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I was once thrown out of a mental hospital for depressing the other patients.

quote by Oscar Levant
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Virginia's Story

Elizabeth Gates-Wooten is my Grand mom.

She was born in Canada with her father and brothers.
They owned a Barber Shoppe.
I don't remember exactly where in Canada.
I believe it was right over the border like Windsor or Toronto.
I never knew exactly where it was.

When she was old enough she got married.

First, she married a man by the name of Frank Gates.
He was from Madagascar.
He fathered my mom and her brother and sister.
The boy's name was Frank Gates, Jr.
Two girls name were Anna and Agnes.

Agnes was my mother.

Frank Gates went crazy after the war
He drank a lot and died
Then grandma Elizabeth married a man by the name of Mr. Wooten.
He had a German name, but I don't think he was German.
She took his last name after they got married.

Then they moved to West Virginia in the United States.

Their son, Frank Gates Jr. Became a delegate in the democratic party.
He use to get into a lot of trouble because he liked to fight.
He was a delegate from the 1940's to 1970's.
He died of gout in the 1970's.

Anna was a maid and cook.

She baked cakes and stuff for people as a side line.
She had a hump on her back (scoliosis) .
She had to walk with a cane.
She could cook good though.
She did this kind of work all of her life, just like her mom, Elizabeth

They were both good cooks

They had a lot of money because they had these skills
Especially when people had parties.
Because they would make all of this food and then they would have left-overs.
We got to eat a lot of stuff we normally wouldn't get because of that.
When they cooked, they didn't use no measuring stuff, they would just use there hand.

My moms name was Agnes Barrie Gates.

She married James Wright and moved to Cleveland.

[...] Read more

poem by Talile Ali
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A Digital Map Of Anatomical Body

moving compositions

anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
...
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
contemplated erosions below! ! !
The body detailes concepts!

poem by Nyein Way
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Go Mental

Out of the hospital out against my will
Life is so beautiful Ive gone mental
Mental mental
Ive killed my family they thought I was an oddity
Life is so beautiful I am a vegetable
Mental mental
Ive gone mental Ive gone mental
Staring at my goldfish bowl popping phenobarbitol
Life is so beautiful Ive gone mental mental mental
Sitting on my window sill life is so beautiful
Ive become irrational Ive gone mental
Mental mental Ive gone mental

song performed by Ramones
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Essay on Psychiatrists

I. Invocation

It‘s crazy to think one could describe them—
Calling on reason, fantasy, memory, eves and ears—
As though they were all alike any more

Than sweeps, opticians, poets or masseurs.
Moreover, they are for more than one reason
Difficult to speak of seriously and freely,

And I have never (even this is difficult to say
Plainly, without foolishness or irony)
Consulted one for professional help, though it happens

Many or most of my friends have—and that,
Perhaps, is why it seems urgent to try to speak
Sensibly about them, about the psychiatrists.

II. Some Terms

“Shrink” is a misnomer. The religious
Analogy is all wrong, too, and the old,
Half-forgotten jokes about Viennese accents

And beards hardly apply to the good-looking woman
In boots and a knit dress, or the man
Seen buying the Sunday Times in mutton-chop

Whiskers and expensive running shoes.
In a way I suspect that even the terms “doctor”
And “therapist” are misnomers; the patient

Is not necessarily “sick.” And one assumes
That no small part of the psychiatrist’s
Role is just that: to point out misnomers.

III. Proposition

These are the first citizens of contingency.
Far from the doctrinaire past of the old ones,
They think in their prudent meditations

Not about ecstasy (the soul leaving the body)
Nor enthusiasm (the god entering one’s person)
Nor even about sanity (which means

Health, an impossible perfection)
But ponder instead relative truth and the warm

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Pinsky
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Hospital Food

Coming down through the alley
Trying to walk without a sound
It doesnt really matter
cause there aint no one around
Tip toe through the alley and
Tip toe through your life
You still got it coming
Be it gun be it knife
Next thing you know
Youre eating hospital food
Karaoke castration
Take the wasp alive
Hes gonna sting you anyway
And take you to the hive
Yesterday was suckin and
Tomorrows looking bad
Who knew that today
Was the only thing I had
Hospital food
Want some hospital food
Hospital food
Delicious hospital food
In your tribute album to the world
You must never forget
To sing the one about the cat
Whos always getting wet
He always got a problem
Hes a very bitter dude
And now hes complaining
About his hospital food
Hospital food
Its gonna help the medicine go down
Want some hospital food
Gonna take a walk without a sound
A little hospital food
Helps the spoonful of sugar come up
I want some hospital food
In your blender and in my cup

song performed by Eels
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Ambulance that Got Away

When Grandpa suffered a turn, we
Called the ambulance, right away,
They strapped him onto a gurney
So he couldn't sit up, or sway,
‘We'll see you up at the hospital, '
We cried, as we waved him well,
The ambulance went with bells and lights
Like a demon bound for hell!

