Author : KURNIAWAN, MARIO

Sanatorium di Batu ini merupakan salah satu fasilitas pengobatan dan perawatan terhadap penyakit TBC. Fasilitas yang direncanakan meliputi unit rawat jalan, unit rawat inap, Unit Gawat Darurat, unit operasi dan ICU, administrasi, serta fasilitas pendukung untuk dokter dan perawat berupa penginapan dan asrama. Karena berangkat dari perilaku penghuni baik itu pasien, pengunjung, maupun staf, maka konsep perancangan mengacu pada “Isolasi”. Isolasi pada pasien secara fisik karena menular dan di satu sisi kita harus mendukungnya dengan tidak mengisolasi secara psikologis. Untuk itu maka konsep “Privasi” bagi setiap pengguna sanatorium ini diterapkan pada rancangan. Bangunan direncanakan agar setiap pengguna mencapai privasinya, dan sanatorium ini sebagai tempat “Isolasi” yang “Tidak Terisolasi “.

Keyword : sanatorium, isolated, not isolated, privacy, health facilities

Sumber : http://repository.petra.ac.id/3518/

Hello! Sorry I haven’t reviewed this earlier. I’ve been very busy with other things lately.

Anyway, Plastic Tree’s newest single, Sanatorium, is a great addition to their discography. It was released October 28, 2009.

The cover for this looks like something that you’d find in a church. Ryutaro looks like L from the anime/manga Death Note in the other versions of the cover. It’s actually pretty cool how he looks exactly like him!

Sanatorium starts out with a soft guitar intro before Ryutaro sings. He uses soft, breathy vocals throughout the song. His melodic line reminds me of their single, Replay/Dolly. But rather than having heavy guitar parts they stay calm and their harmonies produce a very soothing feeling. The bass lines are easy to hear and really add to the atmosphere that the rest of the band is making. This song was just awesome and is very pleasing to the ears.

The B side of this single was Pied Piper. It starts off with an electric guitar pumping out chords and quickly becomes more complex as the rest of the band enters. It’s strange but although Ryutaro uses a pretty soft style of singing, it fits perfectly with the rest of the music. Pied Piper is a straightforward song and is a nice song to start the day off with! Relaxed, but always moving. Great job, Plastic Tree!

Rating: 9/10

Track List

1.)    Sanatorium

2.)    Pied Piper

3.)    Sanatorium (Instrumental)

4.)    Pied Piper (Instrumental)

by Jason Aaron (writer), Yanick Paquette (pencils), Michel Lacombe (inks), Nathan Fairbairn (colors), and Cory Petit (letters)

The Story: Dr. Rot attempts to release the animal inside Logan.

What’s Good: Last month’s issue was fantastic and this month is basically just more of a good thing.  Aaron’s “Insane in the Brain” arc continues to be a fantastic horror comic; it’s twisted, creepy, and shockingly gory for a mainstream Marvel comic.

Dr. Rot continues to be an incredibly strong character.  This month, his gleeful insanity is all the more enjoyable, as he has a run-in with some ordinary Mafia thugs.  What ensues is a delightful collision of worlds, where contact with the more mundane criminal only makes Rot appear all the more outrageous.  Also, if that female mask Rot wore last month wasn’t bad enough, this time Rot actually has it adopt its own personality, as he talks to himself in a mirror.  I couldn’t figure out whether I wanted to laugh or take a shower after reading that.

I suppose that that’s really indicative of how this issue’s build upon last month’s groundwork: it just seems that little bit more outrageous.  Where last month saw a bloody sack of brains, this one sees Rot running around with cleavers, a man with his hands removed, and an all-out chainsaw massacre.  Where last month had more of a “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” feel, this month continues that, but adds a strong dash of grindhouse, splatter-horror into the mix.  Indeed, when we enter Rot’s mad scientist lab and he goes plucking brains, it certainly feels like something out of a thirty year old horror flick.  It’s sensationalist, bloody, and delightfully campy.

