ourselves, and to continue living in our own world, where respect was only earned through a complisult at our own expense. Now I wonder where that time all went, and why I can’t recapture it.

I don’t think I gave that place anything. I certainly don’t take credit for anything.
If I did something, I think it was finally making us be our own focus.
That might’ve been our greatest strength, and perhaps our ultimate downfall.

We were nameless, like a cloud formation, seen from afar, but your mind couldn’t place us. Not enough of an ad stream, we never made posters, and the only one I ever saw, I vetoed, it was pure shit. There was never any stage fright, because everything was confined until equipment went missing, or people didn’t show up. Our eyes shined bright, and our mouths never stayed closed, and our thoughts were always too big for our vision. Our material now feels old, you’ve already heard it practiced, podcasted, and we can’t forget amateurly acted. We didn’t seem happy? We were living a type of dream, complete with access cards, and stolen furniture, not to mention a blanketless couch, empty fridge, and notes on the microwave. Meetings didn’t happen because meetings weren’t what we had to gain. We were a company made up of company. We were clueless, like a wrong season, felt for a moment, but your mind couldn’t care less.

The narrative being put together was becoming more and more obvious:
I ruined a good thing, and I ruined the best thing to ever happen to me,
for crumble the empire must, but I didn’t mean for it to destroy what we had.

Night’s pitch black, so let’s be honest, I’m probably going to settle, I’m probably going to forget it, but please don’t tell my parents, who place bets on my marriage, not knowing money is my matesoul, and who don’t think twice when I’m talking to that Asian girl at computing services, thinking I’m asexual, when she’s really aromantical, towards anything that I say or do, though I guess it was always about me, and not you. Elevator smelled of weed and booze, and leftover wings, cheesecake, and pub food, where Pam was our designated driver, who heard it all, from confessions to professing feelings, and losing her amid thunderstorms. Stolen bell, we were all ringers, hunchbacks with our own lost lovers, atop not a church but a brotherhood’s prayer space.

I wasn’t the leader, and I was barely the glue.
Everything I was, it was all because of you.
We were far from Not Ready for Prime-Time, we were the Not Ready for On-Line crew.

We came out of the rabbit hole, and never brought Alice; she was just some random girl who emailed about working with us. We told her no thanks, we were already overrun by Cheshire cats, who started off all smiles, and disappeared by year’s end. Sometimes I felt invisible. Sometimes I feel responsible. I think I’ll miss that editing suite most, both the dungeon and the hotel room; still have my key but, she’s not here to take her there. We made and lost a lot of best friends, and wingmen, and girl-friends, and best friend’s girls, and the occasional club who didn’t know what they were in for. To those that said they always watched, to those that said they never did, to those that remained nonexistent, but were shouted out and pointed to; to that once [un]faithful audience, lift those glasses up top, because we’re going down that well again: we never gonna’ stop.