Dianna Agron, but you can call me Charlie.

"If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?" LC

Put on my headphones and picked out my music of choice for the next hour it would take to walk through the catacombs. Stepped down one hundred stairs leading to the underground quarry. I had greatly anticipated my visit. Never have I seen something quite like the windy maze, comprised of intricately woven walls of bones and skulls from the 1800’s. When the cemeteries were overflowing, and disease was spreading rampantly, this was the solution that was deemed appropriate to remedy the situation. Call it macabre, but I found it beautiful. I took my time, pictured the priests in shrouds replacing the bodies in their new home, the two years it took to complete….pretty wild. My journal entry for the evening: “Slow, cautious footsteps echo. Missguided heals click. To any degree you turn- bodies reduced to simple form. Bones. Bones, stacked upon bones, stacked upon bones, stacked upon bones. Your ears strain to search the farthest reaches….there’s hardly a whisper. Those that pass you share a common silence. A slow gate. Moisture gathers on the low ceilings, beads of sweat band together at a snail’s pace. They gather into their largest possible form until forced to collapse. Are you nervous? Are you scared? Walk down the corridor, bide your time. Is it yours or is it mine? Can we own it? Do you dare? I’m not scared. I’m just taking mine. Not in a bag, as the lady before me in the exit line. Caught in her selfish act, she scurried. It’s in my mind, can’t get it out of my head. It rests, as I reflect, it shines.”

Put on my headphones and picked out my music of choice for the next hour it would take to walk through the catacombs. Stepped down one hundred stairs leading to the underground quarry. I had greatly anticipated my visit. Never have I seen something quite like the windy maze, comprised of intricately woven walls of bones and skulls from the 1800’s. When the cemeteries were overflowing, and disease was spreading rampantly, this was the solution that was deemed appropriate to remedy the situation. Call it macabre, but I found it beautiful. I took my time, pictured the priests in shrouds replacing the bodies in their new home, the two years it took to complete….pretty wild. My journal entry for the evening:

“Slow, cautious footsteps echo. Missguided heals click. To any degree you turn- bodies reduced to simple form. Bones. Bones, stacked upon bones, stacked upon bones, stacked upon bones. Your ears strain to search the farthest reaches….there’s hardly a whisper. Those that pass you share a common silence. A slow gate. Moisture gathers on the low ceilings, beads of sweat band together at a snail’s pace. They gather into their largest possible form until forced to collapse. Are you nervous? Are you scared? Walk down the corridor, bide your time. Is it yours or is it mine? Can we own it? Do you dare? I’m not scared. I’m just taking mine. Not in a bag, as the lady before me in the exit line. Caught in her selfish act, she scurried. It’s in my mind, can’t get it out of my head. It rests, as I reflect, it shines.”

2 years ago

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  5. charlie-you-and-me reblogged this from felldowntherabbithole and added:
    love with Dianna’s writing skills. And I’m...personality; she’s so sincere and...
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    get worried and upset about Dianna leaving Glee and then...remember just how intelligent...
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    dream of visiting…

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