On art, Yanick Paquette continues to put out incredibly pleasing work.  His character models remain fantastic.  I also enjoyed how most of the frames featuring Rot have his eyes shaded in.  The character’s only having shadowy black pits for eyes is definitely disquieting.  Paquette also extends his range a bit this month, drawing Wolverine’s nightmares in a completely different style, one that’s more blurred, painted, and hellish.  It’s a perfect juxtaposition to the rest of the comic and is suitably horrifying.  Colorist Nathan Fairbairn also continues to have a great effect on Paquette’s work, giving Wolverine’s “treatment” scenes in particular a very well-lit, even fluorescent, clinical feel.

All told, the book hits all the same right notes it hit last month.  While it shows more this month, using the suspense of the page-turn to the maximum, it still also plays up what we can’t see.  Certain areas remain cordoned off, and as demonstrated by the bandaged nurse this month, that’s often the worst part.

What’s Not So Good: Admittedly, much of the ground covered plot-wise is the same stuff we went over last month.  For instance, Wolverine repeats that he doesn’t know where he is or what his name is.  He stated those same lines through monologue a bit last month, but when he does so a few more times this month, it does become noticeable.   At one point, Wolverine’s continued restating of this existential dilemma made me wonder whether some of the internal monologue was even necessary, if it’s only there to echo what we’ve heard several times already.

The big ending this month does help, but there is a slight sense of water treading through some parts of this issue.  That said, I don’t suspect it will greatly bother anyone with a decent attention span.

Conclusion: Still incredibly experimental and creative, with a cool grindhouse flavor added in, this one’s a keeper.

