"You're lucky i don't kill you."
-Bill Murray
TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF - The Survey
Member Since: 8/4/2005
Band Members: if they're asking for itgive it to them.
Influences:Slack and sleeping senses must be addressed with thunder and heavenly fireworks. But the voice of beauty speaks gently; it creeps only into the most awakened souls. Gently trembled and laughed my shield today; that is the holy laughter and tremor of beauty. About you, the virtuous, my beauty laughed today. And thus its voice came to me: "They still want to be paid."
Joey --
[adjective]:
Banshee-like
this is what she told me-
"june 22youre the box of old letters under our bed. youre the countless songs ive written and burned into a flimsy guitar. youre the styrafoam cup filld with cheap champagne that ive learned to down in one gulp. youre that ashtray i hid from the demons over in the corner (demons, also you). youre words, words, words. the spikes through my hands, the crown on my head, the blood pooling at my ankles. walking, writhing, clenching, gasping, full-on anxiety attack. youre the film of sweat forming on my upper lip as i walk home from the grocdery store. the dark verse i speak belongs to you. you were the sutures the doctor used to swe me back together that one night. the balloon i kept even after it deflated the dead flowers in the vase by the windowsill, and the carrots in m y stew (all my favourites, all you). youre the words i wasted on him and wrote to him and sang to him with my body; because they all should have been/were ment for you anyway. youre the one day my air conditioner worked in my car on the way home after another dissappointment. my clock has been blinking midnight for the past three days and thats you swimming through the LCD. youre not the distance, but you are the asphalt, paint, and dirt. the wires in my stereo, the needle on the phonograph that i got for free from the trash a few days ago. blisters on my heels. callouses on my fingertips. linty pocket. the key under the doormat that we dont use anymore because we changed the locks and got on eof these electric key pads (you know). ink stains (and other various mystery spots) run in concentric circles right to your brain. youre the incubus, the arch in my back mid-orgasm, the curl in my toes. youre ehind those bone spurs beneath my eyes, though i never noticed until now. youre the jelly on my toast, too (berry is my first choice, but im not picky) the fever, chills, and achey blood are all you. your the roots in my teeth (you remind me of the devil when you smile like that). youre the love and brown paper that i read most nights. youre the tingly feeling on my skin that reminds me what is missing, and that weight net to me in bed. radio songs and blow jobs, twisted sheets and empty boxes, cereal and post-coital sighs. you you you. youre the bruises, cuts, and teeth marks left over from too many self battles. the wire in the spiral notebook which hides you between its covers. im starting to suspect that maybe youre the reincarnate of something i mightve believed in once, or maybe something worse (which, for me, might actually be best)." and i believe her...