Vanity. Ares

it smelt of death and a subtle odour of old sweat of
my past sitting, standing and sit-standing, which
was my magnum opus of action, of course. The
Rose flower came into my head that night and I
kept thinking about how exotic they were. I didn’t
know why I had thought of this flower.
Interspersed with thoughts on Rose's I played
back my memories of the trial, in order to drown
out the stupidity of the shouting that I would hear
in the middle of the night, from the other inmates.
"You don't know how I get down in these streets,"
a inmate yelled. "I just need one wank!" said a
deep gravely voice from above (not God). “I need
to see a person higher up!” I recognised another
inmate shout, as I wondered what person higher
up and what all these shout’s were searching for. I
thought maybe drugs fuelled these allusions to
grandeur and degenerate talk. I remembered that
apparently LSD could be smuggled in books, so
the distribution of books had been rescinded
about a month before my arrival. Disappointed I
had heard about this about a month after my
arrival from Faustun the Albanian inmate that
would try to become familiar with me. He said that
a big dealer had been caught just before I had
arrived, which made me question the nuances of
catching inmates with drugs and concluded that it
must not be that hard, as we were all locked up.
But this seeming oversight or failure to stop drug
culture within the Prison seemed to resemble that
of general life; in the sense that a stage act of
seeming to outlaw that of which is very much part
of the show was in fact part of the canto’s of life’s
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
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