Reading Derrida From The Gutter

The Staves on Which the Subject Unfolds the Chains of His Discourse

We took over an abandoned wing in the hospital, which they had outgrown and no longer needed. It was by default filled with old equipment and other paraphernalia. I used to be the resident psychiatrist here before deciding to... venture out on my own, but I left on good terms, so getting the director to agree was easy enough as long as I also agreed to a few things -- and of course the hospital would take credit as the institution who sanctioned the project if anything proved viable.

We started by moving all the old equipment to one side of the wing, scrubbed the walls, cleaned the floors, and replaced every lightbulb. We wanted to make sure everything was well-lit. Cameras were installed throughout the wing and fed to the 'surveillance room,' where we stacked a wall of monitors, one for each camera. It was part of the agreement, yes (the director wanted to know everything) but it was also for security purposes and some form of ongoing documentation. Nothing will go unnoticed. Everything will be recorded. If the research is to benefit anyone, then there mustn't be a gap for error. The scientific community won't laugh at us for negligence or doctoring facts. The research has been controversial enough.

We successfully created a more than satisfactory work environment, going so far as to hang safety posters in the breakroom and what to do in case of an emergency, but we took special care in arranging 'the room.' First, we sealed it. There can't be any outside stimuli unless we allow it. It has to be airtight. Oxygen will be pumped in through small tubes, as well as any necessary fragrances.

Acoustic paneling was hung on the walls over layers of insulation, adjustable lights for color temperature, and mini speakers for ambience -- and it all had to appear invisible, except for the desk where the subject works and records his experience. Whatever happens, it must look like it comes from somewhere other.

We brought in a famous artist, who had been sworn to secrecy. Fortunately he believed in what we were doing. He painted elaborate sigils on a transparent film that lit up like a grid. These are our babies and the heart of the research. We connected them to a panel located in the 'projection room,' where all activity involving the room is be handled, and then placed them around the walls. Whoever is in the projection room will have control over the sigils -- where they appear, when, what color and brightness, etc...

A Tear In the Veil

It's been holding its breath waiting this whole time, and now --
It blasts my chest. A soul hasn't touched here since God knows. Tears burn my eyes.

Half-blind, I grope my way through this mire -- this maw. Porous walls like ectoplasm bellow. A strange, threatening exhale fills the air with inviolable voice -- icy, void of life.

Swallowed thick is the darkness now -- and the silence. My thoughts become much too loud. Figures swarm in a halo around my head, flying on swollen wings. When the force of its breath grows, then so will they, and be loosed onto the world.

I stepped back and looked at what we had accomplished. We had succeeded in transforming this sterile place into what I can only describe as a nomadic church. A beautiful design.