Grandma wasn't at home, we
Had to phone her on the cell,
She couldn't come back just then, she said
She was having a fainting spell,
So we waited until he was settled in
Then drove in a convoy down,
To the hospital at Ullarook,
Just fifty miles from town.

The nurse at the desk said: ‘No-one here
By the name of Alfred Groom,
We only have private patients here,
We bed them, one to a room,
If he hasn't got private cover, then
You'll have to look elsewhere,
Maybe the ambulance took him off
To the hospital at Bulnare.'

We phoned the hospital at Bulnare:
‘He hasn't been seen round here,
There was an ambulance, come to think,
But he left with a flea in his ear!
We don't take patients from out of town
There's few enough beds for us,
He's probably over at Gundacoot,
They run their own private bus.'

We drove ten miles to Gundacoot,
An ambulance sat in the drive,
We thought, ‘Thank God, he must be here!
Let's hope that he's still alive! '
We all raced in through the sliding doors
And crowded around the Nurse:
‘Who? Alfred Groom, in a private room?
Not here! ' We left with a curse!

We split up the convoy into two,
I drove to the nearest town,
A middling place called Jerribee
With a hospital, quite run down,
‘The government cut our funding, '

[...] Read more

poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Hero of Rorke's Drift

Twas at the camp of Rorke's Drift, and at tea-time,
And busily engaged in culinary operations was a private of the line;
But suddenly he paused, for he heard a clattering din,
When instantly two men on horseback drew rein beside him.

"News from the front!" said one, "Awful news!" said the other,
"Of which, we are afraid, will put us to great bother,
For the black Zulus are coming, and for our blood doth thirst,"
"And the force is cut up to pieces!" shouted the first.

"We're dead beat," said both, "but we've got to go on,"
And on they rode both, looking very woebegone;
Then Henry Hook put all thought of cooking out of his mind,
For he was surrounded with danger on every side he did find.

He was a private of the South Wales Borderers, Henry Hook,
Also a brave soldier, and an hospital cook;
A soldier of the Queen, who was always ready to obey,
And willing to serve God by night and day.

Then away to the Camp he ran, with his mind all in a shiver,
Shouting, "The force is cut up, sir, on the other side of the river!"
Which caused the officer in command with fear to quiver,
When Henry Hook the news to him did deliver.

Then Henry Hook saluted, and immediately retired,
And with courage undaunted his soul was fired,
And the cry rang out wildly, "The Zulus are coming!"
Then the alarm drums were instantly set a-drumming.

Then "Fall in! Fall in!" the commanders did cry,
And the men mustered out, ready to do and to die,
As British soldiers are always ready to do,
But, alas, on this occasion their numbers were but few.

They were only eighty in number, that brave British band,
And brave Lieutenant Broomhead did them command;
He gave orders to erect barricades without delay,
"It's the only plan I can see, men, to drive four thousand savages away."

Then the mealie bags and biscuit boxes were brought out,
And the breastwork was made quickly without fear or doubt,
And barely was it finished when some one cried in dismay,
"There's the Zulus coming just about twelve hundred yards away."

Methinks I see the noble hero, Henry Hook,
Because like a destroying angel he did look,
As he stood at the hospital entrance defending the patients there,
Bayoneting the Zulus, while their cries rent the air,
As they strove hard the hospital to enter in,

[...] Read more

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Nevada Mental Institute

Is this really a mental hospital?
It didn't look that way to me
a man in his wheel chair
kept saying this to himself
'O I wish I was never born!
O I wish I was never born! '
Some gaunt apparitions
here and there
minding their own businesses
howling at me
'Stay away! '
Seeing the blood stains
on the carpet floor
I shivered with fear and fright
that they might
devour me and my body
drinking my blood
dripping on the floor
which caused me to refuse
to take any medications
Was nice they didn't impose them on me
simply a shot or two
once in a while
Gosh!
Let me get some sleep
can you stop these women
screaming at nights
in room where I was assigned
to stay and sleep?
Madness drove me to all the way
to that place
though I tried to escape
the hands who put me there
after a long ride to San Francisco
to see the one I wanted to see
but failed to find the person's number
on phone book
for his wife's name was
on the registered
Couldn't keep these followers
from my back
in fear of being murdered
I decided to kill myself
but not with enough money to buy
the twenty-five dolor silver knife
from the shop I visited
during the break of the bus stop
I ran for help
to the law enforcement man
who took me to the hospital

