Love Kisses from WAS to You


Here at WAS headquarters, we are--believe it or not--pretty inured to the desperate wiles and grabby gambits of the Entertainment Industry. Most of you probably think of us as sensitive, sincere, even ingenuous; the fact is we're a hard-hearted little phalanx of cynics, plowing across the mediascape--with its crap buildings, crap streets, crap stoplights, crap infrastructure--inside a heavily armored vehicle with an extra-sturdy cattle guard. We use that ineluctable, ever-skeptical wedge of a truck to blow right through veritable moutains of shit. Mountains. The movies, the teevee shows, the tee shirts, the novels, the comics, the federal warnings: talentless fiberboard set-pieces that WAS loves to go crashing through in our Cynic-mobile, leaving drifts of sawdust in our wake where before there was a hip-hop album. We've done it all, seen it all, eaten it all in all the right restaurants, and we've been operating under the assumption for quite some time that nothing remained to shock us, that nothing was left that could possibly put a smile of delight under our upturned noses. Will anything ever again elicit from us a visceral response? Is it possible to surprise us, short of actually, physically sneaking up and yelling something much fresher than ‘boo’? These are the questions that plague us, the questions that exist as drastically-reduced acronyms on our license plates.

And then this happened: the whole fucking castle of cards came crashing down around us; our claustrum collapsed. And there we stood, the crowding walls and sagging ceilings replaced by an ellipse of dizzy blue sky, by a breeze and a quality of light that we long ago wrote off as myth. We were gut-punched—it was excruciating, it was unexpected,
it was great. We huddled giddily around the monitor and read and re-read the surprising contents of an email that, as you’ve gathered, has drastically changed things over here at the Sci-Cave. The author of the email and what it proffered will no doubt come as something of a shock to most of you. But that initial eyebrow raising comprises a minuscule fraction of the payoff. Will it surprise, even delight you to learn that the little slice of pure inspiration we’ve been so elliptically referencing for two paragraphs now is a poem? That the poem’s author is none other than Sean Astin, star of The Goonies, Rudy, and most recently the LOTR trilogy? It’s true: two days ago we got an email from misterastin@yahoo.com asking if we’d be interested in posting “to the Sci-Cave” the poem that appears below. The request was signed Sean Astin. A visit to seanastin.com sent doubt to swim with the fishes. This, folks, is the real deal. And damned if we aren’t proud as hell to be in a position to offer this delicate masterpiece a venue. Let us now eschew ado:



The Fishbowl
God soup
and other reflections from 35,000 feet


by Sean Astin

Looking up --> into the deep rich azure
sky -- Beyond the Home of the heart
into the Land of the soul --
with a splash and a flicker down
bejeweled water rippling and undulating
A carpet layer of crystal clear impenetrable Depth --
Oceans of Love spread beneath my feet
miles of sky play before mine eye
Silken spread a
Cloudy Bed
A cry -- a sigh -- to breathe
to die
Alive
as I strive
for a View Above
The sultry dome of operatic
Love kisses in my ear . . .


By show of hand, who here doesn’t want to read that again? Excellent. Arms held to your sides by the straightjacket of good taste. Guys, gals, have a look at this:


The Fishbowl
God soup
and other reflections from 35,000 feet


by Sean Astin

Looking up --> into the deep rich azure
sky -- Beyond the Home of the heart
into the Land of the soul --
with a splash and a flicker down
bejeweled water rippling and undulating
A carpet layer of crystal clear impenetrable Depth --
Oceans of Love spread beneath my feet
miles of sky play before mine eye
Silken spread a
Cloudy Bed
A cry -- a sigh -- to breathe
to die
Alive
as I strive
for a View Above
The sultry dome of operatic
Love kisses in my ear . . .


Goddamn.