Alternative Prescriptions of Orcavia
A film by JARET FERRATUSCO.
In the back stairs that have led, alternatively, to various rooms on the first floor of the institution’s museum of treatments and measures, there was a nurse who discovered a frail wooden key. It appeared to be near broken, and so fragile that upon picking it up from the step, it cracked in two in her delicate palm. During a meeting with the other nurses in the basement of the wing, the key was passed around and discussed in great detail. Carrying it back to her office—which could usually be found somewhere in the length of a shifting hallway painted the color of jaundice—she placed the two pieces of the fragile wooden key with great delicacy beneath her pillow. And it felt as if every day from there on, she grew closer and closer to discovering what the key might unlock. Each day passed more slowly than the one before, so that time stood still in a purgatory of hours and days; in timelessness and trials, she transcended in her constantly spinning dreams from nurse to angel in the shifting, windswept offices of the jaundiced hall of Orcavia Institution.
(Source: youtube.com)
An asteroid burst of bright white light overtook the darkness of the dining room. From behind our closed eyelids that white light pierced us completely, body and mind. All the while our medium—a gorgeous lady in her mid-40s whose tolerance for shenanigans is violently non-existent—she told us not to open our eyes. I felt the bright white light cover me in a warmth so deep it was heart-breakingly like the sudden very distant touch of somebody you were in love with in the past. And then, abruptly, the white light became cold. Light became a memory as the room sulked, instantly dark and heavy. Our medium said, “It’s over.”
When grief is not always such a spectacle.
Third eye.
The re-examined wife.
“It’s not a duck, it’s a penguin,” he whispers to himself, kicking gravel around in the gutter while standing on the corner, waiting for something bad to happen.
Melany & Mercy.
Occult clinic.
The auburn choir.
A(n) caterpillar.