A print of the painting "Ecstasy" by Maxfield Parrish was hanging in the bathroom of a house I babysat at when I was fifteen. I used to just stare at it...
That house has become such a legend in my mind that it is almost like a character in the play that is my life. In fact, it was a "character" in a short story I wrote at 16 called "Wade's Cafe." Some of you will remember that little thing. The house itself and the life and death inside of it were so unbelievable that I love to tell people all about it.
Things went on inside that house that even I (someone who is dying to tell you everything) will never talk about because I am so fucking ashamed and horrified. And that only adds to the mystique and the wonder of that house and it's place in my past.
I should write about it though because it makes for great art.
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