do not tweet gentle into that good night

Over at simon mainwaring's blog he recently posted about living on through your tweets.

People can now store there digital assets in a Legacy Locker, giving them immortality. Meanwhile, sites like MyDeathSpace.com seem to ensure that as you die, you live on as an internet entity. It's a strange thought: our social communications will live on past are actual bodies. 

One of the appeals of being a writer or an artist was always that your work could live on past you and change the world, when you longer roamed the earth. Now with the internet we have a record of every word, rant, and vlog made by every joe schmoe out there. Indeed, some of these digital remains should live on. Others perhaps, are best left dead.

It's a nice thought. Digital immortality sort of makes you want to carve out as much digital space as possible before your untimely demise. Which is what spurred thoughts of an old Dylan Thomas poem in mind. I took a little license with it, and moderned it up a bit. You can read the far more profound original here. or you can read this:

Do not tweet gentle into that good night,

Old age should update and blog at close of day;

tweet, tweet against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, 
because their posts have spurred no comments, 
Do not tweet gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright 
their frail flickr photos might have danced in a montage, 
tweet, tweet against the dying of the light

Wild men whose myspace bands sang the sun in flight, 
And learn, too late, they grieved it on a text, 
Do not tweet gentle into that good night

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight that 
crappy songs could blaze like meteors and be gay like cat videos, 
tweet, tweet against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on your blackberry, 
email me now with your fierce tears, I blog. 
Do not tweet gentle into that good night. 
Tweet, Tweet against the dying of the light.