User Profile

I'm a plus-sized pansexual polyamorous, pagan-atheist kind of libertarian with a brain and I'm a fat girl who's not afraid to be extremely sexy... You SHOULD be scared of me.

I have a thousand faces, voices and accents for every occasion. When I talk to you, you may get your very own personalized version of me. But I'm still only who I am.


You can call me a trickster, a singer, an actor, a dancer, a cook, a priestess, a mundane, a writer, a painter, a poet, a know-it-all, a thief, a giver, a phoenix, a dragon, a child, a girl, a woman, a crone, a wingnut, a genius, an idiot, a sage, a fool, a pantheist, a monotheist, an atheist, a beauty, a troll, a mystic, a skeptic, an angel, a devil, an introvert, an extrovert, a pervert, a gentleman, a gentlewoman, a miscreant, a boor, a swan, proper, uncouth, a soothsayer, a liar, a goddess and an enigma, and you'd be right... but only partially.

I enjoy making grandiose and spurious claims, and also long walks on the beach.

Caution: percieved sweetness of this creature may be directly related to the fact that you can't hear her inner monologue.



If you only want to make friends with people who are politically correct, people who never say anything inflammatory, people who never make mistakes, people who are and good and right and virtuous all the time, people who fart puppies and flowers, then you have come to the wrong place.

If you want to talk out of your ass and I don't know who you are, you will find yourself shut out.


Unhappy women
have used tears, threatening oaths,
even collapse
to prevent a lover
from traveling.
Darling, I'm a pluckier girl.
Good luck and for your
early departure
I hope an auspicious day.
After you're gone you may hear
what I see fit to do with my
love life.

- the Amarushataka

The Second Coming -- W. B. Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all convictions, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

"What's the most important thing I've learned from Maura? If she offers you something, you'd better damn well stick it in your mouth!"
-Cameron Eng, dearly beloved friend and cooking partner




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