User Profile

Customize

steeltrap_mind

Add Friend
Add Note
Track User
Send Message
Send V-Gift

To Clear My Thoughts I Drill a Hole Into my Skull.

The Pain is Clarity.

Created on 2008-03-20 02:51:34 (#15190058), last updated 2009-10-13

606 comments received, 655 comments posted

Plus Account [Gift]

21 Journal Entries, 18 Tags, 1 Memory, 0 Virtual Gifts, 15 Userpics

Basic Info

Name:	Pein
Birthdate:	07-15

Bio

零

Name: Pein
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Height: 5'9"
Hair/Eyes: Ginger and pale blue
Sexual Orientation: Indecipherable
Position: Manager

If You Want People to Listen,
You Can't Just Tap Them on the Shoulder Anymore.

Appearance

Pein is a relatively slender man of medium stature. His light eyes and ginger hair suggest a mixed ancestry of various ethnicities. He maintains an impeccable appearance at all times, believing there is no excuse for sloppiness. His severity is reflected in his face, which encompasses expressions ranging only from apathetic to (occasionally) mildly irritated and rarely venturing outside of this spectrum. Indeed, one might think that his facial muscles had atrophied due to lack of use.

Pein could be considered the ideal embodiment of the dictum "beauty comes from within". Judging by his appearance alone (and disregarding the plethora of piercings adorning his face) one would probably consider Pein considerably good looking. However, his glacial disposition does quite well at warding off any romantic intentions.

Likes:

Quiet. Time alone. Interrogation sans question marks. Thunderstorms.

Dislikes:

There are far too many to list.

The Cafe

Pein treats his business ventures much like a game; in order to win, each move must be carefully calculated, and unneeded pieces sometimes must be sacrificed. In this regard, Pein feels no attachment whatsoever to his “employees”- not to mention the fact that suffering their mere existence is like a perpetual disembowelment.
When it comes to customers, Pein prefers not to deal with them- that’s not his job. And seeing as he presents a rather intimidating visage, this is probably for the best.

You Have To Hit Them With a Sledgehammer.

I love all films that start with rain:
rain, braiding a windowpane
or darkening a hung-out dress
or streaming down her upturned face;

one long thundering downpour
right through the empty script and score
before the act, before the blame,
before the lens pulls through the frame

to where the woman sits alone
beside a silent telephone
or the dress lies ruined on the grass
or the girl walks off the overpass,

and all things flow out from that source
along their fatal watercourse.
However bad or overlong
such a film can do no wrong,

so when his native twang shows through
or when the boom dips into view
or when her speech starts to betray
its adaptation from the play,

I think to when we opened cold
on a rain-dark gutter, running gold
with the neon of a drugstore sign,
and I'd read into its blazing line:

forget the ink, the milk, the blood-
all was washed clean with the flood
we rose up from the falling waters
the fallen rain's own sons and daughters

and none of this, none of this matters.

Then You'll Notice You Have Their Strict Attention.

Player Info:
Name: Emily
Age: 19
Location: New York, United States
MSN/AIM: lightningalchemist@hotmail.com, A Steeltrap Mind
Poem by Don Paterson

Hmm.