ANST - ApocaLinux

[j'lynn yeates]

.. from the full recitation at the web site at the end of this prolog ....
methinks it must be written by Peter Schicklie (sp?) and Tom Lehere's
bastard love child ... the literary one they don't talk about


Tuxowulf is the earliest extant poem in modern
European language. It was composed in England four
centuries before the Norman Conquest. As a social
document, this great epic poem is
invaluable--reflecting a feudal, newly Christian world of
heroes and monsters, blood and victory and death. As
a work of art it is quite unique. Tuxowulf rings with a
beauty, power, and artistry that have kept it alive for
more than twelve centuries.

The noble simplicity of Tuxowulf's anonymous
Linux-Using singer is recaptured once more in this
new translation:

Prologue

Hear me! We've heard of Open-Source heroes, 
Ancient hackers and the code they wrote 
For themselves, swinging mighty mice!

How Gates made slaves and soldiers from every 
Land, crowds of captives he'd beaten
Into terror; he'd created Windows 3.1 alone,
An abandoned child, but changed his own fate,
Lived to be rich and much hated. He ruled
Lands on all sides: wherever the sea
Would take them his soldiers sailed, returned
With tribute and obedience. There was a 
Terrible King! And he gave them more than his 
Knife, conceived a son for the faithful, 
A new leader.

They had lived before his coming; miserable 
Under the Dark King. But now the Lord 
Of all their systems cursed them with an 
New OS, Windows 95, whose fame soon 
Spread throughout the world.

Gates' child was the thorn of hackers;
His father's warriors were wound round his heart
With golden rings, bound to their prince
Through product registration. So young men build
The future, creating nagware and commercial 
Demos in peace, protected in war; so programmers 
Earn their living, and wealth is shaped with a 
Keyboard.

When his time was come, the Dark King was cast, 
Down, still strong but called to the Lord's hands. 
His comrades carried him down to the shore, 
Bore him as their leader had asked, their 
Lord and companion, while words could move his
Tongue.

Gates' reign had been long; he'd ruled them 
All. There in the harbor was a ring-prowed 
Fighting ship, its timbers icy, waiting. 
And there they brought the wretched body
Of their OS-giving lord, and laid him near 
The mast. Next to that corpse they heaped
Up treasures, jeweled mice, golden keyboards
And speakers, monitors carried from the ends
Of the earth: no ship had every sailed so
Brightly fitted, no king sent fourth with 
Such wealth. Forced to set him adrift,
Floating as far as the tide might run, they
Refused to give him less from their hoards
Of gold than those who'd shipped him away,
An orphan and a beggar, to cross the waves 
Alone.

High up over his head they flew his shining
Banner, then gladly let the water
Pull at the ship, watched it slowly sliding
To where neither rulers, nor heroes, 
Nor anyone can say whose hands 
Opened to take that motionless cargo.



... the remainder of this great neo-epic resides at:

http://davix.latesky.net/apoc/booke/tuxowulf.html

.. enjoy, my wyrdling cynn 

'wolf



... truth is the sword of us all (lords of the new church)

... truth is the sword of us all (lords of the new church)
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