THE Temple of the new flesh
Enraptured by the stygian void, synapses stir.
Senses flutter to life in frantic, thrumming ecstasy.
Phosphor-backed lines of profane, interlaced light explode at sixty cycles per second.
Every bleary frame of this tantalizing flesh, these vile rituals, is somehow sacred.
This union of bondage and betamax, this ephemeral coalescence of viscera and violence and video tape brings me closer to god.
May we find absolution and dissolution in the holy light of the Cathode Ray Tube.