shodien iemaldiijos Londonas praidaa, kas bija kaa uzkrist citai planeetai citaa galaktikaa taalu taalu prom. bez galvenaas paraades, kas bija skalja, speekpilna un prieciiga, pat eiforiska, pilseetas centru bija piepludinaajushi dailji, graciozi transvestiiti, meitenes ar glitterboobs, glitter-zeeni, zeeni kas izskataas peec dailjaam meiteneem un meitenes kas izskataas peec dailjiem zeeniem, viirieshi kaa stirnas, sievietes kaa amazones, vienradzhi un holograafiski tipaazhi, teatraali un neredzeeti. seedeeja uz trotuaara malaam, laiziija varaviikshnju saldeejumu, ielas viduu spridzinaaja shampanieti, karstaa saulee kaisliigi skuupstiijaas, balstot kjiegjelju sienu sarkanaa vizuljojoshaa kleitaa smeekjeeja cigareti, smejoties suukaaja ledu.

i feel like in need some sort of pride in me too. i would like to be this bold and true. i'm not giving. i walk around all shelled up and dark. letting only a minuscule fraction out to retract almost immediately. i'm the true minority. the universe is endless and bold and beautiful. i cannot stop it, i don't want to stop it, yet i pretend that i have to. that there is nothing within and without me apart from this ghastly ambivalent repetition of controlled stopping, retracting, darking, shell-ing, not-trusting. why wouldn't you discard me world?