Grade: A-

-Alex Evans

Sanatorium

Psycho Symphony

Necroville

Krepuskul

Loudrage

Crystal

Horrify

…

sambata 21 noiembrie

Roland Garros

orele 18.00

Bilet: 15 lei

An einem der letzten Augusttage besuchte ich Professor Edelgut im Sanatorium, in das er nach seinem Hirnschlag gebracht wurde. Die, “Sonnenblick” genannte, Anstalt war eine jener Einrichtungen, in die man von seinen zukünftigen Erben zum Sterben verfrachtet wird, ihnen aber nicht böse sein darf, weil man es schließlich so nett und schön hat.
Nach einer kurzen Fahrt, in der Taxe, durch ein kleines Wäldchen, war ich bereits auf dem Gelände des Sanatoriums. Weite Grünflächen, auf denen vereinzelt Eichen Schatten spendeten. Ein Teich, dahinter der beigefarbene Anstaltsbau. “Nett, wirklich nett.”, dachte ich bei mir und erschauderte bei dem Gedanken, daß man einen solch herausragenden Wissenschaflter, in diese öffentlich-rechtliches Vormittagsprogramm-Idylle gesteckt hatte.
“Ungewöhnlicher Name! Was machen sie eigentlich beruflich, Herr M.?” “Assistent. Ich sagte ihnen doch, ich bin auf Wunsch des Professors hier.” Ich schwitzte in Strömen, wie immer bei solch peinlichen Befragungen, als die Dame an der Rezeption mich ausquetschte. “Sie müssen verstehen, wir sind hier sehr auf das Wohl unserer Patienten bedacht.”
Das waren sie wirklich wie ich mich kurze Zeit später selbst überzeugen konnte. Pflegerin Irma brachte mich zum Professor, der im Anstaltsgarten unter einer der Eichen saß, einen halb aufgegessenen Kuchen und eine leere Champagnerflasche vor sich auf dem Tisch, dazu zwei Gläser eines halb gefüllt, das andere leer, neben sich ein Sektkühler, in dem sich eine weitere Flasche Champagner befand. Er trug einen braungestreiften Pyjama. Edelgut summte “Hoch auf dem gelben Wagen”.
“Hier für sie. Lassen sie mich einige Zeit allein mit dem Professor.”, sagte ich und wollte Irma einen 50er zustecken. Sie brach mir fast die Hand und entgegnete:”Behalten sie den, sonst können sie sich doch nicht mal das Taxi nach Hause leisten.” Ein funkelnder Blick, ich deutete ihn als Zeichen der Sympathie. Dann ging sie weg, zu einem der anderen Patienten, die sich im Garten befanden.
“Hugo, alter Schwerenöter, schön, daß sie es geschafft haben.”, lallte der Professor, vom Alkohol angeschlagen, vom Hirnschlag halbseitig gelähmt. Mit zittrigen Händen reichte er mir das leere Glas. Ich schenkte uns beiden ein und schnitt ein Stück Kuchen für mich. Ich beneidete den Professor. Der Kuchen war gut. “Selbstgebacken?”, fragte ich schmatzend. “Ja, von meiner nichtsnutzigen Nichte. Die hab ich heut Morgen davon gejagt. Elende Bande.” Er spuckte beim Sprechen, Speichelreste in den Mundwinkeln. “Hören sie, Hugo, sie sind nicht hier um über meine Verwandten zu quasseln. Mein Gehirnschlag hat mir die Augen geöffnet. Ich werde ihnen meine neuste Erkenntnis verraten: Es gibt Paralleluniversen!”. Der Professor schrie. Pflegerin Irma lukte zu uns rüber. “Ich muss leise sein, sonst gibt’s wieder Ärger. Die Wahrheit wird hier nicht geschätzt.”, beruhigte sich Edelgut selbst. Ich aß Kuchen.
“Wir können sie sogar betreten, anschauen, ihr Wissen nutzen.”, fuhr er fort. “Das Werkzeug dafür sind Träume. Im Traum liegt die Macht!”. Er schrie wieder. Irma kam herüber. “Wenn jetzt nicht augenblicklich Ruhe einkehrt werf ich sie raus!”, schnauzte sie in meine Richtung. Ich konnte nichts antworten. Ich hatte gerade einen weiteren Bissen Kuchen genommen und mit Champagner nachgespült. Der köstliche Brei raubte mir die Fähigkeit zu sprechen. Irma ging wieder weg.
Der Professor nahm seine Rede wieder auf: “Sehen sie, ich habe diese Pillen entwickelt, mit denen können sie sich in den gamma-Schlaf versetzen,”, er reichte mir eine Pillendose,”in diesem Zustand sehen sie klar, was auf der anderen Seite vor sich geht. Es gibt nur eine Haken, sobald man die Anderen gesehen hat, wird deren Universum unwiederbringlich zerstört. Aber was kümmert das uns! Für die Wissenschaft! Außerdem droht uns keine Gefahr solange die nicht auch diese Pillen entwickeln!”. Er wurde wieder laut.
Irma kam wieder. Dieses Mal sagte sie nichts, sondern packte mich sofort am Arm und zog mich aus dem Stuhl, schleifte mich den kompletten Weg zum Eingangstor.
“Denken sie daran Träume sind ein Fenster in andere Universen!”, schrie der Professor mir noch nach.
2 Tage später wachte ich zu Hause auf. Ohne Erinnerung, die leere Pillendose neben meinem Kopf.

Photo prise lors de la sortie hôpital désaffecté avec Marco

「サナトリウム」
Plastic Tree

目を閉じて、いろんな君、瞳の奥におさめました。
微熱みたく気づかないままで、恋は虫の息です。

こゝろ閉じて、いろんな僕、胸の中に溶かしました。
禁じられた遊びで燃やせば　孤独ってきれいな色。

回れ、止まらないレコード。針の先踊るは記憶。
うれしいくるしい、似てる呪文だ。辿れない時間へ、あと何センチ?

絡めた指をほどいていく、
ちいさくサヨナラ唱えるように。
はぐれた君の名を告げても、
戻らない世界の決まり。

風立ちぬ、甘い屑が数えきれず散らかりそう。
かき集めてパズルを作れば、恋も素敵なこと。

たくさんの光の中で、いくつも会えていたっけ。
合言葉だけなくさないで。巡り逢うところへ、あと何光年?

