Bastian. Bastian, why do you look so sad?

Vivienne once dated a Philosopher (or, An Emotional Robot).  Often, upon calling said Philosopher/Emotional Robot, the following conversation occurred:

Vivienne of Fashion:  Well hello!  What are you doing?

Philosopher/Emotional Robot: Oh, conducting a Gedankenexperiment.

VoF: Why don’t you just call it a “thought experiment?”  Seriously.

P/ER: I’m harkening back to Mach.

VoF: Awesome.  I’m watching I Love New York II and conducting a Gedankenexperiment in which I attempt to determine why New York thought it was necessary to get breast implants.

Vivienne’s New York Gedankenexperiment always failed, because, really, there IS no logical reason as to why New York thought it was necessary to get breast implants.  However, Vivienne is not one to give up easily, and so wishes to conduct a Gedankenexperiment now.  Let us think about The Childlike Empress in all of her innocent, beaming beauty.  Let us think of her experience, trapped in the Ivory Tower, knowing that, despite her non-involvement in the political realm of Fantastica and her reluctance to judge the inhabitants of the land based on their goodness or badness, their beauty or their tragic ugliness, Fantastica nonetheless depends upon her, so much so that, should she die, Fantastica and all Fantasticans would also die.  Imagine being under that kind of pressure, sealed, parentless and Prozac-less, in the heights of the Ivory Tower.  Then, imagine being attacked by none other than The Nothing, a horrid beast who seems concerned solely with with replacing all that is good and holy with its Nothingish emptiness, because she’s depending on some little punk of a boy who doesn’t even have the nads to call her by name.  Imagine the Childlike Empress staring the Nothing in the eyes, begging Bastian, who takes so damn long to fulfill her needs that it’s almost, almost too late.

Now, imagine the Childlike Empress in her thirties.  What could possibly happen to her, other than her becoming Neely O’Hara in Valley of the Dolls, addicted to dolls, trapped in a tragic marriage, with nothing but the Nothing — not even Helen Lawson, not even Helen Lawson’s wig — to even fight against?

In honor of this Gedankenexperiment, I use Fashionable Poem Prompt / Poem Prompt of Fashion Five to put the truly unspeakably bad poem which acts as a preface to Valley of the Dolls on a diet in an attempt to chase the Nothing away.  Neely, Neely, I say your name!

Dolls

You’ve got the valley, a brutal peak.
You never knew what was

the last thing. Waiting, you thought
you’d feel. Applause no place

left, alone, so thin you can
scarcely. A hero was more fun

at the bottom, nothing more.
That mountain – there was no

one, doll. It’s different when you reach
the elements. Enjoy your victory.