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Hey, it's just me, Paula Poundstone, and I'm coming to Glendale for a special live taping co-presented by L-Aist and Martin Media.

It's February 8th at the Alex Theater. Tickets at LAS.com slash events.

See you there.

L.A. LAIS studios Come, I come, I am numb with the lonely lust of devildom.

Thrust the sword through the galling fetter, all devourer, all begetter.

Give me the sign of the open eye,

and the token erect of thorny thigh,

and the word of madness and mystery.

O, pan, low, pan.

I am thy mate, I am thy man, goat of thy flock, I am gold, I am God, flesh to thy bone,

flower to thy rod, with hoofs of steel I race on the rocks through solstice, stubborn

to equinox, and I rave, and I rape, and I rip, and I rend,

everlasting world without end. Low pan. Bha. Bhaar. ... That was a couple verses from

Hym to Pan by Alistair Crowley, Jack Parsons' favorite poem. He used to recite it

before lighting the ignition on a rocket test. In this episode, what we're going to see is that

Jack Parsons running around Pasadena, thrusting his sword into any fetter he can find, doesn't do him a whole lot of good.

Instead, it signals his ruin.

This is season one of L.A. made, blood, sweat, and rockets. What's your final view on, to what degree she believes all this stuff?

She lied. He tried to manufacture evidence.

I'm Christopher Gafford with a new series from L.A. Times Studios.

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