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He-Man and teh Masters of the Universe (Ep. 83: Into the Abyss)
Don't make it like you know pain
like you've driven to SUNY Purchase
in a suddenly blue Astrovan
enough about molecules
about the curve of the air
(Geometry only really
works on "perfect level")
enough information about information
(the true nature of Atari)
about what it means
to worship Grayskull
(it is Mecca, it is Shrine)
"Pain is the plinth, not the statue coagulated."
RE:Abyss
Built above a cold void that could be considered crystalline were it not
entirely bereft of material substance. In my youth, I called it boredom
and smoked it like curved 100's. Deep within its depth: archangels
and
a
gradual dawning as to the role they may play in my craving of bong hits.
A power not in the spacelessness but resulting from it. A force needed
to jettison the knowledge of its presence at each and every moment, to
morph and mythologize its guts into some kind of phantasmal pall.
The murky sound of dub. A wainscoting of dust and cerebral thunder.
Gautama called it paradise, we can
(and do) cut it up with a knife. The
gloaming deathknell of static reality. The
shadow behind the drapes in
Three Men and a Baby. Ockham's razor as applied to hidden anguish.
Panic you are a vixen. It's beyond the power of my fiction to contain you.
Your transparent lace, your fuschia pheromone.
Taking me both closer
and further away...
Skeletor the Wicked (nΓ©
Keldor) rides at midnight,
driven mad by his own sense of divinity
the idea that he alone remains
entitled to hold it1 in his hands
(a Jungian shadow world of pup tent
a feathered cosmos gleaned in a glint)
enough leveling of playing fields
enough talk of holy mountains
(the Parthenon in Nashville
also built on a chasm, cyan)
In the deer park of Sarnath
by the Ganges and Varuna
he called it total freedom
but the phone phreaks
the Church Fathers
and the minions of Hordak2
they still call it a pit.