Thursday, June 9, 2011

rose red monologue

If we're quiet, if we listen we can hear houses breathe.
Sometimes, in the depth of the night you can hear them groan as if they were having bad dreams. A good house cradles and comforts. a Bad house fills us with instinctive unease. Bad houses hate our warmth, our Humanness. That blind hate of humanity is what we mean when we use the word, "haunted" A house is a place of shelter. It's the body we put on over our bodies. As our bodies grow old, so do our houses. As our bodies may sicken, so do our houses sicken. And what of madness? If mad people live within, Doesn't this madness creep into the rooms, walls and corridors? Don't we sometimes sense that madness reaching out to us? Isn't that a large part of what we mean when we say a place is unquiet? Festered up with spirits? We say "haunted," But we mean the house has gone insane.

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