The Keeping of CrowsThe Keeping of Crows
I keep to a cackle of crows,
Black feathers breathe loud at my back.
My abyssal flock surely grows,
I feed them from this dirty sack.
My ears do not know their harsh caws,
Must trust my dark twin to our path.
In blood-oath we follow crow laws,
My choice to watch over his bath.
Our crows ways not soon to be met,
And our blood flows suchly the same.
Dark hearts noble, our ways be set,
Our self-chosen thought in Crow's name.
I live for crows, but do not lack,
My tender care for darkness shows,
Our nightlife blooms, like roses black.
I keep to a cackle of crows.
MaggotsX @ 10.26.2016
Warrior of LightI become one with the chaos to recognize the order.
I become one with the pain. Yes, I feel this burning!
I become one with the darkness, one with the light;
I am a peaceful warrior, wearing scars on my face.
The ballast of thoughts, the ballast of the world,
The ballast of life, distributed on all shoulders.
You take to be victims. People, you have thought wrong!
You are the culprits because you make yourselves a victim.
The change in me, it changes the world.
Believe me, we are too many: Babylon falls!
No hero: The darkness is part of every soul.
Boom, boom … my heart pumps anger through my veins.
Ignorance is the enemy, knowledge the duty.
Harmony is the solution between darkness and light.
Among faceless people, we wear a face.
I need not judge; my words have enough weight.
Bright and dark: The fight has been raging since the dawn of time:
Two sides of a whole between wealth and suffering.
There are many ways in the fight against endless pain and
Three weapons: They are calle
our fearless medical director, Dr. Lecter; a veteran of retelling dark tales.
Dr. Syn; an old wandering soul who collects dark tales.
Dr. Psychic, the forensic psychiatrist who'll check all the rules are scrupulously followed.
Situated outside of the bustling city of Milan (Italy) and immersed in an almost unnatural silence in the heart of a wild park, lies a very special place known as Montebello, or simply "Mombello."
The surrounding park located in Limbiate is breathtakingly beautiful. And the building was originally built as a summer retreat for a noble family in the 1500's. It was then modified in the centuries to come, eventually enlarged and renovated several times. It was even used by Napoleon Bonaparte himself during the Cisalpine Republic.
But during the 19th century, this large building complex was used for a more sinister purpose.
In 1863, Mombello was turned into a psychiatric hospital.
It was meant to host about 900 patients but it soon became overcrowded, with around 1100 patients in 1879. The recorded maximum was reached around 1925, with over 3000 inmates. Out of necessity, the buildings were added to. And the patients had to be classified and segregated due to the type and severity of their conditions. For a decade the famed psychiatrist Ugo Cerletti presided over Mombello where started his innovative experimental treatments for epilepsy and other mental disorders. His experiments eventually lead to the creation of the first Electroconvulsive Therapy (known commonly as Electroshock) Apparatus and the usage of electroshock therapy in 1938.
Everything changed thanks to the psychiatrist Franco Basaglia, who couldn't help but to be revolted by the inhumane conditions of the patients in the Lunatic Asylum of Gorizia where he worked. His refusing to bind the patients to their beds and to utilize the isolation method lead to a debate in the whole country and the endorsement in 1978 of a national reform bill that provided to the closure and dismantling of all the mental hospitals in 1978.
Despite these reforms, the Mombello closed just in 1999. And since then, the buildings are in a state of abandonment. It had become a destination for graffiti artists, vandals, homeless people and adventurous photographers.
The moment you walk into the park that hides the Mombello buildings, you were greeted by an upsetting silence that was almost unnatural. It was like being swallowed by the green, which concealed and and eroded the old architecture at the same time.
The sunny summer light mercilessly exposed the the state of decline in this place. There was broken glass, debris and dust everywhere while we slowly and silently moved in. Many corridors were so long that it was hard to see their ends, and it was chilling trying to distinguish anything in the distance. The papers scattered on the floor from the archives seemed to be calling me, but the almost total darkness of the rooms made me want to follow my companions closer. The surrounding nature had crept over the buildings starting from the walls: ivy vines tenaciously and relentlessly crawled through the empty windows, some even reaching as low as the dusty floors.
The corridors were also clogged by broken pieces of furniture. Remnants of patient beds could be seen if you dared to peek through the half-open doors.
The dining hall was an ample but now empty room. The walls were covered in graffiti; some quite beautiful, but all were appalling in a way.
We reached the women's wing after a small break. The atmosphere here was much more claustrophobic, since the threshold was partially clogged by bricks, and we had to walk in single file to get inside. The atmosphere reminded me of a zombie movie. Doors were barricaded with bricks, only to be partially broken down. And the precarious stairs seemed to dare me to climb them. We decided to stay on the ground floor and I couldn't help but to feel grateful for that. I couldn't stop looking up and be scared by the conditions of the false ceiling, which seemed ready to fall in big pieces right on our heads.
But that energy turned into a nervous one when we carefully climbed the dilapidated stairs to reach the second floor. Over there, the damages were much more severe and the roof had collapsed in many points. The sight of the summer blue sky from those gaping holes was really upsetting.
" In a mad world, only the mad are sane." Akira Kurosawa
I didn't realize how much my nerves wrecked up the day until we left that building. I felt such a great relief leaving the place with the sun still high in the sky, and I felt like I could finally breathe deeply again.
The feelings I experienced ranged from the childish thrill of exploring a forbidden place to the fear of being injured and left behind in that appallingly silent place as the sunlight died; from the excited photographer obsession to strive for the perfect shot to the human empathy for all those persons who had been suffering, separated from the 'normal' world by thick walls and straight-jackets.
The return to the civil world was almost unreal and I felt very grateful for the noise of the people moving lazily in the shopping mall. At the same time I'm very conscious of that silent darkness I breathed for the whole day and now is sitting almost peacefully behind my eyes.
