One last visit. Not fun. The death of

Reading Time: < 1 minute

The death of a website

disjointed communications and shallow teasing in blinking little pictures.
Now, right there in the listing. Then, gone I don’t know where.

Rubbery threads, always pulling, drawing, joining.
Now immediate, strong, hovering.
Then, drawn, weary, snapping in the strain of distant almost but not quite strangers.

community of theme, of wish, of egos, of need.
Rarely fulfilled, frustrated inactive, bustling, telling, not doing. Hoping, not believeing.

tiptoeing through empty halls. around a corner. Wrong one. Try again. peek. hello?
Listening for the correct tone, the right timbre, a refreshing voice. hello?

Sudden laughter rings out through the surface of monotone.
Nervous vocalization of doubt, faking optimism, fearing activism.

unreliable homecomings of fading addicts.
Resent, accuse, point with a stick, thumbs up, shout a hug, a laugh, a flower.

this is we.
A core of wanters, of makers, of distant not quite friends.


Written at the ongoing painful dying of, ——————————————————————————–May 7th, 2011 @ 9:39AM


Now it is truly dead, turned into a foreign bot network. Even the frantic desperate hope has been silenced.

R.I.P DMusic. Because this time I will not come back.

Chris, Spyed, dig a hole and drop DMusic into it. Then squat, crap, wipe your hands, and pretend to care. The difference to what you’ve done since taking over the site would be difficult to find.

JennyK March 6 2013
(DMember since Nov 2003).