Seeking in the DesertThe wind gusts intermittently, lifting up mists of sand which swirl about Gustav's legs – occasionally the sand wafts higher, stinging his cheeks. Gustav doesn't mind though. The sand that gets into his eyes, causing them to burn and water confirms that his bodily functions still operate. Nothing else does. All that Gustav is certain of is his mind. It still runs along the shore, searching for inspiration in the sand.Gustav and the stool he sits upon are the only elements that break the monotony of the dunes. Not even a shadow disturbs the dusty-white-brown surface. The heat of the sun overhead beams down.UV-A and UV-B slow-roast Gustav's exposed skin. In time it will redden, blister, puss, split and peel. Gustav will be reborn in this ritual of pain and itching.He contemplates whether he must wait for this rebirth to receive his inspiration. The blank shifting sands give him none. Neither does the bright sky, unspeckled by white fluff.Gustav stares up at the sun for a time in the
Ketamine HydrochlorideI'm grieving.But no-one has diedI'm hurting.But I find no woundI'm angry.But there's no-one to blameI'm vengeful.Who deserves my wrath?She's drugged.Abandoned in the clubHer drink has betrayed herShe's raped?The tests do not say soNo clear way to tell thoughShe's ill.Feels weary all day nowCurse the pill that AIDS herAnd soI grieve I ache I rageI avenge?Do you deserve my wrath?