目眩で、夢の花開けば、
ゆっくりサヨナラ唱えるようで。
ざわめき。胸を囲まれたら、
何処にも行けないままで。

花束の花がひとつずつ、
枯れてくのを眺めているような。
触れないことにただ気づいて、
待ちこがれた涙が出た。

神様に嘘をついて、引き換えにさ、何もらったの?
指の隙間滑り落ちたのは、いつの日のことでしょう。

絡めた指をほどいていく、
ちいさくサヨナラ唱えた、声。
はぐれた君の名を呼んでも、
帰れない世界の決まり。

目醒めて、夢の花散らばれ。
愁しみも静かに、サナトリウム　————　。
ざわめき。　胸を埋めつくして、
此処から動けないままで。
何処にも行けないのは「こゝろ」
其処にいた君が笑うの。

サナトリウムで、サナトリウムで。 サナトリウムで。

~♦~

‘Sanatorium’
by Plastic Tree

I closed my eyes, suppressed the various images of you in the depths of my pupils.
Gone unnoticed like a slight fever, love is at its faint, dying breaths.

I closed my Heart, dissolved the various sides of me inside my chest.
If I burn with passion at forbidden play then solitude is a lovely colour.

Spin round, never-ending record.  Memory dances at the tip of the needle.
A spell resembling joyful-painful.  How many centimeters are left to the time I cannot trace?

Entwined fingers came undone,
as if softly reciting a GOODBYE.
Even if I announce the name of you who’s gone astray,
that you won’t return is just the way of the world.

Even without a gust of wind, this naive junk seems about to be strewn all over to no end.*
If I gather it up and make a puzzle, love is a wonderful thing.

Amid so many lights, how many times was it that we were able to meet?
Just don’t lose the password.  How many light years until the place where we’ll happen to meet again?

If the flowers of my dreams open up in the dizziness,
it seems they’ll slowly recite a GOODBYE.
Buzzing.  If my heart is surrounded,
I’ll be stuck unable to go anywhere.

As if watching a bouquet of flowers
withering away one by one.
Merely realizing what I cannot touch,
tears from waiting longingly came out.

I lied to God, and in return, what did I receive?
What slipped from between the gaps in my fingers
was probably something for someday to come.

Entwined fingers came undone,
a voice softly recited a GOODBYE.
Even if I call out the name of you who’s gone astray,
that you won’t come back is just the way of the world.

I awaken, the flowers of my dreams are scattered about.
Silently the misery too, sanatorium————.
Buzzing.  If my heart is stifled,
I’ll be stuck unable to move from here.
What’s stuck unable to go anywhere is “my Heart”
Will you who were there laugh?

In a sanatorium, a sanatorium. In a sanatorium.

* This word for “junk” means rubbish or scrap but can also be interpreted as a useless/worthless person.

Guilt! Guilt, I say!

Since moving to this godforsaken place, I have developed a habit that has come back to dog ear me in the ass on the way out. I suppose it was only natural that having lived for so long in semi-claustrophobic Japan, I would find ways to welcome the spatial glut of North America.

I could use the term bibliophile, but for its recent twee and self-congratulatory associations. It’s more that I have a ridiculously inflated idea of how much I can read given a limited amount of time. With books you can always fool yourself, like those poor addled multi-taskers, that there’s no need to filter. It’s all relevant.

Well, I can still fool myself a little while longer. In California, there is little employment. Let’s rejoice about this for once and take advantage of the time. I’m going to make up a list of books I hope to take a chunk ou t of before leaving. I’ll update it each time I finish one on the list. Let’s see how far I can get.

First off, The Magic Mountain. I’m getting close to the end of this one. Why did I buy this? Well, as doomed climbers say about real mountains, it was there — and only a dollar.

But there’s another story. A few, quite a few years back, I worked with an elderly Swiss gentleman, very dour and ascetic, whom I always overheard praising the strength of the mighty cockroach in the next cubicle. Usually he did this to elderly Japanese salarymen, who in beginner’s English, would fumble over the “r” in roach, and blink at him in polite discomfort.
This gentleman, Hans, we’ll call him, once descended upon me in the lobby and asked if I’d ever read “Die Zauberberg,” which with my bad ears and undergrad German, translated as “The Clean Hill.”

“No,” he snapped, “The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann.”

Now Mann I knew. I love Death in Venice, and even more so, Visconti’s adaptation of same with its garish colors and cackling plague infested minstrels. At that time, however, the only thing I knew about The Magic Mountain was that it was one of those reading rites of passage, 800 lurid pages of mottled lungs and five course meals served with sherry in fine crystal.

