Since you left, there hasn't been any music playing in this room.
But we have taken it upon ourselves to keep sliding letters under your door. Should you wish to respond to any of them (found below), feel free to do the same to us, using the links in our rooms.
Had I known you were coming, I would have done nothing at all to prepare. I’m disinclined to speak to you as I do not speak to figments of the imagination. You will be gone so fast, that is all I can say that you are. However, I had been told if I wrote you one letter, it is the last letter I will be required to send to you, and I also could use the opportunity to warn you.
What i’m trying to tell you is that we just got back from hell and i for one think it’s important you understand this cuz what if you actually stay here, you know? You could. It’s fuckin possible ok i know it is cuz look around. We all made it. We say nobody can live through us but us but somebody else is bound to sooner or later right? keep it simple stupid loose lips sink ships
Hello, my name is Galahad. You ventured far and wide to find the last vestiges of your faith and you found the last nine knights who drank from the grail to live. We’ve been locked in this castle for hundreds of years. If you’re pure of heart and remember your name, we can save each other.
It can get a little hectic around here, so if you need some quiet time away from everybody, you can hide in your room and no one will bug you. We left some stuff in there for you to do, and we’ll switch it up and put different things in front of your door every little while. What are you into? I like music. All kinds of music. My favorite song is Harpsichord Sonata in D Minor, K.213: Andante by Domenico Scarlatti but Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites by Skrillex is a close second. Come to think of it, those two might be just about the same song. What’s your favorite?
I was once new in this house, like you. My life was a good life, a simple life. I always suspected what might be hiding in the shadows, but I never knew I was one of the shadows themselves. I knew there was a world behind the one everybody knows, but I never thought I was gonna call it home one day. The things I’ve seen and the things I’ve done since that night would make a lot of men look away. But hey, I never did, verdad?
My room, as you can see, is a haven for my interests. You’re welcome to appoint yours in a similar fashion. A good rule of thumb, when seeking permission to do anything in this house, is to assume that the answer is yes and apologize later.
What I do have is hard evidence toward the proving there is a place in this hopeless world someone can fall far and long and land safely to the equinoxes of spirit they need to endure in order that they might be extinguished of the fires of their blindest impulses, having come close enough to the brink of their ruination, and behave an inch grateful for the foresight. That place is me. Clyde Barrow, crashmat to the Gods and Heroes of Everyworld.
Soon you’ll make the decision whether to stay or go. That’s a decision the rest of us used to make every day, but you get to this other point in the story where it stops mattering if you walk out the door at all because wherever you go, the house just comes with you. I know that sounds scary. It doesn’t have to be, but it probably is. Either way, you found this house in the middle of Nowhere, and to your surprise or maybe vindication, it’s just like the Eagles said. You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.
From dawn to dawn is drunk only the finest confusion of identity, ate is the purest terror of all our secrets coming to light. The man who first said “Ignorance is bliss,” very literally lives within these walls and happened to be speaking on what the house done to him. He knew too much as we children do, all. Yeah, but the lot of us is trapped here with no possibility of escape, our screams never to be heard, the bliss of ignorance lost forever. I know sending this tortured cry into the night is one heartbreakingly pointless exercise and will do fuck all for our situation.
ABOUT BEFORE, JACK...
But I do it anyway, because maybe that's how a poet really dies, in an Oscar Wilde sense. I watch my name curl and vanish into brown leaves of spent paper, and I pray silently that Adam knows, when he wakes up, that I at least thought it over before burning his letters. I hope he knows this was the same as burning a church for me, or setting a cross down on the lawn of a black preacher's family. Something insidious and possibly evil, to burn Adam's words - those into which I have escaped for over half of my life.
916 days is two years, six months, and three days is 130 weeks and six days is 21,984 hours is 1,319,040 minutes is 79,142,400 seconds. I hadn’t been counting down to the second, but Nicholas had and slapped me with it when I was having a bad night. Even Nicholas knew how long I had been ghosting you, waiting to hear your fingers on the keys or a song which makes you think of me, you say my name, for you to love me the way I love you. But you found me gone by seeing others posting about me on social media. I had once fantasized that if I died, you would die the same moment as we were linked inextricably. I left you and you had only found out months later on fucking Pinterest.
But I think about it. I think about it a lot. I wonder what it is about me that makes you say you're in love with me and then slip silently at night into Rosie's room to let her make you cum, easy and uncomplicated. It was due in large part to those actions that Rosie and I discovered these attitudes in ourselves - that her nature dictates she's a whore and mine dictates I'm the girl whose picture you keep in your wallet. Fond memories, Jack? First kisses? Promises you can't really keep?
How's tricks then? Still afraid of your own mind and how others judge it I see. Good to know some things will never change. Fuck the lot of them whose thinkin you're crazy, pet. You're home now.
Good start to sign away your know how for do now. Impulse is gawd.
Y así, when I run out from the house, I was wearing little else than pearls and a bathrobe. Running around like that, your Mariposo find a shop down on the corner lit up too bright like your room, looking like the end of the tunnel everybody said there was. My English broke off in the air when I try to tell the shopgirl what happened to me. I must have run from the fire with them not remembering but I had your sunglasses in my hand, the ones you left in the last place you touched me.
I think sometimes and I get scared of the fact that I get depressed because I take after my dad. He used to be really angry sometimes, but he was always happy when there was music, so maybe we played it so much to keep him calm. He loves music, and I think sometimes it's the only thing he feels like is good in his life unconditionally.