Wednesday, 19 November 2014

How to survive

Today I have decided to inform everyone on how to survive in Mirabili.
First thing you have to do is forget everything you once knew about latin. Not only will this assist when ignoring the words of the priest during the mandatory mass that is held every Sunday. The mass where we are told that all we must do to be healed of all that ails us is to believe in a man who lives in the sky and controls all our lives. It will also enable you to ignore the humour that is presented by the amusing contrast between the name of this place and what it actually is.

Secondly you should either take the pills they give you, or become adept at slight of hand and pocketing them to be disposed of later. If you resist, or are caught disposing of them then you will be placed in the dark box, and mother will treat you to the best of her abilities. Of course her abilities are all centred around the administration of medicine through any means necessary and in restraining troubled patients. It took me many encounters which resulted in my brain feeing fuzzy and my body hurting before I learned how to hide the poisons and dispose of them without being caught.

The next thing you must become adept at is lying. This not only helps when you have to convince the doctors that you are feeling fine and do not need more medicine, but also when one of the other patients insists on talking to you about nothing at all. For example the only thing one can do when the Mad Hatter decides to talk to you for hours about hats is either to actually listen and die from boredom, pretend to be dead already, actually care about hats, or my preferred option, pretend that you have ran out of medication and no longer speak english. Although you may be reported to the Dormouse, it is better to lie to him more than it is to listen to a madwoman talk about hats for days.

Finally you should find a kindly nurse and make sure to associate with them, I have only been able to find one who actually seems to be willing to talk to a phoenix like me. I call her the Gryphon and she is very kind. You should also find a nurse who will be friendly towards you, but not her, she is mine.

Now that you have been told this you should be able to survive here, as long as you do not break any of the secret rules of survival, but I can not tell you about those. The Dormouse is quite clear on the subject of creating militias and arson, and because of that there are too many other rules to list. Since the nurses tell you those rules I do not think it is the best use of my time to tell you about these rules.

Physician's notes
Alice has been cooperating with treatments recently and seems to be on the mend. She is no longer fighting against taking her medicines and has not had to go to the monitoring ward for several days now. Her kitten is growing, and she is letting one of the younger female nurses help her with some parts of the care of the kitten. I will keep monitoring the situation, but I am hoping for Alice to calm more so we do not have to worry about adjusting her medications as much.

Friday, 14 November 2014


What the cat thinks about the physician's most recent advice is quite clear indeed.

Monday, 3 November 2014

My favourite poems part one

Sekhmet the Lion-headed Goddess of War

Written by: Margaret Atwood 
He was the sort of man
who wouldn't hurt a fly.
Many flies are now alive
while he is not.

He was not my patron.

He preferred full granaries, I battle.

My roar meant slaughter.

Yet here we are together
in the same museum.

That's not what I see, though, the fitful
crowds of staring children
learning the lesson of multi-
cultural obliteration, sic transit
and so on.

I see the temple where I was born
or built, where I held power.

I see the desert beyond,
where the hot conical tombs, that look
from a distance, frankly, like dunces' hats,
hide my jokes: the dried-out flesh
and bones, the wooden boats
in which the dead sail endlessly
in no direction.

What did you expect from gods
with animal heads?
Though come to think of it
the ones made later, who were fully human
were not such good news either.

Favour me and give me riches,
destroy my enemies.

That seems to be the gist.

Oh yes: And save me from death.

In return we're given blood
and bread, flowers and prayer,
and lip service.

Maybe there's something in all of this
I missed.
 But if it's selfless
love you're looking for,
you've got the wrong goddess.

I just sit where I'm put, composed
of stone and wishful thinking:
that the deity who kills for pleasure
will also heal,
that in the midst of your nightmare,
the final one, a kind lion
will come with bandages in her mouth
and the soft body of a woman,
and lick you clean of fever,
and pick your soul up gently by the nape of the neck
and caress you into darkness and paradise.

Alice's notes
I have discovered that there is a book of poetry that was snuck in by one of the other patents here. They have since succumbed to the influences of the cards and moved off to the secure wing so I now own this novel. Sneaking into their room and stealing an item is basically the same as owning it in the first place anyways. I am going to share my favourites to all of you out there, the Dormouse says that you do not exist and that I am just talking to thin air, but I know you are out there, as does the Cheshire Cat. I hope that you will enjoy these as much as I do, and I will try to read you more whenever I find a good one.
I particularly enjoy the mythological basis for this poem. In Egyptian mythology the goddess Sekhmet was both a fierce warrior, as well as a healer. She had blood on her hands, yet she is also able to heal others. I think she was the one who made the Phoenix possible, the one who healed as well as the one who kills. She could have been the one who set the fire that killed my father, as well as the one who allowed my mind to heal so I did not care for him once he was dead.