Hans, noting the hint of recognition in my face, went on with a sense of mission: “My father was a doctor up in Davos. He tended to many of those patients. I spent my entire boyhood there.”

He continued to tell me how as a boy, he would run about the sanatorium grounds, often disturbing the lavish meals of the patients, many of whom he recognized when reading Mann’s book.

Not reading The Magic Mountain would be a lost opportunity personally equivalent to Castorp’s lost years. Yet, as I do I find myself scouring the pages, and going over the features of every small or slightly youngish character to appear. I can’t help but expect that each time Herr Settembrini and Naphta break out into another religious and philosophical spat that they’ll be cut off by a gaunt, bespectacled boy, who will shake his head and tell them that none of it matters.

Only the cockroaches will survive.

coridorul spitalului, rasuna de pasii ce-i faceam.

morfina! mai multa morfina!

sunet stresant, ce se repeta tumultuos de enervant.

sa nu mai simt durerea asta penibila

pe langa usile saloanelor, ce odihnesc bolnavii, trec distant.

morfina! mai vreau morfina!

desi, durerea lor razbate in suspine ce-mi desfac...

sa nu mai simt durerea asta volatila.

... nevoile, dorintele, sperantele, fricile,

toate amsetcate-n toate perfuziile

ce ma trag violent spre viata 

cand eu doream sa dorm.

cattedra di orrore © Sven Fennema

…continuation from last post

The second location was on my list of things to do because what I had seen of it reminded me of Beeltiz Heilstätten (Beelitz & Elstal), up to date one of my favorite locations visited. The beautiful tiles and long halls. The sereneness. This place is also very nice, and did have a bit of the Beelitz feel to it, but in a different way. This time we where accompanied by Anna Bas Backer and her friend form Argentina. Anna is an old colleague of mine who is now part of our little explorer nerd group . Anyways, here are tha last photo’s yo.

Pentacon six TL, FujiChrome Provia400

Pentacon six TL, FujiChrome Provia400

Pentacon six TL, FujiChrome Provia400

Pentacon six TL, FujiChrome Provia400

Pentacon six TL, FujiChrome Provia400

Pentacon six TL, FujiChrome Provia400

Pentacon six TL, FujiChrome Provia400

Eastern germany, 2008

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These are more photos taken on the germany-trip I was talking about earlier in the posts Sleeping with Lenin & Sanatorium S. The Urbexweekender in august 2008. In the mean time I’ve had another one of these weekends, august 2009, but I’m just a bit slow on my scanning and posting material… So your gonna have to bear with me, and read stuff that happened ages ago .

These are the last photos form locations in eastern Germany from that weekend. The first location is a bit of a lucky shot. My friend martino was scanning through google earth in preparation for our weekend, looking for locations. Found some rooftops with black spots on it and named it Bingo. We drove there and it turned out to be a massive location in the middle of a forest next to this beautiful lake. Well done Martino!

Pentacon six TL, Kodak EktaChrome E100VS

Pentacon six TL, Kodak EktaChrome E100VS

Pentacon six TL, Kodak EktaChrome E100VS

Continues in next post…

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Richtig gelesen und gesehen – das ist das bekannte Gebäude der berühmten 80er-Jahre TV-Serie Die Schwarzwaldklinik. Leider hatte ich an diesem Tag nur ein iPhone als Kamera zur Hand, deswegen sind die Bilder nicht wirklich optimal.

Wo: Glottertal, Deutschland
Wann: September 2009
Kamera: Apple iPhone
Nachbearbeitet: Nein

One half of one building at an otherwise functioning psychiatric and epileptic hospital… at least it wasn’t a total loss of a morning!

Stunningly beautiful spaces created by a lone sanatorium, almost completely enclosed with metal screens.

Une petite nouvelle du sanatorium allemand, voici un des salles de “bains”. Les lumières dans cette pièce étaient vraiment superbes et les couleurs très agréables elles aussi. Et des textures réellement impressionnantes, toutes ces peintures craquelées! Le calme ambiant, vraiment l’une des plus belles friches que j’ai faite. Bientôt de nouvelles photos de ce spots et d’autres aussi, le retard s’accumulant sur ce que j’ai a traiter et poster… Et bientôt le site aussi, je vais bientôt pouvoir me pencher sur mon propre portfolio!

