You are likely to be eaten by a grue.nIf this predicament seems particularly cruel,nconsider whose fault it could be:nnot a torch or a match in your inventory.nnIt got narrated at you in the second person.nEvery time you booted up, it seemed you got another versionnof your life told to you by a status line blinking,nthe impossible people you could be without thinkingnyourself insane of personality problems,nwith a mop on a drop ship or trying to stab a goblin.nThat don’t play in public life. You get arrested,npsychoactive medication daily in your big intestinenand attesting that the voices in your headnsaid the dwarf shot first, embedded arrow then you bled.nBut doctors with needles posit repeatedlynthat you knocked down that midget in the park unneededly.nThis has seeded the idea that you shouldnnever venture from the house, never get misunderstoodnby the non-player characters inhabiting Earth,nnone of whom are too concerned about Nord & Bert,nnot one of whom ever aimed a fish around the room,ntrying to get it in the ear canal because doomnbeset the last planet they were on, or nearnthe verge of a set of poetics they wouldn’t hear.nNever peered at the clues with invisible ink.nNo SM goddesses ever gave them pause to think.nNever piloted six robots, each distinct.nDon’t matter how many 2-liters they drink,nthey’re not gonna follow what you’re saying at all.nThey impugn and appall in the scope of their gall,nas you hide in your room in disgust with the lights turned out.nTurn ‘em on in a turn. Leave ‘em off for now.nnYou read a pamphlet from a mailbox that urges low cunning,noffers cursor and prompt: type >run and you’re running,nand parses what you tell it, pronouns intact,nabbreviations if you need ‘em (better keep it gramat.).nBetter punctuate your sentences and never redactnthe name of anything ambiguous. You’re about to get asked,ndo you mean the red one, the round one, the crooked, or the blue?nBetter keep that in your pocket, don’t know yet what it could do.nCould be the spray for the grue; you’re gonna need it if it is —na situation that reloads, restarts, or quits.nWonder how many points out of how many pointsnyou’ve got to get before you’re done. Endeavor then to rejoice,nwhen you wish more ardently, identities shed,nfor continuance, the rhyme forever voyaging. Flednfrom all lights and colors, from all smells and sound:njust the lyric on the monochrome display and you’re proudnto make another verse appear by solving riddles.nIf you didn’t have to sleep, you know you’d never seek acquittal.nYou’d be ever in the middle and the midst of quest.nIf it weren’t for >don the gown. you’d never get dressed.nIn your underwear typing, just like Front,nkeyboard attached up to my fingers — wrists bear the brunt —nas I seek to do stunts simply through their descriptions.nI think I went once to some sands that were Egyptian.nAnd I retain plane tickets, snapshots, receipts,nyet I stand unconvinced that this has happened to me.nI wouldn’t want to misremember or get confused.nRecall of crawling towards a pyramid appearing over dunes.nRecall of entering the thing and descending stairs.nDoes it descend from there, adventure to nightmare?nDid I battle a snake? Was the treasure intact?nOr did the TRS-80 in my brain get hacked?nThanks, Grampa, for buying it. Now my life’s ruined.nTwenty-two years later, head’s infested: got the grue in.nPLUGHing, XYZZYfying, trying to escape,nbut I can’t ‘cause I’m up and around and awake.