Friday, 31 October 2014


The Phoenix

My father sat me down a long time ago and told me "Alice, girls are flowers. They are delicate and their only hope to survive is to fit in. You can not stand against men you are only going to get hurt." I believed him and did as I was told, I was a good little girl. I dressed in the clothes he provided, I cleaned, and I cooked, and I showed all men the respect they deserved. 
As the years went by his demands increased, he wanted me to do what needed to be done as my mother stayed in bed carrying yet another one of his children. She was also a good girl, she tried to please him, but she was unable to ever give him a son, or even a child who survived long enough to be born. From her I learned exactly how delicate girls are, she was always pale and tired, her belly swollen with child more often than it was not. These children never survived and my father blamed her delicacy for it. He believed that her inability to carry a healthy child was a disobedience which he punished. Every child she lost resulted in pain until father could once again see her belly swell with another one of his parasites. 
I learned then that to protect myself I had to shut down, I could no longer feel for I did not have time to be anything other than the one who did womanly tasks as my mother stayed in bed too weak to do anything other than sometimes rise to use the chamber pot. 
Then one day it all changed, father came home and yelled the same thing he always did. "Alice, where is my supper?"  I told him that I was just finishing it and he swore at me, stepping forward with a match which he lit and brought up to light his pipe before shaking it out. For once he did not bring the hot ember to my skin, instead choosing to slam a callused palm into my shoulder. The smell of alcohol on his breath was more heavy than it had been the day before, and his hand shook as he brought the pipe to his lips probably thinking of hitting me again. He sat on his chair and pulled out the newspaper as I retreat to the kitchen, both to finish cooking his supper and to avoid his wrath. I shake a small amount of white powder into the beer he always had with his supper, the crushed sleeping pill mixing with the foam and becoming imperceptible. If he just slept then I could have some rest, I could clean the house without having to dodge his blows if he took offence to how I polished the silverware.
He grunted as I placed the meal in front of him, putting his pipe to the side for a moment as he devoured the small portion like an animal and drank his beer as if his life depended on him finishing it in mere seconds. He put the pipe back into his mouth and opened the newspaper once more. I retreated once more to the kitchen with the used dishes, taking out the small stale roll that would serve as my own supper and nibbled on the end knowing that it had to last for a few more days. It was better to feed my father the best food, if not his anger would be even worse. I begin to work on the dishes as I heard my father start snoring, good the pills worked and I will be able to have some measure of peace tonight.
I finish with the cutlery before noticing that there is the smell of smoke in the air, the chimney must be blocked again, it is far too dirty but my father is unwilling to get it cleaned, after all that would take away some of his beer money. I put away the final fork before going out to begin to clean the foyer, my father never takes off his boots and tracks dirt across the house. I stop as I exit the room and a fierce heat engulfs me, there is a rather large fire next to my father's still body, he must not have put down his pipe before falling asleep and the newspaper had served as an excellent piece of tinder. The alcohol that he always spills on himself did not help either, as his clothes were covered in thick flames. 
I run upstairs to my mother's room hoping to be able to get her out. "Mother, we have to get out of here.There is no time to explain." I tell her, she is too weak and tired to be able to think clearly, she has not been able to think fast on the best of days and today is no exception as she simply obeys without question. I help her get out of her bed, her belly swollen with another unwanted child who was draining her energy like they all do. We reach the  stairs before she begins coughing, her fragile lungs overwhelmed by the heat and the smoke. We get partway down the stairs before my mother's leg gives out, her bones are so very brittle from the child within. I try to steady her, but she falls down the steep steps barely having the breath to scream. I scramble down to her and try to help her up, but she is not responding to my actions. I grab her arm and begin to pull her down the hallway to the door as flames lick against my skin. I finally reach the door after what seems like an eternity of pain and pulling, and I try to lift my mother's body out onto the street. I pull for a long moment before realizing that I can not manage to get her over the doorstep because her dress is caught under a fallen piece of timber and all I can do is rip at her dress. After a moment of frantic scrambling the worn fabric of her nightgown tears and I can pull her out onto the street. I kneel down next to my mother and realize that all my work was for nothing, she was already dead and it was my fault for trying to escape my father's wrath for a night. 
A man stops next to me and I notice that there are other men trying to put out the blazing inferno that was the only home that I ever knew. The home that seemed to me to be better than the fires of hell that my father told me I would experience if I did not do as he told me had shown its true nature as another part of hell, a hell with only one demon, one victim, and the child born from it. The man looks down at my mother and places his hand on her in an attempt to find some sign of life. He sighs as he finds none and looks at me. "I am sorry child, but she is with god now. As is the babe she was carrying." He says as he touches her eyes to close them. "But she is in a better place, one where she can be with her husband." He continues thinking I already knew that my father had also died. 
I look up at him my eyes filled with tears from the smoke. "My father is dead?" I ask him and he confirms it, speaking gently as if it might upset me, but all I can think about is the fact that I am free of him. 
It is then that I realize that girls are not delicate flowers, or if they are I am not a girl. I am a phoenix, I went through that fire and I died. I am not my father's daughter for he is dead and with him his child. I am my mother's daughter, I died with her and have been reborn through fire. The man looks at me as I begin to laugh. "He is dead." I shout triumphantly at the sky. "The red queen has been reborn through fire, and the Executioner is dead." I look at the body that used to contain my mother and smile. "And she is free, she is not with my father. He is with the parasites he put within her and they are killing them like they did her." I notice the burns along much of my skin and smile wider even though it pains me to open my mouth. "Look at the fire that wanted to escape." I say before turning to the man. "I am clean, the house is clean, and my mother is clean." 
The man says nothing, or if he did the sound of my own mind drowned him out. I smile as widely as I can before sitting down to watch the fire that had killed me, and that had given birth to me once more.

