central station: crowded, ugly men, ugly women, unreflected raw stupidity, hollow noise.
though in disgust, i smile inside, arrogant to some extend, with red sensuous lips, knowing what i'm knowing.
and now if someone could recognize and smile, pat my long hair and love my dark eyes; always seeking some other alien upon the crowd of blind snails - so called 'normal people' - who understands, feels a glimmer of grace in his soul for what he treasures, all which is rich, wising, observing, strong; a palace to indulge in, something to admire, hope in the gray mush of rotten hard-boiled brains.
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