Shin Aluinis Gabralai 2

They went out into the carnival.

The eunuchs of Toralei, clad in vermillion, high on the throat drip (“My husband calls them throat droppers”), the devotees of the Plateaux-Yoni, dressed in Earth England tweed, improvising poetry as they dance, the ecstatic Malamatiya of Old Mars, reeling from their ritual psychonautic rites of the day, kissing the air with such expressions of bliss, like identity doesn’t matter, like subjecthood doesn’t matter, like he and she and their little affair … doesn’t matter.

How he envied them.

But admired, and entered, entertained — no, not justinasmuch as he could these days.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s