From the train I saw "the fields away, the curtains of trees, houses, nooks" to go fast, like splinters.
The noise was deafening at times became almost unbearable in my head already so confused.
But as the train ran, not even the speed and return to the city, among my things, in the midst of my "faces" to the faces of the people I love, could wipe out "those."
had passed a month, which was lived in the archives of the former asylum.
If it is true that "It quidem idem eris. Omnis dies, you mutatio omnis hora", this had never been so tangible to me. You had approximately my age when you wrote that nothing in the world I had yet passed through the spirit, so that in projecting x-rays to your presence in its constitutive structure.
I think for me it was just this experience.
It is terrible and sinister at the same time think that coincides with the unveiling of one of the lowest moments of aberration of history.
Perhaps it is because what I held in my hands does nothing but back that old, cold current that mixes common sense alienation from their victims and executioners, and that basically is the innermost core of human nature and authentic .
The expulsion of the weak, the other self are sadly always the most powerful in building the concrete core social dominance, which shall secure and proud.
Dear brother, nobody
not see me are so bored that I find the time to run away being healed perfectly, because here you have to be smart dear brother, because of a lack that committed by a colleague of mine made me feel 2 days and a half morning and night in bed bound with a straitjacket.
Joseph T., interned in the mental hospital of S. Maria della Pieta from 1894 to 1908 because "sexual invert."
Facts swallow. I can not live without seeing you. I do not know how I can feel, or know that you have made the search [...] nun who is calling you the young lady and that without raggione makes you do things that no man.
Letter from hospitalized Othello A.ad another hospitalized, November 6, 1932.
individuals suspected of schizophrenia, it requires the injection of malarioterapia by Anopheles mosquitoes.
Umberto P., hospitalized in 1935 in the mental hospital in Rome, then moved to Volterra.
There are many voices that echo in my ears from the inside, so many that overlap and that I will put to rest, ever. Entries from diaries, as you've taken, so I, like most people, since dall'affacciarsi adolescence, intimacy encompasses all those thoughts more real and more complicated communication between crumpled pages that fade along with memories.
These, however, are diaries of terror, someone has called them "crazy cards", what is certain is that they are more than just literary or historical documents. These are pages that cry, indeed, people shouting, screaming from a not so distant past, which fall into a mind not so different, that seems to have only changed the clothes tormentor.
Before Her Eyes, however, always the same image: that of a woman, interned young, beautiful and full of life, decay of each photo taken from a folder next to the last: little more than a skeleton sore.
And there seems to be answered, nor ransom for all these purposes as atrocious, as it is "the senselessness of evil perpetrated by man.
Perhaps the only posthumous tribute to a memory proper, to serve as a powerful tool to do this, and enlighten.
All the inmates mental hospitals, these few lines of a diary, in memoriam.
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