Cover photo

Other people not meeting you where you’re at doesn’t mean you have to find yourself, only better friends.

Come inside—but don’t touch anything.

Access is not the same as Acceptance. If you know, you know and you’re doing something about it. Letting people in but subdividing your community into the haves and cannots or leaving certain members out in an unspoken non disclosure is still gatekeeping—just with a corral out front. So you’re now not only gatekeeping but cannibalizing people too, eating up the time, vibes and resources of a person looking for sustenance and meaning (let’s keep it real) who could otherwise contribute to a reciprocal community that meets their needs and makes their time here in cryptolandia sustainable and cathartic.

Be the change.

That is all.

The crypto-priests in their Discord domain
Have built a new Heaven with velvet-rope chain;
Their banners proclaim, in a violet glow,
“Come, all ye who suffer! Come, all ye who know
No Latin, no ledger, no private-key skill—
Yet somehow the Kingdom demands a fat bill.”

They cry, “We are open!” with wide seraph smiles,
Then measure your wallet in cubits and miles;
The lamb may approach, but the lamb must be shod
With seven-score apes and a yacht-loving god.
“Free mint!” sings the siren at half after ten—
Then gas fees devour the poor lamb again.

A covenant hangs like a bright coloured scroll
With “inclusiveness” writ in a rainbow of soul;
Yet under the rainbow a ledger lies hid
That counts not the heart, but the ETH you just bid.
If sorrow you bring, or a plea, or a doubt,
You’re “negative energy—kindly log out.”

They preach a new Gospel: the meek shall inherit
Provided they hold forty-five of the rarest;
The widow’s last mite is most warmly received
If first she convert it to jpegs, bereaved.
“Community first!” is the thrice-daily hymn—
The community being exactly nine men.

The levels ascend like a Jacob’s ladder
Of Discord confetti and rainbow-hued blather;
From “Newfren” to “Chad,” from “Vibelet” to “Lord,”
Each rung costs a kidney or solemn accord
To shill in Slavonic at four in the morn
For fifty more XP and a unicorn born.

A raffle is held for the Holiest Grail—
Three thousand bro tokens, all gleaming for sale;
Yet half are pre-portioned to dukes of the chain
Who bought in when Bitcoin was pocket-worn change.
The rest are reserved for the nieces and cousins
Of influencers paid soon as they pop outta moms oven.

Then opens the contest: “Submit thy lament
In seventeen stanzas of pure sentiment;
Record it on pump.fun with tears in thine eyes
And tag twenty X souls who will curse thee likewise.”
Three winners receive one coveted place;
The losers, a sticker that laughs in your face.

And deep in the sanctum no pleb ever sees,
Behind triple locks and crypto winter breeze,
The archangels frolic in baths of champagne
And toast to the rabble they keep in the rain.
Their captions so humble, their hearts so sincere:
“So grateful for family (of whales) to be here.”

Whale Song, a poem by Maxximillian Skelevaggio

About this poem

What you’ve just read is an excerpt from a longer work. The entire poem is available for purchase as a tokenized work of literature on Transient Labs.

Visit Transient Labs and type: Maxximillian into the search bar. Or check poetry.blaqqat.art for the latest.