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22 London, UK Other


I’m looking for

  • Everyone
  • Ages 20–97
  • Near me
  • For new friends, long-term dating, short-term dating, casual sex

My details

Last online
Today – 3:40pm
5′ 9″ (1.76m)
Body type
Full figured
Atheism, and very serious about it
Aquarius, and it’s fun to think about
Working on space camp
Doesn’t have kids, and doesn’t want any
Likes dogs and likes cats
English (Fluently), French (Fluently), Spanish (Poorly)

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My self-summary
Write a little about yourself. Just a paragraph will do.

happy failboat. fledgling intersectional feminist. lgbtq+ confederate, with the growing nerve to challenge gender in praxis. ...squint. all-around keen cupcake.

i am fat. like a seal. if you don't like it, or if you don't like seals, WALK AWAY. you may contact me if you want to indulge in orgiastic culinary wonders or if you are a personal trainer with a heart of sweat and gold. p.s.: if it ain't obvious, this isn't an invitation to discuss.

I love knowledge as much as I do old stone — that is, from afar and not very efficiently.
What I’m doing with my life
Don’t overthink this one; tell us what you’re doing day-to-day.
Hurtling full-tilt towards either a) a heavenly wordy life of remunerated overthinking or b) selling veggie patties at a pop-up store, 'cause I've never met a veggie patty salesperson who wasn't A+ and I'm told tenure is overratedly bureaucratic anyway.

Reconstructing. Reification. Theory (oh, my little love) only goes so far. Make alternatives exist, & not only for my oral fixation.

I used to row six-seat: stolid, dependable, labrador-like. Now I scull two, so y'all better keep your catches clean. It's Kafka-ing up in here.

I get very intense about deep sea documentaries.

You, let's talk.
I’m really good at
Go on, brag a little (or a lot). We won’t judge.
Crossing the street like roadkill.
Flipping pancakes.
Knitting in the dark.
Getting really very excited about food.
Getting really very excited about things in general.
The first things people usually notice about me
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
Clumsy but well-intentioned.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Help your potential matches find common interests.
My kingdom for a box of pretty words: I like to live between bookends. Chris Kraus. Marjane Satrapi. Audre Lorde. Witold Gombrowicz. Everything Persephone Books ever publishes.

Insane quantities of tea. The swanky, lovingly selected kind.

I adore the theatre. Read: Wajdi Mouawad. I have strikingly intense memories of: The Judas Kiss, above and beyond Rupert Everett's propensity to be an idiot IRL, Cheek By Jowl's Ubu-Roi, Logan's Peter and Alice - cannot even begin to even. Being articulate is overrated. My heart, it hurts. A student production of Julius Caesar. #aiww. Hiddleston's Coriolanus — people who inhabit English as vividly and skilfully as he make me go very melty and wow. (Although his Henry IV gives me suspension of disbelief issues). OH GODS THE OLD VIC'S CRUCIBLE. Also anybody who wants to bask in the memory of Martin Freeman's Richard III and how it totally didn't suck please pick me. Wow.

Since you asked, I've decided cummings's since feeling is first as a love note is passable at best — but as an ars poetica? Bit delightful.

Movie culture is practically zero. HELP.

JOEY COMEAU. Be still my heart.

Islay whiskies.

The six things I could never do without
Think outside the box. Sometimes the little things can say a lot.
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Global warming, lunch, or your next vacation… it’s all fair game.
Foucault the Magnificent. Checking your privilege; "WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?!"; the words of women; rowing; why my flat is just outside of Maroush's delivery area. Please please please extend this deadline for me. Hummus.

Donna Haraway on Foucault: "flaccid". BOOM.

Currently attempting to genderfuck the poetical canon, in its unbearable maleness. Vandalising reading aloud as a defiant act of reclaiming — sans the destructiveness of spray painting hallowed halls in indignation, which is anachrononistic and unhelpful anyway. Broadening the possibilities for poetical depth, post hoc.

Basically I'm doing Yeats et al. a favour. You're welcome, guys. Back to the peacock steak. (You see?!)
On a typical Friday night I am
Netflix and takeout, or getting your party on — how do you let loose?
You should message me if
Offer a few tips to help matches win you over.
Brain things = good things.

You want to poetry aloud for the days.

You're kind, you cuddle good, you only drink what you can set on fire. I'll forgive you if you don't, but keep the bubbles to yourself.

You're going to show up to a park bench date with blueberries and sit there while I flail about the layers to Sylvia Plath.

Alternatively you'd like a fawning sycophant to hold a candle to your numerous accomplishments — it may be that I am not myself luminous, but I'm a great conductor of light (sic).

You want to be a total dick to me as a formative experience.

You suffer from a strong case of HIP HOP PAST ALL YOUR TALL SOCIAL HURDLES.