Sweat and Silence

According to my coworker just now, dead is not fun.

I think I have to agree with him.

And I am not dead, for those in cyberspace whom are not aware of this. I've just been busy, exhausted, and busting my ass to make rent. On some level, I'm thinking I want another Silent Hill icon. Part of me is tempted to eschew sleeping in the favor of staying up all night, and playing as far through Silent Hill 4 as I can get, much to the consternation of my roommate. Or possibly try to track down a good Revolver Ocelot icon.

Another part of me wants to take a camera, and wander around my home town, and take pictures on a cloudy day. Just to show the feel of Silent Hill that my old hometown has. Millbury, Massachusetts, an extension of the urban sprawl of Worcester, nestled against the deep woods of the Blackstone Valley. Ahh, the Blackstone Woods, how you do beckon to me. You know, I've known psychics who refuse to set foot in those woods because the evil of thousands of deaths still, apparently, pollute it. Strange, maybe, but it still feels like home, in my head. Lowell doesn't feel like home. The Merrimac is nice, but it's not home.

Strange.

And the woods are calling to me.