For every hand extended another lies in wait. Keep your eye on that one girl...anticipate.

The windows of my soul are made of one-way glass, don't bother looking into my eyes if there's something you want to know, just ask

I see a lot of young female performers who do not call themselves feminist, but would certainly believe in their own right to self-determination, and wouldn't want anybody to stop them from becoming themselves. They just refuse to recognize the relationship between their lives and those of other women, or feel any solidarity there.

Goldfish have no memory, I guess their lives are much like mine. And the little plastic castle is a surprise everytime.

They see me as a symbol, and not a human being. That way they can kill me, say it’s not murder it’s a metaphor.

I have earned my disillusionment.

And this vague little smile is my all purpose expression the meaning of which I will leave to your discretion.