Up on Disturbed theres an everlasting high-pitched machine- room clutter, a prison mill stamping out license plates. And time is measured out by the di-dock, di-dock of a Ping-pong table. Men pacing their personal runaways get to a wall and dip a shoulder and turn and pace back to another wall, dip a shoulder and turn back again, fast short steps, wearing crisscrossing ruts in the tile floor, with a look of caged thirst. Theres a signed smell of men scared berserk and out of control, and in the corners and under the Ping-pong table theres things crouched gnashing their teeth that the doctors and nurses cant see and tell aides cant kill with disinfecant. When the ward door opened I smelled that signed smell and heard that gnash of teeth. Ken Kesey One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest.
Posted on: Sat, 20 Sep 2014 19:59:09 +0000
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