The supernatural doesn't exist, or rather it is everywhere.
Right now I'm reading Hell by Henri Barbusse. First, it was beautiful and sad. Now, it's beautiful and depressing. Depressing as in my-very-soul-shrinks-and-wilts-as-I-continue-page-by-page-along-this-trail-of-printed-suffering. I like it a lot, but it's not one for bedtime.
Last night I
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