En attendant, la petite dernière:

http://black-eyes.deviantart.com

http://www.flickr.com/photos/aline_marche/

http://www.myspace.com/aline_marche

Voici deux nouvelles photographies du sanatorium abandonné. Ce travail se base plus sur la lumière, pas de grosses retouches au niveau des couleurs. Ici la lumière prime sur le tout, que ce soit dans la continuité de la série des “windows” que dans cette nouvelle qui débute avec les “corridors”.

couloir vide d'un sanatorium abandonné en allemagne et occupé par les russe

Voici une nouvelle série qui débute en ce moi de juillet, après être rentrée de vacances et de mon Road Trip voici quelques photos provenant d’un vieux sanatorium repris par les russes. Ici la série s’articule autour de fenêtres, parce que ce sont bien souvent les seuls accès que l’on ait pour rentrer dans ces lieux, mais également les seuls lieux par lesquels nous pouvons nous en échapper. De plus elles permettent de faire passer la lumière qui est parfois la seule chose qui peut pénétrer dans ces endroits. Les fenêtres sont symboliques, elles signalent une ouverture sur le monde, mais également la curiosité et cette fine limite entre le monde extérieur et cet univers / atmosphère que peut produire la friche…

Window #01:

Window #02:

la suite bientôt et quelques surprises en prime…

This location is not only a cool bar to hang out with your friends in the evenings,

it is also a nice place to sit outside and enjoy a good cup of coffee during the day hours. It is a perfect place to warm up for a night of dancing at the weekends. The DJ’s play nice sounds, from soul to house and electro.

The place offers you comfortable interior design with a gallery of paints on the walls which you can buy, too. The drinks are very tasty and the prices fair. You will find ‘Sanatorium’ at the Frankfurter Allee 23 in Friedrichshain.

Yet another blip in my blogging activity, sounds about right. I’ve been busy doing a whole load of nothing and everything really, from enrolling at University to moving house, starting a new awesome job, realising some of the feelings I felt were very misplaced, helping my mum get better, counselling my friends and being very, VERY skint.

I love those nights when you go out, maybe to a bar/club that you always go to…and for whatever reason, on this particular night, everyone there is in the same frame of mind as you are, and you’re all as drunk as each other, and you all decided to confess and ‘come clean’ about things in the past. You tell people that you admit you were wrong, and other people tell you things that you haven’t known for almost a year, and if you had known? It would have saved you a lot of pain and upset. It’s these kinds of nights that over the past 2 months, have really put me back on the right track. I have always had recurring dreams that I’m either locked in a  house, being chased by someone, or I’m undergoing surgery. But now whenever I have these dreams…I’m managing to escape, or coming round to the realisation that things are changing and it was me who got me here.

Do you think it’s wrong to enjoy your own company more than the company of others? I often find myself unable to connect with my peers and participate in small talk. I fucking hate small talk. I’d much rather stand in silence while smoking my cigarette thanks. I don’t feel a need to fill the void with questions about shit that you don’t even care about. Trust me, I wouldn’t be offended. Going out is just boring me…the same songs and drinks all the time, going from place to place feeling like you’re waiting for things to click and for the fun to start. Do you know what I think is fun? Clicking ‘Random Article’ on Wikipedia. Or writing lists of abandoned Sanatoriums I want to visit. Cleaning my parents’ cars. Writing a blog that no-one ever reads while creating playlists on Deezer. These are the things I am genuinely interested in. Is it just a coincidence that they’re activities for individuals? Maybe so. Or maybe it’s because I’m happy inside my little world and my bubble where the only thing that goes is whatever I want it to be and I don’t have to adhere to other people’s norms and opinions? Do I even care what the answer to that question is, and should I care? If I did care, would it really change the way I spent my free time? I severely doubt it.

In other news, I have the most awful sunburn known to man and should probably be treated in casualty for third degree burns. It seems for me, more than 5 seconds in the sun and I’ve pretty much signed my life away to skin cancer. Hoorah!