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Macabre backstory takes a twist by a death and strange-things happens.  Pitting doctors of psychiatrists against each-other.  Hospital where they work becomes a dispersiionary-site.  Love, work and
"doubt" changes everything.  Human-saga versus what may seem concurring-occult.  Read "Mind".

I'm a teacher by trade...  Also a student, parent, worker and duty-master by fate.  Super-imposed on life's interstitial-relevancies.  ...I long to be a classical-music conductor seeing as, how the music I listen to consistently plays to the beat of my heart.  Perhaps, I'm too 'superstitious' to not let it play.  As the nurse brings me three small-pills, in the colors-of-passion, for me to swallow every four-hours.  The regular nurse-works every day except Sunday and Tuesday, and doesn't seem impressed by me or anyone-else.  But with luck I guess she just forges-on. I've suffered a break-down.  Now, I lie in bed most-days, looking-out my window.  Carsen Psychiatric-Center is a hospital here in Baltimore, Maryland.  ...I'm a 'Deep-thinker', by heart.  The silver-'chalice', that is my toilet bed-pan, sits on a table, glowing by room-light.  It'll be dark in an hour. Traffic picks-up on the street-on weekdays; and my sister Alice and her children, visit on Tuesdays.  So I go-on with the watching, listening and waiting-game.  Although, there seems nothing going on outside.  I use my conscience, like Albert Einstein-working on the theory of Relativity.  I hear the day-room down the hall holds groups, as the Nurses' station orients incoming-staff and visitors coming-and-going, compassionately.  Then, there are the psychiatrists, four working on-Ward.  I understand what that stands-for: it is established between superintendent, psychiatric-committee and hospital CEOs. I sometimes wonder how that works...  Yet I figure, it surrenders to antiquity.  I've been here long-enough to watch hospital letter-heads change names.  Perhaps, not a big-deal to anyone but like a living, breathing-creature it seems much like a ‘tooth‘-extraction.  I hear about it-from companions to Unit reassignment-nurses; you can be sure, it 'hurts'.  ...But I realize the depth to which people go when having M.I.-depression, bipolar, addiction, psychosis, neurosis-we are all caught in a denigrating maelstrom...  So, as we recover, we grow into reflective human-beings.  Now, let me return to my contemplation...  The mental hospital-system is 'a-Child' full of con-function, frolic and fun, which should not be taken 'too seriously'. Okay, our-team is run by a superintendent whose skills, talents and duties are still limited by technicality...  And then there is the Unit-Director he, as both foot-soldier and General, his scope is the frontlines in the telescope-of-vision in clinical-care.  Yet with this is the imperative-vision and vocalism, which are surmised.  These are imparted-areas.  One lives alongside of the ever-present pungent-smell of alcohol, rubber-gloves and bleach.  They travel these halls as we carrying-on life of the infirmed.  I've resided-here on and off, with the loss of my wife, senility and lonely retirement. Perhaps, it's okay...  I've gained friends, while recovering; from 'wife-beaters' to junkies to alcoholic-mothers we've all come to be here.  And the life of being a chronic M.I. is a challenge and a judgment by its infirming.  Some like the pampered-life.  And others, well, they go through the motions; only to face, the sincere-pain that life's 'a-bitch'.  No one feels 'sorry' for them.  Eventually they learn skills that they do what they should or being like 'Manna' to the self-starved... Once you come-in through the door-either to be checked-in or in innocence you know the world has 'two-doors'.  But if you stay-awhile, you understand, that 'end', is guided-by an 'unseen-hand'.  But my scheme-of things, is both dependent and independent by staff con-function and that's where the administrative-protocol comes-in.  ...See, I could spend my time talking about problems but if you see just a little-closer you see the life's blood of the 'clock-work', here.  Perhaps, I'm a 'Clock-smith' as well. Seeing-out in the whole situation, a wondrous-theme of ‘possibilities‘... It has been, how Mr. McBride M.D. is, and yet finesses-up 'daily' to making his jogging-run with Brutus, his Chesapeake Bay retriever.  He's a spin-off between President Clinton and Dr. Welby.  43, having a wife and daughter, a-way at Purdue.  ...In '85, he promised himself he'd send his first-child to a special University, and by '93, he graduated sixth in his-class and went into clinical-psychological.  It took me a little-time to figure-out but Sylvia, his wife, is a Real estate agent because she calls him at 4:45 p.m. every Wednesday to invite him to dinner.  Sylvia, is some 'kind-of-gal', a quiet-type, reserve and eloquent.  After the run, he calls 'Jeannie' his early-shift secretary, who’s at his office by four a.m.  So he heads home by five, which is about the time he is released from duties.  At work, with the 'glassy-eyed' rites-nurses and attendants, he only asks crucial-questions and resigns to his office until six a.m.-protocol.  Now, for Pete, the '90s were his-time.  Dr. P. was an educated-mind, thus an essentially, worry-free man.  I've watched him; consistent, determined and insightful.  Yet looks and behavior, deceive.  I wasn't the first to enter Carsen PC-MH but I was one of the 'wiser' ones.  One can stand-back and observe, with steeled emotions.  My compatriots, all seemed to 'dialed-up' a different-drummer While I sat around debilitated and with old-age, doing nothing but vegetate in 'vision'.  I could catch many of the ingénues of in-sense, integrity and instilling.  Like when I studied Buddhism at 30, I know some people had thought it ‘strange’ but me and Hillary; my one-time live-in girlfriend wanted to take the Hippy-route.  But as I said, these things didn’t come to me until I had time on my hands.  So with a bit of superior-naiveté and a-lot of ex parte, I came to this 'doubly', intended-conclusion.  People can only see so much of themselves, then it becomes second-nature...  That second-nature, is there for the whole-world to see.  Mind you, I don’t pride myself on luxury of interceding; but with a life-time, can show you how things stand-still allaying you to catch any number-of things.