About
If you're going to send me a friend's request or guild invitation, please also send me a PM so I don't simply delete without consideration.
[
Panzerlied]
Basic Statistics
Name: Pseuderious (and that's all you'll know~)
Age: Legal
Nationality: I’m afraid of Americans
Hometown: San Francisco
Occupation: Student/starving writer
Talents/Skills: I can lick my own elbow
Birth order: Only child
Physical Characteristics:
Eye Color: Blue-grey
Hair Color: Bad dye job
Hair style: Desperately needs to be cut
Glasses or contact lenses? Glasses that I should wear more often
Skin color: Pale with freckles
How do you dress? Like a 19th century orphan hepcat in an opium-induced nightmare
Mannerisms: Dramatic bordering on effeminate but rough around the edges with stilted and awkwardly stiff movements
Habits: Oral fixation expressed through gum chewing, candy sucking, and collar biting
Intellectual/Mental/Personality Attributes and Attitudes
Educational Background: College dropout, sort of ?_?
Short-term goals in life: Clean room, get laid, find food
Long-term goals in life: Live through college, get a wonderfully high paying job, keep friends
Ruled by emotion or logic or some combination thereof? Emotion on the outside, logic on the inside
Emotional Characteristics
Introvert or Extrovert? Introverted extrovert
How do you deal with anger? Violently or self-destructively
With sadness? Violently or self-destructively
With conflict? Avoid at all costs
With change? Poorly
Poem of the Week:
Episode of Hands by Hart Crane
The unexpected interest made him flush.
Suddenly he seemed to forget the pain,-
Consented,-and held out
One finger from the others.
The gash was bleeding, and a shaft of sun
That glittered in and out among the wheels,
Fell lightly, warmly, down into the wound.
And as the fingers of the factory owner's son,
That knew a grip for books and tennis
As well as one for iron and leather,-
As his taut, spare fingers wound the gauze
Around the thick bed of the wound,
His own hands seemed to him
Like wings of butterflies
Flickering in the sunlight over summer fields.
The knots and notches,-many in the wide
Deep hand that lay in his,-seemed beautiful.
They were like the marks of wild ponies' play,-
Bunches of new green breaking a hard turf.
And factory sounds and factory thoughts
Were banished from him by that larger, quieter hand
That lay in his with the sun upon it.
And as the bandage knot was tightened
The two men smiled into each other's eyes.
Friends
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Journal
Secrets Upon Secrets
Signature
You're pretty good...
[img:c4b6c40d80]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v151/Meteorpig/Bullseye.jpg[/img:c4b6c40d80][/align:c4b6c40d80]But me...
I'm [b:c4b6c40d80]magic[/b:c4b6c40d80]. [/size:c4b6c40d80][/align:c4b6c40d80]
Comments
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