Psychiatric Clinic For Bodhisattvas


I am so happy to talk about all that stuff to psychiatrist, after all. That years… experiments with psychoactive substances, broken relationship, internal conflicts, hard life that I go through… but I am still so closed, so stone-hearted — I locked myself from external emotions to hide, for protection, to take a refuge. Eternal escapism? Oh no, not anymore. I go wild, go alone through journeys, and even if there is no one at some moments — to hug, to understand — I go on, step by step. I have seen circles of hell — homeless people, junkies, refugees near me — all kinds of people. We can not understand others without actually living their life experiences — so I understand so much all homeless, young rebels, refugees, people in deep poverty, sex workers (I was around them when I was in desperate need for money to survive in Saint Petersburg several years ago, I did spread flyers with phone numbers… oh, it was cold Russian winter of 25 degrees below zero level, for five months). Yes, Pilgrimbook is kind of confession for my sins also… Psychiatry? What can I say?
— My father, he is Freemason…
— Sorry… mine or yours?
Real conversation here in mental hospital, where I am that one who is unsure and can guess that it is about her own father. Funny? Yes, it is. I should write more from here, from psychiatric clinic, but for now — let me share with you some writings what describe my dreams, from that Diary what I recommend you to have and where to write down your own… as example, hm. See you, lovely beings…

I have seen my birthday in dreams, with getting Chaos Magick box, there was picture of Varg Vikernes there inside. Talking about buying a flat for me in Königsberg, not so far from Mari’s place. Talking to Mari, returning back to female living.

I’ve seen Ole in my dreams, together with relocation to new place. Visited parents’ house once more, where they accepted me, we talked and discussed life. I was in squat, where there was a lot of fresh yummy bakery and anarchists around, we smiled to each other and even talked a bit, but I kept the distance. Some “terrorists” did catch me and kept me in their base, I met some of their leaders. They told me that they are Basques’ White Power force. I was afraid to laugh at the portrait of their leader in the base. They looked as some personalities from my past, probably from cooking school in Königsberg.

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