cars will one day reside in the museums of hate

THE HOSPITAL



A state of inertia has been reached, where the living appear to be dead. That'’s why there is
a fence around the hospital, to keep them out. A woman (on the inside) is walking in the orchard she is agitated as if she has misplaced something of importance. She picks up pieces of paper
examines them then lets them drop. You are glad there is a fence there, because you have an
unquenchable desire to be nursed. You turn and walk away aware that a feeling of uneasiness has crept in on the wind. It stops you from moving, compels your body to turn, to resist would mean tearing yourself in two. With fixed eyes you stare at the hospital, scrutinizing the rows of windows. As your eyes adjust to the mass of shadow at the back of one of the rooms, you can make out thin strips of light, brilliant white rods that spiral into the air like charmed snakes attaching themselves to some invisible framework. As more of them curl upwards the outline of a body is revealed.


A skin that preserves and mummify's, must this skin always be fused with linen with resins of blood and sawdust. We shall have to reclaim our bodies and minds from the canopic jars of modern medicine, for it has robbed us of the skill of self healing. In hospitals you are born in isolation "“I don'’t know these reanimated corpses, they are not real people they are getting paid to do a job, they are in a theatre"”
More women are choosing to have home births, turning to mid-wives and learning plant medicine.

The zombie hands can never break the glass, no matter how hard they try they are trapped because they came here of their own free will Pounding on the windows only causes the stitches to burst open and leak with clear
liquid They plead, cry for help, swear that they are no longer sick, a cure has been found and they are better now Then they smile their cock-eyed smiles and their brains come sliding down their noses their guts tumble out
slipping away from their grasps like lithe jerking eels They laugh and sing and dance with each other, swirling round holding on so tight that their fingers rupture one another‚’s flesh Occasionally one of them will slip and fall amongst the pools of slime that have accumulated on the floor. The others laugh and dance faster and wilder causing more wounds to reopen and weep with frustration. The hospital in the diffused light of evening takes on the shape of a brooding monument
'‘LEST WE FORGET THOSE WHO WERE DISSECTED'’
The woman in the orchard picks up a piece of paper and the sleeping weight
of a great emptiness folds itself around her.