I draw things, I sleep at inappropriate times, I read things, and insult cats. I wear a hat, pay no attention to anything resembling an intelligent plot, obsess over werewolves, drink tea, and refuse to get a haircut. My heroes are Anton LaVey, Stan Winston, and Edgar Allan Poe. That's all there is to know about me.
If ever you behold a short, skinny, dazed-looking goth with brown and black hair down to her arse with all manner of shiney things on her and through her complete with a perpetual in-built scowl who seems to have wandered to her current location purely by accident, you're probably looking at me.
Short, shiney goth wishes for nothing more than to be employed in the arts but realises that will never happen.
This is my wordy wordy ranty ranty account. If you like satire and rants fuelled on humour and rage, check it out. It is pointless just like me.
Current Residence: Upon the pallid bust of pallas above the chamber door
Favourite genre of music: Metal metal metal.
Favourite style of art: Scary As Fuck
Operating System: Scalpel.
MP3 player of choice: Whatever provides the BAAAASSSS
Shell of choice: Turtle
Skin of choice: Pale, with a few scars
Personal Quote: "Science Fiction is the least ficticious of all the genres."