Progressivism And Existentialism

Alchemy

"Recipe:
An ancient castle, of which roughly half falling apart,
A long corridor with many doors, many of which should be secret,
Three dead bodies and bloody beautiful,
Three skeletons packed with care,
An old, and hanged with several stab wounds to the throat,
Thieves and bandits will
A sufficient amount of sighs or horrible noises muffled groans.
All these ingredients, well mixed and divided into three portions or volumes, which gives an excellent mixture of all those who do not have black blood can be taken by the bathroom before going to bed.
It will benefit the most sensitive. Probatum East. "

Anonymous - Formula to write a gothic novel in 1797 -

What scares me is the occult. The invisible eyes.
I have the strange habit of going out at night . In silence, one step after another, the darkness deep. The streets are my friends with thick walls, the lights out. I feel followed at times. I took a big coat, black. I always try to change around , but I realize I do the same old roads. I decided it was wise appointments in a notebook. Red. I like the effect of the red coat that slips by. Red in black. Via Roma, Corso Italy .. the writing is fast, the names of the streets outlined. I walk as I write. Sometimes I stop shooting and I look back. I think I see a little man who follows me. Her green eyes dazzle me and I have to cover. In recent days more and more strange coincidences happen to me. I am in front of small texts on alchemy that I thought not to possess. I opened a random page and read Homunculus. I immediately closed and I escaped. I do not remember where I put the book, I was sure to have left it on the table, but when I got back was gone.
Last night I dropped the red notebook. The track was wet and now has some horrible stains on the cover. When I opened it I felt faint. I saw that the street names were changed, but the writing is mine, and quickly sketched. I did not know the roads and do not know why but I think I threw the notebook.
I wanted to go home, but did not recognize the streets, I went to a street with lots of huge wooden doors into a corner until I saw the strange figure who seems to be a cross between a gnome and a fish. I followed him through the night, trying not to distract eyes from the blinding green that gave off that small and fast figure. As I labored to follow I saw a door opening and for a moment I peeked inside. Now I swear I did it! Illuminated by a single candle I saw people discussing deformed around a table. E 'was only a few seconds but I'm sure they were not normal people. In addition to having some strange hats that made me cringe is that .. the candle lit up the room even though it was only placed in the middle of the table, while they were in the shadows, blacks, not reflecting the light. Of black shadows. I am sure that one of them I have seen, heard footsteps behind me quick quick, a cold that I hounded her shoulders. I ran, losing sight of the homuncolus (but there really?) I was following, until it seemed to see a dimly lit corner. I hid myself, counting the beats of my heart and fumbled in his pocket to look for the notebook, remember to have it thrown out and I found only one sheet. This. I thought about writing here the last events of recent days, hoping that someone can find and save. The space is running out, on the other side of the paper I can see only a strange recipe .. looks very worn by time but I still can not decipher a piece that says: "Formula to write a gothic novel in 1797 .


---
maritozzi Thanks for the inspiration: *


With Cipi for illustration dell'homuncolus fantastic that you see above (and sifting through his good blog is really beautiful) =)

Head Injury And Vital Sign

past

"It slips in Golden afternoon
plan with the boat crew lazy;
an oar here, one there, no expertise
manovran her arm, in the mirage
to make some sense to our rational
zigzag large-scale "

-Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland-

So I take my rowing boat.
But sometimes I get lost in private thoughts, new universes.
I lose myself with my dreams sometimes do anneggare, throw them into the sea as punishment for treason.
Sometimes my side is a chest that looks like a coffin so is the weight that is dark in there. I hear that in the stormy nights you want me to sink and disappear forever. The sky turns black, the enemy, crushing me. Then comes the storm, and even if I try to be prepared is sometimes so strong that the risk of getting lost in all that sea, infinity. I'm afraid of the sea. The black sea, where you see nothing. Yet you talk, but talk of death. Talk about the past. Of things that I did not understand or realize too late, in the heart of wounds that still bleed.
Sometimes I would hide in some nook and cranny, but I discovered that mine is only a small boat, a paper boat abandoned on a small pond that goes without a goal, pulled from the wind.
When the sky is angry because I'm afraid I can not swim, but every time I'm about to fall, I see my trusty crew seem ready to reach out and save me from the jaws of sharks.
trusted crew Thanks to you a hearty laugh and a healthy bottle of rum.