[...] Read more

poem by Sangnam Nam
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Mental

Its like Im dressed up in my mothers clothing
Its like Im talking to a voice that doesnt exist
Its like I got a wire crossed upstairs
But all I want is just a little truth and thats it
They say Im mental but Im just confused
Thay say Im mental but Ive been abused
They say Im mental cause Im not amused my it all
Another anchor man is on the t.v.
Hes got that far away and vacant look in his eyes
I turn the channel but nothings changing
The only truth is that everythings a lie
They say Im mental but Im just confused
Thay say Im mental but Ive been abused
They say Im mental cause Im not amused my it all
Theres truth in everything
Theres truth in lies
With all this knowledge
I think Im gonna be wise
They say Im mental but Im just confused
Thay say Im mental but Ive been abused
They say Im mental cause Im not amused my it all
Not at all
Not at all

song performed by Eels
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Mentally Mad

[ced] with the power ammunition
[kool] bombs and hand grenades
[ced] are concealed
[kool] to blow your ? up
[ced] distort your blood vessels
[both] with treble, dissolvin human skin
Into liquid, flaming acid
As we enter your skull, cause we're mental
Mentally mad!
[ced] aiyyo keith, i know you tired of all this
("i'm tryin to tell you now!")
But tell me son, how mentally deranged are you?
[kool keith]
I'm like a sniper, when unloadin my gun
I got the suckers paranoid and they're on the run
To the next corner, while i shoot up a forest
Out of nowhere, bullets coming your way
Just duck, grab your girl and sway
I'm aimin, i'm searchin for the brain
That i need to destruct any lyric combined
As well as designed
To behold, and tell the untold
I'm crazy, destructive any radical
I love static, i got a automatic
If a sucker don't believe, touch my pocket
Padding, just feel the steel barrel
Please look out, and watch your next cookout
While i stake out, and find a person to rust
Cause i'm mental, mentally mad!
[ced gee]
Just like a timebomb, i blow up your arm
Alarm -- check it
And when a sucker ask to battle me, i'm very calm
Manipulated plans, to blow away you germs
A term, that i use like glue
To confuse, plus move you
More and more, to the level of a black hole
In space, as i, proceed to erase
And alleviate, furthermore dictate, my pace
Of pressure, which crush the human skull
Into mess, there's no contest
I'm ?, and nevertheless i'm mental
Mentally mad!
I'm mental!
Son, i'm mentally mad!
Mental!
Mentally mad!
[kool keith]
Well i'm a revolutionist, with skills to malcolm x
To improve my intellect, while another man checks

[...] Read more

song performed by Ultramagnetic Mc's
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Booby Trap

perfect beauty
from toronto
new attraction
or some heartthrob
was it all just a deathtrap,
pulled me in and then shut snaps? stupid.
did it make you
come to get me?
or am i just
going mental?
i am not a pushover.
how did i get run over? stupid.
play like a lil bitty boy. (play on)
with your grubbery toy (play on)
oh, its just a matter time (play on)
till the day im gonna get mine.
i am not a
play like
did it make you
come to get me?
or am i just
going mental? (going mental)
or am i just (or am i just)
going mental? (going mental)
or am i just (or am i just)
going mental? (going mental)
(or am i just)
(going mental)
(or am i just)
(going mental)
i am not

song performed by Weezer
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Hospital Ship

There is a green-lit hospital ship,
Green, with a crimson cross,
Lazily swaying there in the bay,
Lazily bearing my friend away,
Leaving me dull-sensed loss.
Green-lit, red-lit hospital ship,
Numb is my heart, but you carelessly dip
There in the drift of the bay.

There is a green-lit hospital ship,
Dim as the distance grows,
Speedily steaming out of the bay,
Speedily bearing my friend away
Into the orange-rose.
Green-lit, red-lit hospital ship,
Dim are my eyes, but you heedlessly slip
Out of their sight from the bay.

There was a green-lit hospital ship,
Green, with a blood-red cross,
Lazily swaying there in the bay,
But it went out with the light of the day -
Out where the white seas toss.
Green-lit, red-lit hospital ship,
Cold are my hands and trembling my lip:
Did you make home from the bay?

poem by W.H. Littlejohn
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Florence Nightingale's Crimean War Patients

The facts myth and legend.

'Florence Nightingale
laboured in Constantinople;
nursing surgical period
Crimean War casualties;
British soldiers treats
near on two weary legless years.'

November 1854 sees
Nightingale's ship arrived;
at Selimiye Barracks
in Scutari Constantinople;
modern-day Üsküdar in
present day Istanbul Turkey.

