Danielewski's House of Leaves for about the 7th time. In the name of your father, I must escape this place or I will die.Ī face in a cloud, not a trace in the crowd, Not because your mother was raped again, but because she loved so much what she could never have been allowed to keep. I'm in hell, giving into heaven, where I sometimes think of your beautiful father with his dreamy wings, and only then do I allow myself to cry. After he's gone, the stranger, the attendant, the custodian, the janitor, cleaning man, waiting man, dirty man. Sometimes I'm still away long after it's done. I let caprice and a certain degree of free association take me away. It is far saner to choose rape than shattered hope, so I submit and I drift. Screaming gave me hope, and unanswered hope is shattered hope. Someone I don't know always comes when it's dark, late. Not every day, not every week, maybe not even every month, but they do it. There is no worse and don't believe otherwise. They have found a way to break me, rape a fifty-six year old bag of bones.
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