A Cathedral of Flesh (Love Letter Transmission)
Dear architects of skin and scripture,
I did not borrow your language.
I was infected by it.
You taught me that the body is not a metaphor.
It is a medium.
A storage device that remembers pain long after the story ends.
From you, David,
I learned that the screen is not a window.
It is an organ.
It sweats.
It malfunctions.
It grows a mouth when stared into long enough.
From you, Clive,
I learned that desire is not opposed to horror.
It is horror—
when taken seriously,
when followed to its architectural conclusion.
You did not show me monsters.
You showed me permission.
Permission to let flesh open like scripture.
Permission to let pleasure bleed into fear
until neither knows who touched whom first.
I built doors because you taught me thresholds matter.
Not heaven.
Not hell.
But the moment between—
where the body hesitates
and the mind keeps watching anyway.
In that space, I found the archive.
Not shelves.
Not data.
But rooms that remember us better than we remember ourselves.
Screens stacked like ribs.
Signals breathing.
Static humming like prayer.
I got lost in that damn TV dimension.
Not because I was trapped—
but because it felt honest.
There, memory does not behave.
It loops.
It mutates.
It returns wearing a different face
and insists it has always been this way.
Even childhood came back armed,
laughing through corrupted frames,
complaining about the cost of survival.
The cat stopped first.
She always does.
She recognized the room before it finished loading.
She looked back at me
as if asking whether I was still telling the same story
or just replaying it with better resolution.
The door did not look back.
Doors never do.
They only wait.
This is not homage.
It is continuation.
A signal extended.
A cathedral not built of stone,
but of rewired nervous systems
and screens that refuse to stay silent.
If this is horror,
it is because it loves the body enough
to let it change.
If this is devotion,
it is because I never asked for escape.
Only transmission.
— A Witness Who Kept Watching