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Name:

About me:

I'm a mom, a dreamer and an aspiring criminal profiler. One day my dream is to go deep undercover in a traveling circus, to have a serial killer fall madly in love with me, write a novel, become a world famous painter and live in Italy, happily ever after. I've been dreaming of designing furniture out of medical refuse. I chainsmoke. I know it'll kill me, that's sort of redundant. Who wants to make it to that fine age when you're uncertain of whether it's day or night, someone has to empty the contents of your bowels through a nice little bag and you can't even remember what your own name is? Not I, I say. Not I.
My husband and I are painters. We will paint on any available surface. I prefer to paint on the things that people throw away. He usually paints the bad things, the ugly things, the sad things. I like to call him Jackson. He calls me Lee.I used to be fond of wounded birds but had my hands pecked at one too many times. I'm a little rough around the edges with a center of chewy nugat. A stale jelly donut, or so I've been told. I rarely hold grudges, I love with the force of a tidal wave and dream as often as possible.

About you:

A dirty mirror. Henry Miller's ghost. Herman Hesse's soul. Lydia Lunch in a dark alley.