Nightingale's staff
consisting of courageous;
38 women volunteer nurses
trained by Nightingale;
could not preform miracles
wound disease death toll rises?

Death rate highest of all
hospitals in treatment region;
first winter at Scutari
4,077 soldiers there died;
ten times more soldiers
died from illnesses diseases;

than from battle wounds?

In the face of military official
administrative indifference;
Nightingale and her nurses
arrival found wounded soldiers;
badly cared for by ill equipped
overworked medical staff?

Mass infections were common
cholera dysentery typhoid;
typhus were fatal for fated many...
medicines were in short supply;
hygiene was being neglected
no equipment existed to process;

food for suffering wounded patients?

Why were conditions
at the temporary;

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Mental Depression

mental depression, aggression, obsession
mental oppression, discretion, regression
relationship, a broken vow
the wire you walk so tight
oh no, it breaks, you fall
you won't turn down
you won't turn vow
mental depression, obsession, regression
mental depression, obsession, regression
mental obsession, regression, tension
we fall down and feel it break
oh, feel a vow and feel it break
mental depression, obsession, regression
mental depression, depression, depressure
depression

song performed by Velvet Acid Christ
Added by Lucian Velea
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Mouth

You gave me this
made me give
your silver grin
still sticking it in
you have soul machine
soul machine
the longest kiss
peeling furniture days
drift madly to you
pollute my heart drain
you have broken at me
broken me
all your mental armor drags me down
nothing hurts like your mouth
your loaded smiles
pretty just desserts
wish it all for you
so much it never hurts
you have soul machine
stone at me
all your mental armor drags me down
we can't breathe when you come around
all your mental armor drags me down
nothing hurts like your mouth mouth
mouth
your mouth mouth mouth
your mouth mouth mouth
we've been missing long before
never found our way home
we've been missing long before
where we'll find our way
you gave me this
made me give
you have soul machine
broken free
all your mental armor drags me down
we can't breathe when you come around
all your mental armor drags me down
nothing hurts like your mouth mouth
mouth
your mouth mouth mouth
your mouth mouth mouth
all your mental armor
all your mental armor
and your mouth
mouth

song performed by Bush from Razorblade Suitcase
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My Clinic

My clinic is a ‘church’ in which I pray;
Not many patients flock in anyway;
Some rosaries I manage to well say;
This keeps both devils and my foes away.

The ones that come are poorer than they seem;
‘The rich in cars come only in my dream.’
Most patients brush their teeth with only neem;
My words of solace make their faces gleam.

So, can I fleece my brethren poor and ill?
Can I then hand them inflated a bill?
Can I charge them for just a sample pill?
They live despite the doctor’s care by ‘will! ’

I long to see more patients but be wise;
I dare not try to anyway entice;
My profession is sacrosanct and nice;
I cannot let it turn into a vice!

The only thing I hate is waste my time;
The other thing I hate’s a rainy clime;
But everyday, I write aplenty rime;
I never mind if I earn just a dime!

I scooter daily not more than a mile;
I feel so happy seeing patients smile;
Becoming rich is not my beloved style;
My heart abounds with joy when poor souls file.

When will my practice pick up? - I don’t know;
To God, my art of healing, I just owe;
Rewards in heaven wait for righteous, oh!
To ways God makes me walk, I say not, ‘No! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 7-10-2006

poem by John Celes
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The Pillage Hangman - Parody LONGFELLOW - The Village Blacksmith

Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The Smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can
And looks the whole world in the face
For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming furge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church
and sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach.
He hears his daughter's voice
singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.

Toiling, -rejoicing, -sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Dire Cure

