It is strange to awake from a so long nightmare and realise another one has taken its place. Not so much a nightmare than a bead-stream of souvenirs of an ancient time when anything seemed possible but wishes and dreams were held back by the crows and ravens flying above the lives of so many innocent lambs.

There were so many catholic priests and so little room for them all. In the dormitory, nights were too short to digest the rubs and scrubs the dark castrated men inflicted on prepubescent boys. They even had this mad concept, dull idea to sacrifice some of their peers to gain more space in the corridors of infinite pleasure where their prey hid.

One made a bungee jump from the top of the basilica, wasn’t he pushed by the invisible hands of some unfathomable god. Another one lustful, joyful and bright, drowned in cheap wine.

Flowers of evil take many shapes and meander under snake skin with the snout of a swine.

Many sisters on the opposite side of town, played Cinderella and Snow White – busy little ladies sweeping the dust off the backyard.

Sister Schtöltz probably dreamt she was the hound of hell or the verdigris ward of a concentration camp. Sister Myriam – drawn to earth and frivolous – shared her views on what bra a bride should wear. Sister Bernie – imaginative and contemplative nun – sang in the choir of lost souls.

The chapel sheltered their uninteresting wishes, cheerless shepherdesses, sharing Genesis and the Gospels and the Apocalypse with the brains of formatting teens.