PICS
gender: SG
age: 32 (Mar 13, 1981)
occupation: bookworm, theatre nerd, danser
body mods: yeah
sign: shark bait
crush: peter jordan
i lost my virginity: on my sister's couch
most humbling moment: labor
into: pointe shoes, boys in tight jeans, lipgloss, garter belts, champagne, philosophy, anything said in french, confidence, opera, rehearsing a dance until my feet bleed, stillettos, astrology, halloween, sleeping late, chocolate ice cream and marshmallows, becoming a different person on stage, rilke, goethe, kafka, kierkegaard, rand, kant, sartre, proust, camus, existentialism, feminism, college football, hand-written letters, eurotrash
fantasy: to support myself doing the things i love to do, to act in films i am proud of, to continue to do ballet even though my knees are nearly ruined, to finish my master's degree, to see a decent president elected and, failing all these things, to run away to Paris and work in a cabaret
makes me happy: just about everything
gets me hot: eye contact, a couple of gin & tonics
makes me sad: w
i'm actually in a terrific mood and don't have much to say except i fucking love new york!
i'll leave you with my favorite poem ever:
somewhere i have never travelled
e.e. cummings
somewhere i have never travelled, your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you always open petal by petal myself as spring opens (touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to percieve in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the colour of your countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
ox
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