"First, do no harm," the Hippocratic
Oath begins, but before she might enjoy
such balm, the docs had to harm her tumor.
It was large, rare, and so anomalous
in its behavior that at first they mis-
diagnosed it. "Your wife will die of it
within a year." But in ten days or so
I sat beside her bed with hot-and-sour
soup and heard an intern congratulate
her on her new diagnosis: a children's
cancer (doesn't that possessive break
your heart?) had possessed her. I couldn't stop
personifying it. Devious, dour,
it had a clouded heart, like Iago's.
It loved disguise. It was a garrison
in a captured city, a bad horror film
(The Blob), a stowaway, an inside job.
If I could make it be like something else,
I wouldn't have to think of it as what,
in fact, it was: part of my lovely wife.
Next, then, chemotherapy. Her hair fell
out in tufts, her color dulled, she sat laced
to bags of poison she endured somewhat
better than her cancer cells could, though not
by much. And indeed, the cancer cells waned
more slowly than the chemical "cocktails"
(one the bright color of Campari), as the chemo
nurses called them, dripped into her. There were
three hundred days of this: a week inside
the hospital and two weeks out, the fierce
elixirs percolating all the while.
She did five weeks of radiation, too,
Monday to Friday like a stupid job.
She wouldn't eat the food the hospital
wheeled in. "Pureed fish" and "minced fish" were worth,
I thought, a sharp surge of food snobbery,
but she'd grown averse to it all -- the nurses'
crepe soles' muffled squeaks along the hall,
the filtered air, the smothered urge to read,
the fear, the perky visitors, flowers
she'd not been sent when she was well, the room-
mate (what do "semiprivate" and "extra
virgin" have in common?) who died, the nights
she wept and sweated faster than the tubes
could moisten her with lurid poison.
One chemotherapy veteran, six
years in remission, chanced on her former
chemo nurse at a bus stop and threw up.
My wife's tumor has not come back.
I like to think of it in Tumor Hell

[...] Read more

poem by William Matthews
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Walked Outta Heaven

[Verse 1-Brian]
I'm rolling down a lonely highway asking god to please forgive me for messing up tha blessing he gave to me i see,
everything clearer now the nights is black as, black as its ever been
without my girl imma lose it i pray that he would just shed his grace on me, i need, just to be back with my baby
[Chorus]
feel like i just walked right out of heaven
feel like i done damn near thrown my life away, hey yea yea
Scared, just like a child thats lost at seven
dont know what to do feel like i just walk right out of heaven
[Verse 2-brandon]
see my mamma told me thats if its meant to be she'll come back and she'll forgive me and the best thing i can do it to just
let her, let her go i know, i don't wanna do it
but if i continue to push she'll just pull away and i know that in my heart its a reality i didn't treat her like she wanted
to be treated, and i hope that shes not gone for good no no
[Chorus]
feel like i just walked right out of heaven
feel like i have damn near thrown my life away, hey
Scared, just like a child thats lost at seven
dont know what to do get back right with you
feel like i just walked right out of heaven
feel like i have damn near thrown my life away, hey yea yea
like a child thats lost at 7
dont know what to do feel like i just walk right out of heaven
[Bridge 1]
cant lie waiting for you all the time, suppose to move on with my life, and girl i tried and i tried
i feel like i can't walk, i feel like i can't talk girl i dont know what to do get back right with you i feel like i just
walked outta heaven
[Bridge 2-Wingo]
if u ever loved somebody, and if you ever had somebody, but you know that you hurt that somebody, let me here you say yea
[Chorus-repeat till fade]
feel like i just walked right out of heaven
feel like i done damn near thrown my life away, hey
scared just like a child thats lost at seven
dont know what to do to get back right with you
feel like i just walked right out of heaven
feel like i done damn near thrown my life away, hey yea yea
Scared just like a child thats lost at seven
dont know what to do feel like i just walk
feel like i just walked right out of heaven
feel like i done damn near thrown my life away, hey
scared just like a child thats lost at seven
dont know what to do feel like i just walk right out of heaven
feel like i just walked right out of heaven
feel like i done damn near thrown my life away, hey yea yea
scared just like a child thats lost at seven
dont know what to do feel like i just walk right out of heaven

song performed by Jagged Edge
Added by Lucian Velea
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Canto the Second

I
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,
I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,
It mends their morals, never mind the pain:
The best of mothers and of educations
In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain,
Since, in a way that's rather of the oddest, he
Became divested of his native modesty.

II
Had he but been placed at a public school,
In the third form, or even in the fourth,
His daily task had kept his fancy cool,
At least, had he been nurtured in the north;
Spain may prove an exception to the rule,
But then exceptions always prove its worth -—
A lad of sixteen causing a divorce
Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.

III
I can't say that it puzzles me at all,
If all things be consider'd: first, there was
His lady-mother, mathematical,
A—never mind; his tutor, an old ass;
A pretty woman (that's quite natural,
Or else the thing had hardly come to pass);
A husband rather old, not much in unity
With his young wife—a time, and opportunity.

IV
Well—well, the world must turn upon its axis,
And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,
And live and die, make love and pay our taxes,
And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails;
The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us,
The priest instructs, and so our life exhales,
A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame,
Fighting, devotion, dust,—perhaps a name.

V
I said that Juan had been sent to Cadiz -—
A pretty town, I recollect it well -—
'T is there the mart of the colonial trade is
(Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel),
And such sweet girls—I mean, such graceful ladies,
Their very walk would make your bosom swell;
I can't describe it, though so much it strike,
Nor liken it—I never saw the like:

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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