i'd like to say a few words about house of leaves.

it's wriggling around my head, like a worm. a worm with spikes. dull spikes that scrape rather than stab.

and it's definitely colouring the writing of the 'old people dying at the hands of books' story.

it's become far, far darker than i originally intended it to be. it was originally quite cosy and jovial in that whole old people faced with death way that they have.

and now it's kind of fucked up!

:/

one day my skull will cave in, and light will shine on the dark places.