ElegyPeople call me a frigid bitch. Others say I’m depressed.by
But just listen.
Once, a winter a long time ago, a blizzard struck the suburbs. Picture this: everyone wakes up to houses heavy with snow, an uncomfortable amount. Like icing on grocery store cupcakes. It’s in one of these cupcakes that a baby is born—Linda’s water broke very suddenly and she wasn’t about to shovel snow from the driveway with the baby’s “head already dangling” between her legs. (Dangling. That’s how Linda described it. She had a way with words.)
Linda gives birth while holding her father’s hand. She’s 18. The baby has no father. After she cuts the cord, she sits on the sofa half naked (Linda said her mother covered her up with a shrunken blanket before going to get some oatmeal) and the baby lies on her breast. The baby doesn’t cry. The baby’s eyes are closed. The baby is dreaming.
The baby dreams of things she hasn’t seen yet. Sh
Freedom Will Walk My SoulThe gate of freedom of my soul can only be gained with sweet determination of living. The tests of life always there among the cold stone walls that surrounds me. The gate closed, reminding me that my life is still trudging through these tight walls.by
I only know when the gate becomes open, is when I'm finally free of this torment. The life can finally allow me to know that my soul is fully free to roam without limitations. It would this time would I feel the fullness of freedom from this nightmare. A dream of freedom while trapped in a nightmare.
Sounds of freedom echo around me, I can hear the gate rising to allow me to my freedom, the freedom for my soul. Banners waving gently in the breeze, the freedom is only a step away from me; heavens above I never felt so free!
Never again will I be trapped, I'm forever free.
It Is NightI lie in bed.<da:thumb id="570120493"/>
I am awake. Somehow.
It is in the middle of the night.
Something holds me there.
I cannot see it.
But I feel how it presses me deep into the feathers,
Takes away my breath and eats my inner.
It pulls and tugs at my soul,
Wants to take me with it,
Deep into the darkness.
I am in fear.
I want to scream.
But no words come from my lips.
Scarcely a croak escapes from my throat.
I feel how it swallows me slowly,
Dragging me into the abyss,
Into the black depths.
I fight against it,
With all my strength,
Try to rebel against it.
Try to scream.
I cannot wake up!
In pain I open my closed eyes slowly.
My arms push me up with highest effort.
If I could only name it!
Then, probably, it might not be so frightful.
I manage to escape it.
My eyes are open.
My breath goes flat.
My voice ….. I find my voice again.
It is gone.
But only for this night.
Lost SomewhereOnce I decided it was hard to see,
What happened in the world and I tried to flee,
Built up a world not cold,
Needed it as a stronghold,
But I lost contact with reality.
The MinesBixby always loved a good ghost story. He brought a ton of them back from the mines, and I wrote them down along with the blue collar folk songs I was researching.
Bixby was my inside man, my ticket into the coal mines. We hit it off over a coupla drinks one night and suddenly everyone stopped looking at me like I was another stuffed shirt from the Company. Yeah, it’s true I’ve never done a hard day of labor in my life, but it takes all kinds, right?
My great-grandfather was a miner back in Pittsburgh – some of my earliest memories are of playing in his hard hat and taking a slap on the hand for trying to grab the pickaxe. What I remember most though, were the songs. Grandpa sang those mining songs long after he set the canary free; those songs were my mother’s inheritance. She sang me to sleep with bluesy hymns of shovels clinking and lanterns flickering. And at night, I dreamed. I found myself wandering endless caverns, my tiny light shining on crystals and fo
Girl Tired of Wine BottlesWhat a bad smell<da:thumb id="573309587"/>
that makes my nose in bin.
Don't suggest to me
I'm not in!
What kind of a person
you thought me?
But sorry I'm not ass ass son
I won't break my head or me.
I don't love something like this
I take a look I'm in rubbish
Sorry I can't let this
boss to break my head childish.
What am I
a scapegoat?
Never up to sky
stars,bye-bye goat!
Goodnight To Me, Indi<da:thumb id="573676069"/>
I am Indi! I know who I am, I know who She is.
What do you see when you look in the mirror? Just your own reflection? Just a view of yourself from a slightly different angle? I envy you. I see Her, Violet. She steals my face to disguise herself as me, but I’m the one who gets held to account for Her actions.
Call her whatever you want, my Alter Ego, my Id, my Doppelganger, my Second Self, my Darker Side... Whatever, She is NOT ME. I wouldn’t, I couldn’t do the kinds of things she enjoys doing.
When I stand still and stare into her glassy face she moves, she smiles at me like a shark about to attack. I’d close my eyes and wish her away, but I know in the darkest depths of my soul that she would still be stood there mocking me.
Peter Pan thought he was having trouble trying to catch his shadow; he should have
Freedom of MindThe thoughts of my mind
are not free, but mastered
by things around me.
A Dream of Death?
“Thank you for seeing the patient, Doctor, I know it’s late.” The Sister scuttles towards the second set of iron ward doors, her large keys rattling in the lock as she tried not to drop the thick medical file tucked under her arm. “Oh, I, thought you were Doctor...”
“Your request wasn’t clear which patient you were referring to Nurse.” The Doctor sighed glancing at an old pocket watch in his waistcoat, running a bony finger across the cracked crystal face.
“The necromanic, Doctor.” The Sister mutters relocking the doors and handing the file to the Doctor.
“The what?” The Doctor thumbed through notes. “You mean Miss Nyx? Nurse, obsession with death and nightmares does not make her a necromanic. I take it her sleep is still disturbed?”
“You could say that Doctor, every night she keeps the entire asylum awake with her screams.” The Sister shivers at the thought of another night lis
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