Wind It Up: Silence of the L.A.M.B.

Death’s Head Moth, from the Nature Museum in Lucerne.

In her life, she had seen some of the hideously offhand way in which the world breaks things. But she hadn’t really known, and now she knew: sometimes the family of man produces, behind a human face, a mind whose pleasure is what lay on the porcelain table in Potter, West Virginia, in the room with the cabbage roses. Her first apprehension of that mind was worse than anything she could see on the autopsy scales. The knowledge would lie against her skin forever, and she knew she had to form a callus or it would wear her through.

  • Thomas Harris, The Silence of the Lambs.

Okay, so I thought the title of this was really funny. I’d planned to photoshop Gwen Stefani’s head onto the moth’s body but then I got lazy, so you’ll just have to use your imagination. Anyway. I can go into absolutely zero detail about my life and what I’ve been up to lately, but trust: If I don’t have a book in me after all of this, I will NEVER have a book in me, EVER.

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