It will be dark. Perhaps the flicker of the ruby red LED lights. Perhaps the faint fluorescent-blue monitor moonlight. Just a couple of musicians... He will bring to the table the sounds. He has no tongue -- but he doesn't need one. Between the equipment and his fingertips, he can express the unexpressable. Primal emotions converted to sine waves...that is what he does. "It's a venting process. I pour everything into the music to get it out of my system." He knows no genres, no styles; he is not limited to this or that musical instrument. He is an experimentor first and an editor second. She will bring to the table her voice. She knows only words, but she has a special way to wrap her lips around them. She will bleed them and she will cry them. There is a poison in her, a sickness and a sorrow...she will open her mouth; she will fill the air with it. "For me, the pain is always there. Constant pain is normal for me. I cleanse, but it's temporary. I only want to know that others have felt the way I feel -- even if for them it stays briefly and passes." She is a bare wire, and the current will crackle through her. Destiny? "To be in that dark room. To feed a thousand people energy, to have that thousand people feed you in return." "Yeah, we're just a dumb Phoenix garage band..."
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