a Poem for Maromi
In 2008 my brother first showed me what I would from then on refer to as “the greatest anime series ever made.” From the mind of Satoshi Kon, who had previously frightened me with Perfect Blue and would later astound me with Paprika, came Mōsō Dairinin, or as I would lovingly know it, Paranoia Agent.
I obsessed over this show, watching it all the way through dubbed, then back again through with subtitles and Japanese audio, and then again both ways. It crams more eery brilliance into 13 episodes than most shows manage in multiple seasons. An analysis of the series would be difficult, there is so much great material to discuss and criticize that my brain shuts down at the barrage of options for such a piece. Instead I shall keep things simple and sentimental. I am still in a fanboy state of mourning for Satoshi Kon’s recent, sudden passing, and I can offer his works nothing but praise. De mortuis nil nisi bonum.
So to the little dog who captivated Japan, and told us all to “take a rest,” these verses are for you:
Irrepressible you
east island all erupting, lovely
truth obscurer, pink
like Jackie O day of the shot, eyes
like puddles of fresh rain, there
we find something serene, canst
thou summon up the Slugger? Do
so now, for I can’t stand, head
is rolling on my neck, shoulders
barely hold it there, come
and swing the home run hit
Fuyubachi? Zebra? Zebra! How
are you connected to yourselves?
How bouts we take the bullet train, now
tell that story once again, how
little boys did run amuck, shadows
lurking from the walls, you’re
creator, fallen, crawling forward
towards the red light, towards the train light
towards the headlight, swerving rain drive, falling pain came slicing, like the frequency
it’s buzzing
buzzing radar man will warn the world!
“He comes from nowhere,” nowhere? Here is hollowness, the catalyst
They call me Ichi, number one! The slugger comes, he glides because
his feet are wings, he means to slay
the wicked Goma, he infesting all, Maromi!
now deliver us and lead us not into temptation
for thine is the people
the eyes and the bloodbeat
thunk thunk drunk on Sake,
stumbling home
begging for
quick ignorance
…
whisper slow Maromi
crawl gently up and down my arms
Japan forgives itself through you
when will we see again
the beautiful mushroom cloud
the tsunami
the great black ooze that sweeps
like grasping arms
embracing arms
do us no harm
our lives belong to you
…
the great shadow of the bat boy
it has now become the cloud
it has now become the wave
it has now become the quaking ground
the lesson then was simple
goodbye pup, you never spoke
it was your ghost
I’ll tear the paper people up
your puddley
eyes
now
close
今 敏 Kon Satoshi 1963-2010
The Church of Cinematic Oblivion 
December 22, 2010 at 4:57 pm
Hi mate, read your poem with great interest and well it inspired me to have a go myself.
have a rest ^^
Archaic sage of rhyme and reason you flicker and flash through mushroom clouds when a murder of crows infects a sleeping purple skyline
Swollen and dark floods on the horizon
A pink creature that is trying to talk.
An entity freezes in its tracks, silent behind skittering eyes and one final flail to chance out the accomplice within.
Eyes rest and land on a pinnacle behind the retina.
A doomed sketch in a dusty book
Twin overcoated shadows bend and sway forth
Staring past the strangled contortion
Through a rippling smile
And now they must freeze with a shining
Fear
And now they must slay their intrepid haze, back and fro golden scrapes, for behind those blankened eyes stood
That grinning bat boy in his golden skates.
The satellite warrior now follows a beating path back, into the city, laughing puddles
Gold, pink and black
Archaic knights set sail from his hearts core, a prophets transmission, and a theatre of oblivion encircles his vision
Above a blossoming dream on a bridge to tomorrow
Through the mushroom cloud
Past the sage and his cauldron
A rabbit in the moon
And not a moment too soon, a young girl floats up
Through a sinkhole of blues
Toward a shining truth