Friday, 24 October 2014

Letter to Lewis Carroll

Alice Liddell
Room 7(Exactly where you left me)
You monster

Mr L. Carrol (The betrayer)
4 Horseman's way
Apartment building 13

Dear Mr Carrol
The Dormouse said that I should send you a letter to apologize for my previous behaviour. I am not going to do that, it is a stupid idea proposed by a stupid man. Instead I am going to tell you exactly why I will never forgive you and people like you.
Firstly you are a man, and you seem to think like all men do and assume that as a woman I should be happy to be used by you for whatever you want to do. That is not acceptable at all, I am not going to be one of you little toys, and I am not going to let you use me. 
Secondly you are a betrayer of trusts, I told you about what I go through because you said that you understand and that you wished to learn what I thought about daily in hopes of helping other people. I  was reluctant to trust you, after all you had done many things to me to make me wonder if you have honour, but you were gentler than many of the male nurses so I thought that perhaps if I told you about these things you would be satisfied. It was not so, you were just as much of a man as the other ones were and it is not really surprising when I look back upon it.
Thirdly when you had betrayed me further and written that horrid mess you call a book you had come to me as if for approval. You brought me a copy of your little leather bound book as if you wanted me to be happy about it, but there was no reason for me to be content with your actions, you just killed my monsters and replaced them with candy floss constructs without any menace at all.
Finally you talked to the Dormouse as if it was my fault that I was angry at you and that it was not at all due to your betrayal, and you watched as they called Mother to deal with me grinning all the while. You are not worthy of any forgiveness, not from a sane person, and especially not from me.
With sincerest hatred

Physician's notes
Alice has written yet another note to Mr Carroll, I do not think she is aware of the fact that we do not send these correspondences to him. It is not acceptable to send angry letters from a madwoman to a man of Mr Carroll's position, especially considering the fact that he is one of our most generous benefactors. I have stopped reading these notes at this point and just burn them so that they can not bother anyone ever again. 

Wednesday, 8 October 2014

The Hospital Times

The Hospital Times

Alice's continuing madness
By Maddison Hatcher
Our most recent reports have indicated Alice is in a frenzy of recruitment, the mice that frequent this humble establishment have been vanishing left and right, as has the paper usually found in the office printer. It is suspected that she is making hats for the mice and that they are quite tasteful. She is not taking the advice from some more seasoned hat making professionals like she should, but it is difficult to mess up when using paper and not soaking leather in mercury. Her actions are all obviously signs of the impending war, and it is doubtful that any of us are safe. After all once her caterpillars undergo metamorphosis she would be capable of aerial attacks and none of us will be safe.  Now this is all I will be able to write today, we are running out of paper to print on, and Alice is looking at my paper menacingly as if she is already planning what sort of horrid hat to make from it. This is a threat to journalism, as well as the hygiene in the kitchen, and I hope this war is soon over.

Monday, 29 September 2014

My life

My life

calm only