Стая слонов с серьгами показалась на горизонте
Так как Это случилось и так как официально включать страницу с благодарностями в наши псевдонаучные труды оказалось не принято, буду неистово приседать в книксенах здесь. Благо как раз накатила плановая уборка дорогодневниковой территории.
Итак, кто не спрятался, ещё не поздно.
Acknowledgements
It’s been a long journey and I know I couldn't have made it without support from some great, fabulous, sparkly, truly wise people. And inanimate objects. Needless to say, I owe them all, for what it’s worth, a piece of my heart as well as a mention in my will.
First of all, huge, hand-made ‘thank you’ goes to The Odd Order of Leather Coat & Umbrella-ella, beloved partners in crimes against normality, a bunch of psychos who possess just the right sort of weirdness. I salute you, honorable ladies and gentleman across the world, for being here in times of your author’s despair. Always quick with a joke, glass of rum, an owl (surprisingly quick owl), friendly orgy or good punch in the nose. Sometimes all these things at once.
Next, basically, to everyone who managed to stick around for these 6 (six) (freaking six and counting) years, because it’s the longest I’ve ever spent on one place. I’m glad we’ve met even if we didn’t get to know each other. You’re the best company to go through hell with. Live long and prosper and kittens. Special thanks to Marion, the Doctor to my Who, the high to my five, the Batman to my Gotham, the sexy to my back, the ‘apple-‘ to my ‘-tiny’. Babes, we should buy a library-bar already.
To my Mom, for being the only one who could sit through all my whining and still pretend she was interested. She even made an interested face, so that really counts.
To Mr. Mark Gatiss, for giving me idea for my thesis in the first place. To Albert DePetrillo, editorial director of BBC Books, for taking time to wish me luck and to inventors of Twitter for passing my semi-hysterical cry to him through actual time and virtual space. To Mr. Craig Ferguson, for being a creepy spirit animal. Love you, man. To Mr. Michael Sheen, for doing funny curly things with my head. And for some DNA, ehehe. Ehehehehe. Ahem. To Mr. Dylan Moran, for being a miraculous traveling Irish bastard he is. To Mr. David Tennant, for wearing that mini-skirt.
To a guy who smiled at me that morning in Edinburgh. Or maybe he was just trying not to choke on the wind.
While we’re at it: to those places, freshly cut out of insane fairy-tales, which I was lucky enough to find, and mentally hug, and actually walk around, and turn into words and pictures.
To my numerous playlists, for singing me to sleep and shuffling me through work. To all the books, TV-shows, films, plays and gigs I managed to, well, absorb, for lack of a better word, while trying hard to learn smth. which had been approved by our educational system. Time shows that my brain knows better.
To my faithful PC, Susan, for staying alive and not carrying all that quasi-scientific shit down with her.
To Teletubbies. Because Teletubbies, motherfuckers.
Finally, I’d like to thank Tomas William Hiddlestone.
And his balls.
Хуз зе Маста нау, битчез?
Итак, кто не спрятался, ещё не поздно.
Acknowledgements
It’s been a long journey and I know I couldn't have made it without support from some great, fabulous, sparkly, truly wise people. And inanimate objects. Needless to say, I owe them all, for what it’s worth, a piece of my heart as well as a mention in my will.
First of all, huge, hand-made ‘thank you’ goes to The Odd Order of Leather Coat & Umbrella-ella, beloved partners in crimes against normality, a bunch of psychos who possess just the right sort of weirdness. I salute you, honorable ladies and gentleman across the world, for being here in times of your author’s despair. Always quick with a joke, glass of rum, an owl (surprisingly quick owl), friendly orgy or good punch in the nose. Sometimes all these things at once.
Next, basically, to everyone who managed to stick around for these 6 (six) (freaking six and counting) years, because it’s the longest I’ve ever spent on one place. I’m glad we’ve met even if we didn’t get to know each other. You’re the best company to go through hell with. Live long and prosper and kittens. Special thanks to Marion, the Doctor to my Who, the high to my five, the Batman to my Gotham, the sexy to my back, the ‘apple-‘ to my ‘-tiny’. Babes, we should buy a library-bar already.
To my Mom, for being the only one who could sit through all my whining and still pretend she was interested. She even made an interested face, so that really counts.
To Mr. Mark Gatiss, for giving me idea for my thesis in the first place. To Albert DePetrillo, editorial director of BBC Books, for taking time to wish me luck and to inventors of Twitter for passing my semi-hysterical cry to him through actual time and virtual space. To Mr. Craig Ferguson, for being a creepy spirit animal. Love you, man. To Mr. Michael Sheen, for doing funny curly things with my head. And for some DNA, ehehe. Ehehehehe. Ahem. To Mr. Dylan Moran, for being a miraculous traveling Irish bastard he is. To Mr. David Tennant, for wearing that mini-skirt.
To a guy who smiled at me that morning in Edinburgh. Or maybe he was just trying not to choke on the wind.
While we’re at it: to those places, freshly cut out of insane fairy-tales, which I was lucky enough to find, and mentally hug, and actually walk around, and turn into words and pictures.
To my numerous playlists, for singing me to sleep and shuffling me through work. To all the books, TV-shows, films, plays and gigs I managed to, well, absorb, for lack of a better word, while trying hard to learn smth. which had been approved by our educational system. Time shows that my brain knows better.
To my faithful PC, Susan, for staying alive and not carrying all that quasi-scientific shit down with her.
To Teletubbies. Because Teletubbies, motherfuckers.
Finally, I’d like to thank Tomas William Hiddlestone.
And his balls.
Хуз зе Маста нау, битчез?