Self-description ephemeral; it depends on what time of the mind you caught me in. I'm a writer, published sporadically - no real financial reward so far with the exception of one poem which managed to make me money...briefly. Lyricist who can't sing. Perpetually frustrated mediocre visual artist. Music appreciator across several genres but I do tend to like it lush, grandiose, literate and darkdelicious - if it's described as 'pretentious', there's a good chance I'll enjoy it. I am an unrepentant aesthete. I am a pedantic speller. I am an intellectual elitist. I do not enjoy onions. I think the word 'crapulent' is much more descriptively accurate than 'hungover'. Bring me art, make me melt, lie elegant in disarray... I want everything to be more lunarbeautiful. When I grow up I would like to be pyrokinetic.
I live in Melbourne with my beautiful husband Jon, a novelty oversize cat - Ares, an orchid that miraculously I am yet to kill, and some transient insects who, on the whole, are not invited. I am slave to a trilogy that I hope to complete writing by the time I'm...oh, about 80. No, wait - 85.
Where some of my poetry lives
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The link to the site I got this background colour from is kinda bossy, but it's embedded. Of course, go there if you like. However, despite its insistence, I do not necessarily endorse the "so should you!" part of things. I am crap at HTML.
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