Whenever I feel I don’t any longer have things of interest to think, and I think I don’t any longer have feelings of interest to feel, I reach for writing by Edgar Allen Poe. And that usually gets me back on track. Poe, you goddamn wizard!
Thus today it was with eager anticipation, vivaciously animated but not without a degree of discernible restrained precaution, I once again recommenced my reading of “Morella,” and as I let myself succumb to the morbid Gothic delights, a suggestion arouse from these imaginations, operating on my soul with a curious and baffling composite of fear, reason, and delight, and distinctly manifesting itself in my opinion, that I was indeed holding in my trembling hands an unrivaled story of phantasmagoric qualities.