Chat is dead. Chat remains dead. And we have killed it. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of chat? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe chat’s blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of chat too great for us? Must we ourselves not revive the chat to simply appear worthy of it?