No Man Is an Island – Except for the 40-Year-Old Gay One Trapped Inside My Body Ingen mann er en øy - Bortsett fra 40-Year-Old Gay Man fanget inne i kroppen min
23.Jul.2005, 08:05 pm 23.Jul.2005, 08:05I'd never seen so much plastic before, never felt such a glowing admiration for synthetic materials as when I was surrounded by hundreds of sculpted ski-jump noses, swollen lips, and balloon-like mammories. Jeg hadde aldri sett så mye plast før, aldri følt en slik glødende beundring for syntetiske materialer som da jeg var omgitt av hundrevis av skulpturert ski-jump nese, hovne lepper og ballong-lignende mammories.
Perhaps no (wo)man is island, but I was a lone porcelain and short- and dark-haired bit of groundedness in a sea of expensively orange skin, black roots attached to stiff platinum tresses; I stood in a flowing dress and wooden platforms while the rest of the party heaved in bright spandexes and rhinestoned sandals – Kanskje ingen (wo) man er øya, men jeg var ensom porselen og kort-og mørkhåret litt groundedness i et hav av expensively oransje hud, sorte røtter festet til stiv platina lokker, jeg sto i en strømmende kjole og tre plattformer mens resten av partiet hev i lyse spandexes og rhinestoned sandaler --
– wait. - Vent.
Grounded? Jordet?
Me? Me?
So much for a journalist being a vessel of truth. Så mye for en journalist å være et fartøy av sannhet.
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