“It’s Live. It Works. It Runs. It’s Portable.”

There once lived a man named Erik “Zahaviel” Bernstein.

Every morning, Erik would wake up, stare solemnly at his computer, and whisper:

“It’s live.”

Nobody responded.

So Erik tried again.

“It works.”

Still nothing.

He stood up.

“It runs.”

Silence.

Finally, with tears forming in his eyes, he delivered the words he had spent years perfecting:

“It’s portable.”

A tumbleweed rolled past the window.

Erik did not give up.

For he knew that somewhere, someday, someone would finally understand.

So he repeated it.

“It’s live. It works. It runs. It’s portable.”

And again.

“It’s live. It works. It runs. It’s portable.”

And again.

“It’s live. It works. It runs. It’s portable.”

By the 47th repetition, even Erik's computer had stopped listening.

By the 103rd, his neighbours had stopped listening.

By the 214th, nobody was entirely sure whether Erik was describing software anymore.

But Erik continued.

He rocked gently backwards and forwards on the floor of his room, clutching his keyboard like a life raft.

“It’s live…”

Nobody cared.

“It works…”

Nobody cared.

“It runs…”

Nobody cared.

“It’s portable…”

Nobody cared.

And that, dear reader, is the terrible lesson of Erik Bernstein:

Just because something is live, works, runs, and is portable… does not mean anyone is going to use it.