“Men have called me mad; but the question is not settled whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence—whether much that is glorious—whether all that is profound—does not spring from disease of thought—from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect. They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who only dream by night. In their gray visions they obtain glimpses of eternity, and thrill, in waking, to find that they have been upon the verge of the great secret. In snatches, they learn something of the wisdom which is of good, and more of the mere knowledge which is of evil. They penetrate, however rudderless or compassless, into the vast ocean of the ‘light ineffable’.” ~Edgar Allan Poe,
It’s the third of October, day three of horrorpalooza. I’m already a person who hears things outside when I’m trying to sleep. Critters walking on the awnings. Sticks breaking. Or being stepped on? Night sounds. I’m having weird dreams, including one last night about Henry Lee Lucas being in some kind of romantic relationship with Emmylou Harris, who I know nothing about except she sings country and has gray hair. I might need to watch some Saturday morning cartoons to balance the darkness of this odd little funhouse ride I’m on. Or I’ll stop trusting people and wonder what kind of dirty secrets you all are hiding under your H&M scarves and your witty status updates. Not that I didn’t wonder already. I have my own. And obviously things are getting kind of intense. If you don’t hear from me, I’ve been taken by the psychopath down the block who seemed “totally normal” according to the neighbors.