Can't wait to have more time with Murder By Cheesecake. I have begun reading it and, so far, the experience is like watching an episode of Golden Girls :)

There’s something uniquely unsettling about a house in decay. Peeling wallpaper, blackened mold creeping up the walls, floors sticky with unseen grime. It's not just a setting in horror films; it’s a character in its own right. Filth and neglect in horror tap into something primal within us, a revulsion that goes beyond mere disgust and into the realm of existential dread.  

A decaying home is often a metaphor for abandonment—not just by its inhabitants, but by society, by order, by hope itself. Think of the infamous Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), where the Sawyer family’s derelict house, caked in blood and grime, becomes a nightmare of rural isolation and madness. The filth isn’t just set dressing; it’s a visual manifestation of their moral rot.  

In many horror films, a decaying environment mirrors the psychological state of its inhabitants. Repulsion (1965) shows Carol’s apartment deteriorating alongside her sanity, with food rotting in the sink and walls cracking under unseen pressure. The house doesn’t just *contain* her madness, it *becomes* it.  

The Babadook (2014) uses the slow decay of Amelia’s home to reflect her unraveling mental state. Piles of unwashed dishes, dust thickening in the corner; these aren’t just signs of neglect, but of a woman drowning in grief.  

Filth in horror often suggests something *hiding*—something we can’t quite see but know is there. In Hellraiser (1987), the rotting, blood-stained walls of the Cotton house are gateways to another dimension of suffering. The grime isn’t just dirt; it’s residue from something far worse.  

Even in more modern films like Relic (2020), the mold spreading through the elderly mother’s home is both a literal and supernatural infestation. The house doesn’t just decay, it *consumes*.  

At its core, the horror of filth and decay speaks to our fear of entropy—the slow, inevitable collapse of order. A clean home is control; a filthy one is chaos. It reminds us that no matter how much we scrub, how much we repair, time and neglect will always win in the end.  

And perhaps that’s the most terrifying thing of all.  

Within my emotions, I've been all over the place lately so it's only fitting that I reacted so intensely to things I watched and read while on staycation last week:

below: "Sorry, Right Number" from  Tales From the Darkside and "San Juniper" from Black Mirror

I can't even begin to find the words to reflect my viewing experience with the episode of Black Mirror called "San Juniper." It wasn't just that I needed tissues afterward or that the 80s soundtrack*hit me hard. It was so much more than that: it felt like my lived experience, but one-sided, non-reciprocal, unrequited.

It might not seem like the two shows share much in common (they don't) but later on after I had watched "Sorry, Right Number" and "San Juniper" and had time to think, it struck me that both anthology show episodes dealt with grief of some kind.

Later the same day that I had watched "San Juniper" I had a dream about my own life that related a lot to it and I woke up incredibly sad. 

I opened up a random horror novel to read (horror always makes me feel better) and waited for the dream fading to begin.

*Aside from smells, no other thing (good or bad) takes me back like music does. I can smile thinking back or dissolve into tears at a traffic stop. This playlist has a lot of those moments.

 

The poetry collection Monsters in the Closet came out last week and I just purchased it. This gets to me so, so, so much:

Dedication For every queer soul who has ever been called unnatural, unholy, or monstrous— for those who have been told their love is a sin, their desire a curse, their very existence something to be hidden in the dark. This is for you. For the ones who have whispered their truths into the night, who have carved their names into history with trembling hands, who have refused to be erased. You are not a mistake. You are not a villain in someone else’s fable.

You are not the thing to be feared in the shadows. You are the storm, the fire, the myth that will never die. You are beauty wrapped in defiance, love woven from survival. And if they call us monsters—then let us be monstrous. Together, we reclaim our darkness. Together, we shine.

 

Oh my gosh, is this one sick puppy of a book! It goes from being amusing and relatable to being a tale of twisted revenge that reveals more about Ruby than the people who hurt her. Fast-moving and full of oomph and strong dialogue, this novel nevertheless ended up leaving a bad taste in my mouth. 😳🤦‍♀️ May you never cross a Ruby in your own life!