Continued from here.
It's an obsession of the most sublime, of the most vulgar; one that up-lifts, one that cuts down. Cloistered yet again in my darkened confines, with my Powerbook open, I whittle away time, clicking and scrolling away, in search of I don't know what. Meaning? Salvation? ... Oblivion? Then, I see him. It's only a picture, an image. But I'm winded and beatened, pricked and pierced, lashed and thrashed... And yet, the hunger pang forces my eyes to hold the gaze on his wide chest as Moses had on top of Pisgah looking down on the panoramic view of the promised land he would never touch. Slowly, I trace the groove below his oblique muscle that runs down like the River Jordan. And I cross and climb every mound of his ab: my spirit's weighed down; my burden's made heavy. Nail me down and hang me up!
Oh, Bane of Beauty!
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