4am

I'm reading House of Leaves again and it's doing that thing where I can't put it down and also can't sleep because of it. It's 4am and my apartment is too quiet and I'm very aware of the walls.

This book breaks something in your head. The footnotes that lead nowhere, the pages with six words on them, the hallway that's longer than the house it's inside of. You know it's just paper and ink and typesetting tricks but something in your body refuses to believe that. Something deeper than logic, something old, that reads the description of a space that shouldn't exist and goes cold anyway.

I first read it at nineteen and it ruined me for a whole week. I kept measuring rooms. I kept noticing how far apart the walls were. That sounds insane and it kind of is, but that's what a good book does.. It gets inside your thinking.. Starts rearranging the furniture in the back rooms, by the time you notice something's changed, everything's wrong.

Shut. the. fuck. up.

Eleanor