When The Filter Is Weakened By A

I Lived In Georgetown In The Late 70s About Four Houses Down From The Steps.

Horror Does Not Interest Me, And So I Know Little Of Its Practicioners, Old Or Current

Like The Brief Doomed Flare Of Exploding Suns That Registers Dimly On Blind Men's Eyes, The Beginning Of The Horror Passed Almost Unnoticed; In The Shriek Of What Followed, In Fact, Was Forgotten And Perhaps Not Connected To The Horror At All.

Yet I Think The Demon's Target Is Not The Possessed; It Is Us . . . The Observers . . . Every Person In This House. And I Think---i Think The Point Is To Make Us Despair; To Reject Our Own Humanity, Damien: To See Ourselves As Ultimately Bestial; As Ultimately Vile And Putrescent; Without Dignity; Ugly; Unworthy.

God Never Talks. But The Devil Keeps Advertising, Father. The Devil Does A Lot Of Commercials.